I'm strapped to my existence
by Mikel K

Born a Yankee, but always been a rebel.

"If poetry is a craft, then the writer must have a passion for revision." ~ Thomas Lux


I'm doped with religion, sex and tv
by K

When The Going Gets Weird
By Mikel K

"This poem is truly my favorite of yours Mikel. Nothing less than brilliant!'--
Stevia Hawkins

Imagine no possessions...

I found a non-sugared soda, tonight, that uses stevia, and not that poisonous aspartame. This is a great discovery. I will buy this product. It is nice to have a diet cola beverage, or a diet ginger ale every once in awhile that is not putting poison into your system.

My cell phone just found its way into the water given off by the glass that contained this healthy drink, and the phone is doing funky things. I took the battery out, like the how to dry out your phone instruction site on the internet said to do, but I had already used my blow-drier on my phone like the site said that you weren't supposed to do. I might not be able to call you tomorrow; you might not be able to call me. It's ok, we don't call each other anyway.

I like a clean sink, but I don't always like cleaning the dishes; so, sometimes, they pile up in the sink. I have a dishwasher, but, sometimes, I find it to be a pain in the ass to fill it, and to unload it. What a lazy ars. I would rather sit here at this laptop and type words onto this screen than do anything else, and, sometimes, that interferes with everything else.

I got a haircut, yesterday. My hair is still long. My stylist, a very stylish gal by the name of Puchi, followed my instructions to the t.

"Cut off as little as possible," I instructed Puchi. Hair stylists don't always listen to you, when you visit them, and are trying to get just a trim. Hair stylists often like to chop, chop, chop, and style your hair the way they want to style your hair, and not the way that you want your hair to be styled. I'm glad that Puchi is not like this.

I have known Puchi, we figured out, yesterday, as I sat in her chair, for twenty seven years. Puchi was the first gal who I called my gal in this great city of Atlanta. I probably should have married her, and settled down with her, but I had a bad drinking problem at the time, and Puchi was a pothead back then. She was mellow, and I was crazy.

Puchi would have said no if I had asked her to marry me. I've only asked one woman to marry me in my 53 years on this planet, but that didn't work out. We never made it to the altar, or to wherever we would have gotten hitched at. She was a beautiful woman. I talk to her through email, on occasion. She seems to be doing ok without me. I really don't see how these women who I have dated can make it without me, once we are broken up. I really don't. I mean I am such a catch. I really am. (Note: The author is 53 years old, and still single).

I'm a poet by profession. Well that is a bit of a misnomer. Doesn't "professional" mean that you get paid for it. I do it all the time, write poetry that is, and that is why I say that I am a professional. I have been doing it since 1982. Of course just because I have been doing it for awhile doesn't mean that I don't suck at it. And if I suck at it, I would not consider that professional.

You are asleep. I am awake. What if I was a serial killer. Do you have a dog? Would he save you?

I quit trying to turn cartwheels when I was about seven years old. It was something that I really wanted to do, but something that I could tell that my body was not going to let me do. I was not cut out to be a cheerleader, so I took up basketball, instead, and I proved to be fairly good at that. Why is it that boys are good at boy sports, and girls are good at girl sports?

Is there something natural within us that gives the edge in football to boys, and puts girls on the field hockey team, or is it societal conditioning that puts us in our places even as young children?

I know you are my friend.

"I hear you talking about your troubles / Everybody's got their troubles too / You can make them burst like bubbles /If you know just what to do"
--Jerry Garcia, from the song, "I'll Take A Melody".


I'm doped; with no dope; brainwashed by me, not by my t.v.
I'm hungry, but I don't want to cook. I'm horny, but I don't want to fuck. I need to mail a letter, but I don't have a stamp. I want to drive, but I don't have a car. I want to fly, but I don't have the cash. Good thing that I am happy sitting right here where I am.

One of the dogs, or both or them, pissed on the carpet at the head of the hallway to the bathroom, again. I'm going to take these dogs into another neighborhood, unleash them, take their dog tags, and identifying tags off, and let them fend for themselves, let them find another house to piss in.

I woke up at about 3:30 a.m., this morning, sure that I heard Morisson on the other half of the abode, sure that he was pissing, or shitting, or both, in the hallway. I'm a bit paranoid about this pissing, and shitting, shit because I don't have a solution. As far as I can see, the dog, or dogs, are just going to continue peeing and pooping in the hallway. This pisses me off; mostly because I feel powerless. I like to have power over my animals. I like to feel that I am in charge, and not them.

I have been taught that I am powerless over people, places, and things, and I accept this, though I do not always behave as if I do. Nobody has said anything about being powerless over your pets.

My dogs are sleeping innocently on the thick, and comfortable, comforter that I provide to them. To look at them now, you would not think that they so intensely violate the rules and regulations of this home. I need to catch them in the act, so that I can scold them. That is it. I have the answer. I can go back to sleep now.

Sometimes, a good song will keep me awake for longer than I want to be awake. The song somehow hypnotizes me; and that is a good thing.

The cats think that no matter what time I wake up, that I should feed them. When I woke up this morning, around 3:30 a.m., as I said, there they were sitting next to their food bowls. Kobain is starting to get aggressive when it comes to getting food from me. He has this new habit of standing on his back legs below me in the kitchen, and swatting his paw at me. Mostly, I don't reward this behavior. He needs to go put his bib on first.

I am going to clean out the turtles' water, in just a few minutes, which is grossly unfair because it is only one day short of two weeks since I have last cleaned their water out, and their water should go about three weeks, and sometimes, almost until a month without needing cleaning. I must have done something wrong the last time that I cleaned out their tank. I'm a sinner; send me to Hell.

Henry, the Great Dane from next door, is visiting with us. He will spend a lot of time over here this weeked, as his momma, and poppa, are going to be out of town, and I am the designated baby sitter of Henry, and his sister, Anna. I have written about these dogs in other places, and I certainly don't want to bore you, but Henry, and Anna are two of the most marvelous dogs on the planet.

When I first met them, their size blew me away. Standing next to them was like standing next to small horses, back then, but now I am used to them, and they are not huge to me, anymore, they are just Anna, and Henry to me now. Funny how that goes; it may be much like hanging out with a beautiful woman. At first you are blown away by her looks, but the more you are around her, the more she becomes like a piece of the furniture. Har har. I am kidding here.

I am stalling, right now, as I always stall when I have to change out the turtles' water. I need to get on it though, because I have to "work" tonight as The Reverend at The Atlanta Zombie Apocalypse. There are people, especially young, hot girls, who need saving, and I must be there to save them.

I love when my turtles have fresh, clear water, and they have it right now, because I cleaned out their tank, yesterday. When they sleep, I am scared that they are dead. Their life expectancy is greater than mine. I don't know who I will will them to. Who will love my turtles as much as I do?

Henry is visiting, this morning, again, and he is in a very playful mood. He keeps doing what Morisson often does, sticking his head underneath my arm to pull my hand off of the keyboard, so that I will pet him instead of type. I find this very endearing. I am also amazed by the intelligence that each of the dogs demonstrates with this action. I'm glad that we don't eat dogs, as well as cows.
I'm cooking rice for Anna. Anna, who, in case you don't know by now, is one of the two Great Dane's who lives next door. Henry is the other one. Occasionally, I baby sit these two fine dogs. Anna's stomach has been upset, so her Momma Amber has been adding rice to her din din. I love Anna; she is the regal queen of our scene. At nine and a 1/2 years old, Anna, spends most of her time on her bed, but don't let that fool you: that old dog still knows how to kick like a mule when it is called for.

Something at the front door is disturbing Henry. He is loudly barking out a warning to all assembled. This is mostly good. I mean why not: knowing that there is someone, or something at your front door is a good thing. The problems is that Henry barks at the wind!

My children's mother posted a number of pictures to my Facebook page of me from around the time that my youngest son was born. God was I good looking!

I don't know what has happened; I guess that I have gotten old. Is old as attractive as young? I guess that it would depend on the people who you were comparing. Whenever I looked better really doesn't matter to me. I have never had my shit so together as I do right now, and that feels very good on. When I was young, and better looking, I had massive problems with depression, and booze.

When Henry is here, he drinks the whole bowl of water. The other animals wander up to the bowl, and stare at it morosely, but I won't fill it until I take Henry home, because he will just drink it all up, again, and I don't want him pissing on the floor.

Two people who knew me really well back in the daize when I drank, and smoked pot, and did a wide variety of other drugs from time to time say that I must be high to even consider getting high, at this point in my life: almost 19 years without a drink, or a drug.

Are you promiscuous? I have been promiscuous in my past, but, now, I am monogamous to myself. I love me, and I want good things for myself. Do you love you?

Will you buy me a new computer? The one I have is ridiculously slow. Message me if you can do this.

Tonight is the last night for The Atlanta Zombie Apocalypse. Last night, almost a thousand people came through to be scared silly, to have smiles put on their faces, laughter fill their bellies. I told AZA Creator and Director Shane Morton that I had never been through the event, and he said, "Man you have to. It is awesome," and he cut me loose from my "job" as The Reverend and let me join the paying customers for a bit.

I liken the experience to being on a fast, scary, fun roller coaster. Even though I am part of the show, and thought I knew what to expect, I was still scared silly most of the time. The soldier who lead our group seemed real as hell. The zombies were real. There are several side shows along the way that I won't tell you about because I don't want to ruin it for you.

Head down to Conley, Ga., tonight and experience The Atlanta Zombie Apocalypse. You will smile. You will laugh, and you will be scared silly Conley is about 12 miles south of Little Five Points. There is a good map at The AZA Website.

I know guys who get pussy, but their not happy. I don't get any pussy, and I'm happy as hell, which I guess proves that pussy can't make you happy.

I am boiling some rice for dinner. I have gotten pretty good at boiling rice, though I am better at boiling pasta.

Yoga class, tonight, was incredible. I had not been to a class, nor home practiced in three weeks, due to my "job" as The Reverend.

During class, my instructor actually said, "Mikel, that is looking much better," when we were doing shoulder stand. I guess a break can, sometimes, be good for certain things.

Towards the middle of the class, I found myself thinking about my father, and calculating how long he has been dead. I came up with 26 years, and am amazed that a man who was so much a part of my life for so long, has been no part of it for an even longer time.

"Time waits for no man, and it won't wait for me," sang The Rolling Stones. Ain't it true!

I read somewhere that not eating every morsel of food on your plate is a good habit to develop if you are trying to lose a fat tummy as I am. Tonight, I learned a trick that may help me do this: I fed the last couple of bites to my dogs.

Morisson and Bundy were happy to get the Jasmine rice, and wolfed down the fresh spinach drenched in balsamic vinaigrette. "Jack Sprat could eat no fat," his dogs licked his plate clean. I used to get cold cocked if I didn't eat everything on my plate as a kid. My dad would slap me, and I'm not talking a little love tap here.

But, as I said, my father is long dead, and I am my own man, learning new things still as I go along the road of this beautiful thing called life. I survived growing up with my old man. I have survived being a black out drunk. I am surviving diabetes. Someone is certainly looking out for me. I certainly must have purpose in this existence.

I took the Halloween decorations down, today. The real looking fake skulls and fake not so real looking pumpkins are tucked away their orange container waiting to be released again, a year from now.

Again, this year, I did not get to stay at the house, and hand out candy, to the kids. The need to make a bug usually robs me of this joy, and it did it again this year, though, this year, I signed up for "The Job" willingly.

As I was leaving the building, I put a sign on the front door that said, "Sorry, we are not participating in Halloween, this year." Nobody egged my home. Nobody laid dog shit down in front of my door, and lit it on fire. My karma just be good.

Somebody did steal the mannequin head that I had looking over my garden. It was a fairly creepy mannequin head, and I am, actually, sort of glad that it is gone. The garden sucked, so the creepy mannequin head was not any good for it. Mannequin heads seem to come, and go, in my life. I don't know what it is, but after one disappears, another appears. It is as if I am meant to have a mannequin head in my life.

Am I meant to have love in my life? I'm fifty three. I'm single, and I've never married. Will you love me?

I love the cold that is out there in the air, this morning. A sweater was enough to keep me warm, while I went outside with the dogs, but I could have worn my leather, and been just as comfortable. I much prefer the Atlanta cold to the Atlanta heat, these days, except for the high cost of heating.

I find that I don't have to build my castle that my castle has already been built for me and that I live in it right now.

The batteries that I recently installed in my glucose meter seem to have, already, expired. I don't know what is up with this, but I don know that I am not currently able to monitor my blood sugar level. I will get some new batteries, sometime soon, to remedy this.

I like how, in my life, now, there are always remedies, and they are,usually, simple. Back when I was drinking, things were so complicated. The level of my problems, the level of my unhappiness was so much higher.

I have a friend who I watch drink too much, and I see the lousy consequences in his life, and I wish that I could give him the solution, that he would do what I did that put me on a path to recovery.

They say that everyone has to bottom out before they are ready to get better. It seems to me that I hit many, many bottoms but I kept ignoring them, kept plodding on into more misery, more depression, more problems: legal, work related, and relationship related.

I got thrown out of clubs. I got thrown into jail cells. It has been 18 and 3/4 years since I have had a drink, or a drug. I thank all the people who helped me along the way. God bless you.

Dear God, please keep me off of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes for another day. Amen.

One of the dogs, I think that it is Morisson, has a stomach that is loudly growling, this morning. I am so thankful that I have healthy animals. I am so thankful that, this year, I can afford to buy their tags. Last year, I got their shots, but never could seem to muster the cash to pay for their tags. Being broke in the name of your art is a blessing, because you are getting to pursue your art.

I just fed my kitty, Kobain, a piece of vegggie burger, and he ate it. I did not think that he would. I thought that he was a total carnivore. My how cats will fool you!

After all our "help," after all our money, after all our kids who have died there, NPR reports that Iraq is still fucked up. Oh well, I'm sure that some American corporations, specifically big oil companies have profited, and isn't that all that really matters?

I am going to vote, but I am so unexcited about it. There seems to be no real choices, no real solutions offered. I haven't noticed much of a difference while the democrats have been "in power." Republican, or democrat, the little man, and the little woman are not being looked after.

I'm also headed to Yoga open practice, after I vote. Yoga makes the ills of the world go away for me. Yeah!

Voting was easy because there were hardly any people voting. They failed to give me one of those, "I voted," stickers. Bummer; that's the reason I vote, so that I can show off by wearing that sticker. I never do anything that I don't get attention for. I am an attention whore. Just kidding, or maybe not, depends on you you are, how well you know me, and in relation to what.

The Open Practice session at The Yoga Studio was very rewarding. I am mastering things that used to perplex me. My gut is going down, and doesn't get in the way as much as it used to. I feel very calm, today. Yoga is the way, baby!

I'm trying to put tile in the hallway where the dogs have been pissing. The carpet is a disgusting mess. My buddy, Scotty Valentine, is going to come look at it on Thursday. Scotty is an expert at this type of thing. Maybe he can teach me what I need to do.

The girl behind me in line at Trader Joe's, tonight, recognized me as The Reverend from The Atlanta Zombie Apocalypse. "You're the guy that was screaming that I was going to Heaven," she said. She had gone through the event on Halloween night. I smiled because the only time that I screamed, "You're going to Heaven," was when small kids were in line; otherwise I was shouting, "YOU'RE GOING TO HELL."

I wonder if, one day, I will be a widely recognized Poet, or Horror Movie actor, and more people will say hello to me in the grocery store line?

I'm starting to read, "The Dharma Bums," by Jack Kerouac. Kevin told me that it is a better book than Kerouac's, "On The Road," which I have read twice, many years ago, and remember to be lacking. I don't like the message of, "On The Road," where Kerouac makes it appear "hip," to blow off your wife, and kids, in search of jazz highs with your beatnik buddies.

I'm done thinking that everyone is my friend. My friends are not happy to hear of my success, they want to know, only, if I can get them in, and when I say that I can't, or won't they get mad at me. Isn't this a great way for a friend to behave. I need to pick my friends better.

Today, my endocrinologist was ecstatic over the results of my blood work.

EVERYTHING was way down, and he cut the amount of glipizide that I have to take in half.

"If you continue on this path," he said, "You will soon be on no meds."

I have gone from a fat guy with high blood glucose, eating too much of the wrong foods, and not exercising, to a man losing weight by riding a bike, and doing Yoga, while measuring the amount of food that he eats.

I like the changes that I see in me. I have more energy, don't need to nap as much, and look better in the mirror. I was telling the Doctor how it is funny how people react better to you when you are not fat.

Go figure.

As I was putting my socks on after Yoga class, tonight, I was thinking how several months ago I had an incredibly hard time putting my socks on. In fact, at rehab, I was given this rubber device with a rope attached to it that served well as an aid in getting my socks on.

I took a level 1-2 class, tonight, the first time, in my two years, and two months, of studying Iyengar Yoga, that I have ever ventured outside of a level 1 class. I only had trouble with two things, one of them being head stand, but I know that, with practice, I will, soon, be standing on my head, because, before the many months that I had to take off from Yoga after my hip replacement operation, I was able to do a head stand.

There is this asana called upside down headstand, where you hang upside down from ropes attached to the studio walls that I am also looking forward to doing again.

Yoga is fun, and challenging. I am glad that it discovered me.

I have a new practice in my life. I have already told you that I measure my food before eating it, staying within guidelines tat will eventually help me to drop 67 pounds. Also, I have been writing down every morsel of food that I eat, and assigning to it a value.

Recently, I found an online site that is a great help with this; it is called SparkPeople.com.

Most of the foods that I eat are contained within The Spark People memory banks, and the ones that are not, I enter into the program by reading from the label of the food that is not listed. In this manner, all my foods are counted. Spark People keeps track of carbohydrates, carbs, protein, and fat among other things. I am able to program in the amount of calories that I want to eat in a day, and The Smart People chart shows me how I am doing. It is a really, really great tool for tracking food, and losing weight.

My friend, Lisa Cohen, pointed out another site that does the same thing: fitday.com.

For me, it is great fun to be able to see what I am putting in my body. For so long I just ate whatever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, without regard to proper nutrition, because I did not know what proper nutrition was. A large plate of noodles, or a large plate of rice were often what I had for lunch or dinner, with no regard to having a protein, a fruit, vegetables, or a salad.

I have lost 21 pounds since I started eating this way. I look better, and I feel better. I am also trying to get in a half hour of aerobic exercise 3 to 5 times a week. I have learned that diet, and exercise, are the keys to controlling my weight, and also the keys to keeping my diabetes in check.

Knowledge, as in so many other areas of human life, is the key to weight control, and control of my diabetes. I did not know what I was doing wrong, diet and exercise wise, in the past, so I was fat; and with the fat came many unhealthy things that my doctor put me on meds to try to control. The doctor is happy about my progress, and so am I. Time for breakfast.

Someone told me that it was going to freeze last night, and my online temperature guide from The Weather Channel tells me that it is 38 degrees outside right now, so I am guessing that my friend was correct. I slept with a couple of space heaters aimed at my bed, last night. I am trying to not use the central heat, this year, as it runs the utility bill up to $250 a month, which is not affordable for me.

In line with keeping the bill down, I will not just wear gym shorts around the house, this cold season; in fact, right now, I am wearing a sweater, and sweat pants. I enjoy going around the house half naked, year round, but it just isn't a feasible thing to do if I am trying to save money on the heating bill.

Yesterday, I cut, and pulled up, a huge hunk of the nasty carpet that the dogs have been pissing on. I was planning on buying tiles to lay down in its place, but I discovered that there were tiles already there, below the nasty carpet, and carpet liner.

The tiles look very dirty, but I bet that a nice scrubbing will bring out some shine in them. This was an emotionally, and financially, uplifting thing to have occur. Now all I have to do is pull up the rest of the nasty, piss stained carpet, and hope that the dogs will not move to another part of the house to pee and poop on the carpet there.

Amazingly, my kitty, Jaggar is, now, allowing me to pet him. After four years, I guess that he has finally learned the value of a head rub, and a back scratch.

I always knew that Jaggar would come around to allowing me to show him some affection; and I was always patient with him because I understood where he had come from: the parking lot of a McDonald's where he was found laying on the pavement with his chest caved in, next to his dead mother.

Jaggar was raised by the staff of a vet who I was seeing, years ago, and I knew that his development had been different than other cats. I have always loved Jaggar, even though there has been almost no interaction between us. Not all your children behave the same, and you have to love them all, no matter what their differences.

I was enjoying Trader Joe's Tomato and Basil Hummus Dip, and some Trader Joe's Black Bean, and Corn Salsa, with some Trader Joe's Organic Yellow Corn Tortilla Chip Rounds, when I noticed that my cat, Kobain, had gotten a chip out of the bag that sat on my desk, and was chowing down on the chip.

When he was done with that chip, that he had stolen, I gave him about five more chips, one by one, and he ate each one, happily. Now, he is licking his paws, as I am licking my fingers. The family that eats dip, salsa, and chips together, is the family that stays together.

I am headed out into the cold to The Yoga Studio. My cell phone battery wouldn't charge, this morning, and my computer's router may be down, both showing me how intensely addicted that I am to technology.

I have a 1g connection to the internet with Comcast for $39.99 a month, and I am happy with that, but I was just talking with a salesman at Comcast, and he was telling me how lousy my connection was, and how I could have a better one, cheaper, if I would buy a bundle from him.

He tried to sell me cable t.v., in a bundle, with a faster internet connection, and I told him that I had intentionally gotten ride of the cable at this home because I did not want to watch the news. He then suggested that I break my contract with Vonage, so that I could get phone service with him in a bundle with the faster internet that he said that I had to have.

Salesmen are funny. They try to create needs within you, that don't exist. This guy was pleasant enough, I know that he was just trying to do his job, but he was so far off base. I told him that I was living on an unemployment check, and that every penny mattered. He seemed to understand this, but was still chomping at the bit to make a sale.

Quotas baby, he has to make those quotas!

I'm such a hippy. I am listening to John Lennon's, "Remember," album. Do you know that spell-check does not allow for the existence of the word hippy? At one time, Richard Nixon was trying to not allow for the existence of the hippies, also, or, at least, was desperately trying to minimize their power; especially the power of The Hippy John Lennon.

Does anybody remember the book, "Steal This Book by Abbie Hoffman? I am carrying myself back to Jr. High School, now. Will you go with me?

Thoughts that just came to me: unlock your mind/ the filter in my mind/is getting way behind.

The space heater that I have sitting on a stool next to my desk is blasting too much heat at me. The filter in my turtles' tank is making too much noise. I just read an ad on Facebook that said, "How do you keep your pets from getting obese?"

I think that the answer is the same as with humans: don't overfeed them, and give them plenty of exercise. Neither of my dogs, in my opinion, are fat. I think that one person who visited here, one day, made a comment about Morisson having put on a pound or two. Well fuck 'em.

Someone once visited this home of ours, and called it "a dump," while other people have visited, and have said that it was a nice little place. Who is telling the truth?

I hear Henry walking back, and forth, on the hardwood floor, next door. I'm glad that I don't live below him!

This morning, I might be at a loss for words. Isn't that the silliest thing that you have ever heard: a poet / memoirist at a loss for words? What am I going to do; pick up sea shells under the sun? Why, come to think of it, that might be fun.

There is never a dull moment sitting in my chair at my desk: the cats scratch it, the dogs rub their butt up against it.

Sometimes, my Facebook comments will be random. Often, I will take a lyric from a song that I am listening to, and copy and paste it into my headline, or my comments. It's like doing LSD without doing LSD. That way I don't have to pick up a white chip. Ha ha.

I'm really taking my time scraping the dog shit off the bottom of my shoes that I stepped in about ten days ago. The shoes have sat on the front porch since the day that the incident occurred. It sucks, because those are my favorite shoes, and the ones that are best for my being; they are diabetic shoes. I might muster the courage, now that I have written about the situation, to go out, and do something with the shoes. I guess that I will find a stick, and scrape the poop off the bottom of them. It seems such a waste to just let them sit on the porch.

I'm done playing the star. The bands were great, the audience turn out was so, so which is the story of my on stage life. A different tale about this gig was that I got paid real well. I'd like to thank John Dirga for, as he says, "Looking out for the interest of artists." I can pay the tax for my dog tags, now.

You can write your nasty poems to an invisible audience. You send me notes begging me to reconsider, yet you post a poem saying that I am an asshole. Are you bi-polar unmedicated? Do you need a shrink; some therapy; some of the little pink pills? I was just about to suggest a chat; I had always thought that you were nicer than the average gal, but you're not. You're as petty as the rest of us. Good luck. Good bye. You're not just, now, defriended; you are blocked.


Some say you should throw away everything that you own. There are probably as many theories as there are people. Some say worship God. Some say worship gold. Some say Ford. Some say Toyota. I say be true to your school, in the sense that you follow that inner voice that wants to take you where you are supposed to be.

We have all been taught right, and wrong, and most of us choose to buy into these guidelines. Notable exceptions that come to mind are Ted Bundy, and Charles Manson, but most of us are not brutal killers.

Some say you should throw away everything that you own. There are probably as many theories as there are people. Some say worship God. Some say worship God. Some say Ford. Some say Toyota. I say be true to your school, in the sense that you follow that inner voice that wants to take you where you are supposed to be.

We have all been taught right, and wrong, and most of us choose to buy into these guidelines. Notable exceptions that come to mind are Ted Bundy, and Charles Manson, but most of us are not brutal killers.

My dog, Morisson, stinks, but it is doubtful that he will get a bath, today. I still have the carpet in the hallway to pull up, I want to hang out at The Yoga Studio, and today is, basically, my day of rest.

And so, I have come down to talking about what I had, yesterday, for dinner instead of asking about how many of our kids were killed in Iraq, Afghanistan, or elsewhere yesterday. Part of the problem,or is it somehow, a solution, is that I killed the cable tv here at home.

Dr. Boniface just sent me an email marked, "urgent," that wound up in my spam folder.

It is cold outside, but it is warm in my heart. This weather makes me want to eat, and, sometimes, eating makes me want to sleep. It can be a vicious cycle, if I let it be; mostly I have it nipped in the bud. It is darker outside, tonight, than it was last night. It is darker by the hour that we set the clocks back. Fall is tumbling behind us rapidly; soon we will be marching forward in winter.

This is it. This is what I am doing. This is what I am supposed to be doing. There is no more, and I am blessed to have this.

Have I really woken at 3 a.m. to have a coffee and, then, go back to sleep?

I'm not knocking on Heaven's Door, and I'm not in a hurry to get there, like I used to be before.

On earth, I just squeezed a whole lemon into a cup of hot water that I had microwaved for two minutes, and fourty five seconds, and then added a nice amount of honey, and Cinnamon to. The result is a yum, yum drink that is, somehow, supposed to be good for me.

I horde that which I have stolen, scared that someone will steal it from me. Is it better to have nothing, than to posses things that you don't own? So what of fortunes made off of the back of others? Can I point a finger; will you accept my blame? Some men feel guilty for stealing a soda; some men are comfortable living in a mansion that they did not earn.

When people make fun of you, they are often jealous, and want what you have; but they can't have it, so they get petty, and mean. There is nothing that you can do about this, there is nothing that you can do about the behavior of others, except control how you react to their behavior.

Listening to Bob Dylan sing can be a very soothing thing. I recall Hunter Thompson thanking Dylan for the song, "Mr. Tambourine Man," in the introduction to one of his books. That song is playing right now, and I'd like to thank Bob Dylan for writing it, and so many other great songs. I miss Hunter Thompson. May he be hanging out with Bukowski, wherever it is that we hang out once cancer has killed us, and we have shot ourselves in the head.

I am not you. You are not me, so we should try not to impose our wills upon each other. Oh yeah, there is that thing called the buck which allows you to rape me.

What if I wrote something, and then accidentally deleted it, not remembering that I wrote it, not knowing that I deleted it; would it matter? How would it count in the grand scheme of things. What if that writing was the key to all my other writing, and without it, the rest of my writing would go nowhere beyond me, and this laptop monitor that I so often stare at?

I wanted to plug the space heater that I am now using by my desk directly into a wall socket, and not into a mult-outlet. I think that the heater blew a fuse yesterday, and, in the process ko-d my old laptop, and I don't want the space heater fucking anything else up.

The wall outlet is behind me, which meant that there is a chord laying on the floor that I have to step over in order to get into my kitchen. I figured that I would, eventually, trip over this chord, so I put a towel over it. Now, Morisson, and Kobain, either individually, or collectively, sit on the towel, meaning that I have to step over them to get into the kitchen which is even more difficult, and probably dangerous, than stepping over the chord.

Go figure.

The other day I forgot to bring with me a cup of coffee that I had fixed, and then put in a thermal cup, so when I got home I put the cup in the refrigerator. This morning, I poured the coffee in a regular cup, and microwaved that cup for two minutes. The result was a cup of coffee that tasted good, but that I felt funny about.

Yoga Class tonight with Scott has left me walking on sunshine. Morisson did not take a poop in the hallway , while I was gone, which has me not walking on shit. I had too many carbs for lunch, I think that I am going to skip dinner; hell it's 10:00 p.m., that shouldn't be too hard anyway.

This guy came walking up the sidewalk, as I had the dogs outside. The guy showed no fear of Bundy. Bundy gave him a quick sniff, and then went back to whatever it was that he was doing: sniffing piss, I think.

"Is there a room to rent? the guy asked me.

I told him that there were no rooms in this area for rent.

"If someone had a telephone, I could call these people about a place to stay," he said.

I handed him my phone.

The guy took longer than I thought that he would, so I gathered the dogs, and grabbed my bag
so that I would be ready to go when he was done. As he started to dial what must have been the sixth, or seventh number I told him that I was late for something, and had to go. He gave me my phone, and said, "Thanks."

I thought he was gone, but then he popped back into my reality with a question about two different neighborhoods. I had thought that the guy was Indian, but, now, I wasn't sure. He said something about wanting to be close to the airport.

As I drove off in a vehicle lent to me by a friend, I started wondering if the guy was in this country to blow up things.

It seems that there was something important to write down, but I didn't write it down, so now it has escaped me.

There are a ton of calories in milk, even in 1% milk, and as a large consumer of coffee, I am a big consumer of milk. I eliminated half n half from my diet some months ago, but today I read on my calorie counter that the 1/2 cup of milk that I added to my coffee has 60 calories in it. I am trying to watch the number of calories that I consume, so I may have to do something about this.

I'm waiting for you to make the move, and you don't make the move, so I move on.

I want to kill a pig every day.

I have two eggs left, but it is not really a crisis; I will probably do some grocery shopping in two days. I think that I can survive for two days without eggs. I went to bed without me supper last night, to save on daily calories, and I didn't feel like I had missed out on anything. The strange thing is that I am not more hungry, this morning, than I am any morning when I have had me supper the night before. I have been drinking a lot of water.

My target caloric intake for a day is 1800. I know that it is BAD if I go over this, but what if I am under it, say by 500 calories; is this BAD, too!!

I have two phones, and neither one of them is working perfectly. My cell phone is not taking a charge much of the time. I guess that I need a new charger, but such is really not in the budget. The internet phone that I have is screwing up,also. Messages that it receives are not coming through very clearly. I guess that it is a good thing that hardly anyone calls me.

Even Superstars have to adjust their microphone every once in awhile.

I woke up mad at someone, this morning; I don't know why, but I refused to stay mad. My mornings are a beautiful time, and I want them to be full of love.

I took the dogs for what amounted to be a nice spring walk in early November. Our destination was the home of Wayne Myers, computer genius. Wayne is one of those kids who discovered that he loves computers around the age of six, and has stuck with it until this day; and I'm not at liberty to say how old he is.

Wayne took in my dead computer, yesterday, and within a half hour, injected life into it, and he didn't cripple me with what he charged. I don't know what I would have done if it had come down to my laptop being fixed, or having money for groceries. I am seriously addicted to my laptop.

I forgot to bring the dog poop picker-up baggies with me, today, so there are several large shits out there in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood for you to watch out for. I really hate when this happens. I figure that my karma payback will be that I will soon find my feet in a pile of poop. I hope that it goes no further than that.

Like I said, I woke up in an angry mood, this morning, pissed off at this one particular person; why I am not fully certain. In order to get rid of the anger, I wrote a poem about it, about her, and that, somehow, helped. I have never knowingly used my poetry to kill one of my moods. I have been taught, many times, in the past, that I can start my day over at any time in the day that I so choose, and this is what I did with that angry mood this morning: I erased it, and I negated it to a place where it no longer existed. Pat me on the back, won't you?

There are so many "bums" on the streets of Atlanta; it is oppressive, and depressing. This evil thought came to me, yesterday, while I was sitting at my desk: Don't you understand that it's not my problem; I'm not my brother's keeper. If it comes to me or you going down, it's going to be you. Christ taught a lot of wonderful things, but how many people really listen to him?

Sometimes this homeless thing is overwhelming. I watched a fairly well-dressed kid go from trash can to trash can, as I sat in a friend's car at a traffic light, yesterday. The kid opened the lid to one cup that he pulled out, and drank what was left. He acted like he had just purchased a beverage at Starbucks. The kid is somebody's kids. Maybe his parents are more fucked up than he is. They say that God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I hope that this is correct.

I have not been reading, recently, and I would like to be reading, and I would like to be reading memoirs. The last good book that I read was, "As The Worm Turns," by Brian Rosenberger. I need suggestions, and a loan of the book, if possible.

I'm strapped to my existence.

I can incorporate in Nevada; just saying. I get the strangest emails. Sandy wants to know where I have been, and would I like to see her in her new underwear? Did I know that I can incorporate in Nevada? No, I didn't, and do I care; and I used to date a Sandy, so it is weird to get these weird emails from a Sandy. Anything for a buck, I guess. I often wonder if these email approaches work; I guess that they must because they keep on coming, and they keep on coming back, and back, and back.

Awhile ago, some derelict kids stole my son's motorcycle, and rode it into the ground. Allegedly, one of them got arrested, but we have seen no result from that. I was talking to my son, tonight, and he was saying how he was over it, how getting money to fix the bike from those kids would be like getting gold from a watermelon.

"It probably saved me from being in a wreck on the bike," he said to me on the phone, tonight, and I was impressed with his attitude. I was late in years when I was taught to think like that; such thinking did not come naturally. I told him that that was probably a good thing to do for his karma, he told me that he had to fix something to eat, and we said goodbye.

Gosh, I love that kid.

Henry, the Great Dane who lives next door, but often visits with us, was a bit obstinate, today. I think that he was mad that I was typing, and not showing him full attention. We resolved the situation by opening my front door, walking across the porch, and then opening his front door, and letting him go home to hang out with his great Great Dane mate, Anna, who spent most of the day on her Momma and Poppa's bed. Henry loves to play tug of war with any one of a number of stuffed animals that he has. I love to sit in front of my keyboard and create. And somewhere between the two we, normally, meet but not today. I will see Henry, again, tomorrow, and though I ignored him, today, I certainly love him.

Two things about Thanksgiving: we killed The Indians, and we kill a lot of turkeys to celebrate killing The Indians. We need a pure holiday.

The dogs, and I, almost got killed twice, today. The first time a woman pulled right in front of us, out of nowhere, at a high speed, in a frantic hurry to get in line for fast food. This is how my kitty Jaggar lost his mother, shortly after he was born, and he almost lost me Bundy, and Morrison, today. The second incident involved another woman hurriedly pulling in off the very busy street. There is more to look out for than panhandlers, crack heads, and hookers on Ponce de Leon Ave. these days. The yuppies have moved in, and they are very dangerous, too.

I'm going to Yoga class, tonight. This is my second class this week, as I am making up five classes that I recently missed, over a five week period of time. I just thought that I should tell you this.

My consumed calories, today, were 1793. My goal for each day,until I reach 220 pounds, is 1800 calories. It was a good calorie day.

I would like to think that there is something special about me, but there isn't. I'm just a regular man with all the insecurities that a regular man has. I decided, tonight, to stop looking for a good woman. I want a bad one. Just kidding. I have no money, so why bring the girl of my dreams into such a nightmare. For me it is fine; I am used to it. I am used to paying Peter with Paul. I am used to oatmeal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I am used to being flat broke very near to down, and out. As long as I can write, I'm not all that concerned, mostly, with what is going on around me financially.

I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat. I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat.I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat. I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat. I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat. I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat.I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat. I don't think that an animal should have to be raised, and killed, the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country, so that I can eat.

It was a brilliant day full of incredible beauty. I am so very thankful to have been allowed to breath the air of this day. Yoga wore me out. I am going to bed.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ


This comes from the "This Sucks" Dept.

I was flipping through the postings on Facebook, and I came across a picture of my daughter-in-law with her sisters in Times Square. The picture looked so perfect that it inspired me to type, "Die Yuppie Scum," below it. I was only joking, and thought that she would see the humor in it, also.

Wrong.

She has never typed on my page before, well maybe once, but today she posted this to my front page: "'Die yuppie scum,'might be the rudest thing anyone has ever said to me...as if it weren't enough, to come from a family member. I don't see anything playful about that comment."

Fuck.

Sometimes you catch a punch completely unseen.


Tomi Moore George: Die yuppie scum might be the rudest thing anyone has ever said to me...as if it weren't enough, to come from a family member. I don't see anything playful about that comment.

Mikel K Poet It's an old punk rock joke directed at the nature of the picture, not at your nature. I guess you're not answering your phone, so I left your voice mail an apology.

Tomi Moore George: This picture means so much to me, and the fact that this picture, this trip, the three of us standing there together, occurred bc we met there to remember my deceased brother in law one year later. My phone is downstairs. Thanks for apologizing.

Mikel K Poet: I thought that you would laugh at the statement, cuz you knew what it was all about. Have I ever tried to hurt you? I love you. Sometimes, my judgement, with the several worlds that I have been in, and still juggle a bit, collides, and the result is bad. I do not want a bad result for you, and I.

I am not my writing. There is an edge of fantasy to what I write, at least a bit of fiction mixed in even with the real stuff. I don't know why I am telling you this; now, I can no longer manipulate you.

It is sad that you can't get a job, and just work that job. I wanted to be a coffee barista. I wanted to learn how to make coffees, and sell them to happy, shiny people. I found the happy, shiny people, but I also found that the corporation that paid me as little as they could possibly get away with, while charging top dollar for their coffee, and other products, was ridiculous, ruthless, greedy, and mean-spirited about selling the customer not only a cup of coffee, but whatever else they could force the barista into selling them. What a con.

"Would you like a new car with that latte?" was how it felt.

When I can smell me, I know that it is time to take a shower. When I can smell cat piss in the bathroom, I know that it is time to change the litter in the cats' box that sits near the bathroom sink. When I find a pool of piss in the hallway leading to the bathroom, I have to decide whether to grab my dog Morisson, put his nose in it, and yell at him like I don't love him.

This fall, I am learning the use of sweaters in the house. The last two years that I have lived in this precious abode, I cranked the heat, and ran about the space shirtless, wearing only black gym shorts, and I paid a hefty price for such behavior when the electric bill arrived. This year, I have decided to try to not hand all my money over to the ominous electric company. Wish me luck.



We don't want to be killed

Large SUV's are potential killers
especially for my dogs, and I,
as we walk about city streets
that are pedestrian unfriendly,
especially when the driver has
a cell phone glued to their ear.
You can try to be very careful
but like it is when you ride
a motorcycle, you, sometimes,
can not be careful enough;
idiots abound. I say a prayer
to The Lord for all the injustice
in the world. Dear God,
please make everything alright.

My weight scale is broken, and sits on a table by the front door to remind me to return it. Coming inside, this morning, from being out in the cold with the dogs, who was sitting on the scale but my cat Kobain. This cracked me up.

I was going to buy a chocolate bar, last night, when I did some minor shopping, because at Trader Joe's they have a chocolate bar for 29 cents. I'm glad that I didn't, though, because, this morning, I am craving me some chocolate.

A friend of mine is convinced that she will die a horrible death from smoking because she can't quit, and feels like a low down scumbag because she can't quit. I had the hardest time quitting. At the end, I was, often, coughing blood, I had bronchitis all the time, and a nasty cough. I really feel that I was just one, or two, steps away from having emphysema.

I tried hypnosis. I tried not buying them, which resulted in the development of a, "Hey, have you got a cigarette," habit. I actually got very good at this, refining the query to my specific brand. If you did not have a Marlboro Red, I did not want to bum a cigarette from you.

I also carried a lighter, so that if anyone asked me if I had a light, I could say, "Sure, have you got a cigarette? (Marlboro Red, of course).

Nothing worked. I kept coughing blood, and feeling like the low life piece of shit that my father had always said that I would turn out to be, until...

I realized one simple fact: whenever I quit smoking, and failed, I also quit trying to quit, so the secret for me was to never quit trying to quit until I had succeeded.

I devised this plan where I would set a quit date for Monday. When Monday came I would quit. If I only made it until Tuesday, I did not beat up on myself; I just re-set my quit date for the next Monday. And then I would make it to Wednesday, which was not what I was looking for, but I would not quit trying to quit; I re-used my good old Monday quit date, again.

I did this over, and over, until guess what? I made it. You can't quit tryin to quit, or you will never quit.

You can quit, too. I know you can.

I would like, someday, to be called The Greatest Memoirist Of All Time, which points out two things: 1) My thinking is still fucked. It is still full of grandiose thought, and 2) There is no "Greatest Memoirist." There are a lot of very good ones, known, and unknown, and that is the group that I should shoot to be in.

I heard a new one, today. Writer Erica Rivera reveals in one of her recent blog entries that her ex-husband used to demand that she page him anytime that she left the house. Get out of here. I can't, for the life of me, imagine why he's an ex, can you?

"You're a stinky dog, too," I say to Bundy after he forces himself onto me. When I say, "Go home," Bundy heads to the area underneath my desk. He also heads there when I eat, because I always eat at my desk, and Bundy knows that there will be crumbs falling from my face to the floor. I really need to bath these dogs, and I really need to change out the water in the turtles' tank, but I would rather sit here, listening to The Grateful Dead, typing words that may only be read by a very few people.

New York Times Headline: "Second State Bans Caffeinated Alcoholic Drinks."

Bummer. If I was still drinking I would want to have me some caffeinated alcohol drinks. There is nothing like being wide awake when you are drunk.

I have noticed that I can shake the hand of a man, begin to talk with him in quite an enjoyable manner, and then, when I ask him what his name is, he will tell me his name, and end the conversation. Baby, when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.

Deborah Richardson, a very creative woman, asked me where I sit. Since my butt is located on this chair for most of the day, every day of the week, every week of the month, and, of course, every month of the year, the answer was clear:

Deborah, I mostly sit in this chair at this desk; the cats scratch the back of the chair as I type, and I think, oh my God won't someone think it awful that I sit in a chair that the cats have scratched, the idea being that you should sit in a chair that is not scratched.

I wish that I could be friendly to everybody, but I can't; some people irritate me, and I don't always have my wings, and halo, on. Can I offer you an apology now: excuse me if I hurt your feelings, or say, or write something that you didn't like. I'm not perfect, in fact I'm, actually, not dealing with a full deck here. Does that make it feel any better? I'm a people pleaser. I like for people to like me. That is one reason why I get up on stages and read my poem to folks, but not everbody likes my poems. They mostly don't tell me that to my face, principally I assume because I stand six feet two inches, and stand it in a larger frame. Anyway, everybody should love everybody. I don't think the pink pill is working. I seem to be wavering from point of view to point of view. What should I do? I think that I am going to take a shower, and then do some Yoga. Yoga is always a good answer for just about anything, and I haven't taken a shower in a couple of days. The dogs are starting to get leery of me; they are saying, he's got deodorant in there, but he's not using it. Say away.

I would like to go buy a mouse for my computer, and a memory chip, but my unemployment check not been credited to my account. What the hell is wrong with people? Money due ME is money due me, and there should be no fucking around about it. If I am a little slow to pay then that is a different matter; what's the big hurry?

"Do you know how you master the pose," said my teacher. "You practice it twice a day." Her asanas are beautiful, and she says that, once, she was like me, stiff, and off-balance. The beauty of her poses drives me to want to work harder, so that my poses will, one day, be beautiful, too. Her suggestion gives me knowledge as to how this can be done. Yoga is such fun.

"Darkhorse" 3rd Battalion 5th Marines are fighting it out in Afghanistan, and have lost 9 marines in 4 days. And I sit in front of my computer worried about how many calories I have eaten today... Pray for these guys. Can you imagine the HELL that they are living? Prayer seems inadequate. I feel frustrated. When will soldiers not have to die?

My poems will never be published anywhere. They will die with me. I will be cremated, and they will be thrown out in the trash, with my pots, and pans, with the coats, and sweaters that I loved. They will sit in a trashcan at the side of the road with empty cat food cans and pizza boxes. They were never important.

I throw two kitty snacks on the floor in front of Jaggar; one goes to his left, one goes to his right. Jaggar looks to his right, and then moves towards the snack on his left, and starts eating it. How did he decide which one to eat first?
After I fed the cats, today, Bundy was standing near me, staring at me, like I owed him something. I stared back at him for a little bit, and then went on about my business.

My Yoga mat is out, and Morisson is on it. He finds comfort in simple things, such as the mat, or a towel thrown on the floor. Jaggar is the weird one. He likes to lay on my papers; any papers that I lay on the desk, or throw on the bed.

It is another new day, and I am so very thankful to be here. I have a collection of skulls, most plastic, one ceramic. The ceramic one sits, now, on a table on the porch, The Love Porch, as I call it. I looked at that skull this morning, and I said to myself that it is a reminder of how short life is, a reminder of where I will one day be, a reminder that I must put my nose to the grindstone, and accomplish all that I have been put here to accomplish.

As I was coming out of The Yoga Studio, yesterday, having done a wonderful 45 minute self-practice, I spied an attractive blonde women walking in front of a very overweight, older man, who was walking with a cane. I was fascinated with the woman, of course, but, then, I realized that it was the man who I should be studying, for he represented what I would be, what I would have been, had I not arrested my development in the areas of food consumption, and exercise.

The quality of our life is determined by the choices that we make. In the past, I have been the master of bad choices, and I paid severely for this lousy judgement. I am thankful that my lousy judgment was impaired before it killed me.

All bad things exist in my head. I just got a nice shout out from someone who I thought hated me. I spent all this time in my head having bad feelings about the way that I felt that this person felt about me, and he didn't feel that way at all.

I have been taught in the past that my head is a terrible thing for me, as an alcoholic, to haunt. I am so very thankful that this person showed me the love, this morning. Love is a very powerful, and beautiful thing, and it comes in so many different forms from so many different people. For the longest time, I did not see the love, even when it was standing right in front of me. Today, I am thankful that I can see the light of love when it shines on me.

I pray, today, that my daughter-in-law feels happy. I made her very unhappy, yesterday, by making a stupid comment to one of her Facebook pictures. I was being playful, but she did not see the comment that way at all. I love this young woman, and want nothing but good things for her. I want to be one of those good things. I hope that our love for each other can mend this crack that occurred yesterday. I feel useless, and stupid, about this whole thing. I wish that I could fix it, immediately, and make it go away. Time is a healer, but I want the clock to spring forward more than just an hour.

Tomi, I love you.

I wish that I could play guitar. I wouldn't even have to be a Superstar.

The morning was pure. I cranked out five or six poems, and then slid into a beautiful memoir entry. It doesn't get much better than this for this writer.

Hey Jude is a Great Song. I was looking for The Beatles song, "Revolution," to start my day off to; those schizophrenic guitars function like some sort of manic alarm clock for me, but I found the McCartney sung song first. I usually don't give McCartney much credit, but he nailed it on this song. I want someone to write a song entitled, "Hey Mikel K."

I have two cats. One of them is named Jaggar, and the other is Kobain. (You might already know this).

I have a friend, Skinny Joe Nihiser, who had an Albino Python Snake named Sean who got to be so big that not even The Zoo would take him. Joe died, and they found a home for Sean. Sometimes, life is sad. Joe was a great guy. We used to drink together every day, when I was still drinking, and even though I couldn't hang around him anymore because of the extreme variance of our lifestyles, I still loved him like a brother. In fact, he has a brother, Dave Nihiser, who I love like a brother, even though I have not seen him in years. We should be careful to spend time with those we love; we never know when we might lose them, or when we might move on to the next stage of it all ourselves.

Since money is a little bit tight, this year, and since we kill so many animals each year(billions)to eat, I have decided to kill my dogs Morisson, and Bundy, and eat them for Thanksgiving. All you hardcore bacon lovers are invited over to have a bite of my pets.

There was some sort of an ad, on my Facebook, yesterday, claiming to be able to teach you, "How To Attract Women," on my Facebook page, and it set me thinking: maybe I could attract a meat eater by rubbing some raw bacon behind my ears, a woman who loves money by keeping change in my pocket...

I'm falling. I'm falling in love. NO. I'm falling into the bed for a nap.

Do you do cremations? I am going to be cremated. Well, I don't mean like now, or anytime soon, I hope, but, you know, when IT happens.

One of my cats drooled a little vomit onto the comforter that is new to me; a neighbor who moved out of this building gave it to me, and, now, it keeps me warm on my bed. This is the first vomit that this comforter has experienced since it has been in my possession. A girl I know said that she would not sleep in a bed that was covered by a comforter that had vomit on it. Another girl I now said that a little vomit wouldn't stop her from fucking some guys brains out.

Living with animals, you never know what you are going to find around The Abode. Having dual cats, and dogs, as I do, it is mostly impossible to know who to blame for whatever infraction. I am not really sure if it would do much good to know, anyway. I'll just clean up the puke, and move on with my life

Cats are cats, and dogs are dogs; they mostly do what they do. My turtles, however, are very well behaved. The only complaint that I have about them is that they dirty their water too quickly, leaving me to have to clean it. I have, certainly, been in worse situations in my life. As "they" say, the quality of my problems, today, is high.

God bless us all.

I have a live cd by one of my favorite singers, and the cd is not one of my favorites because the singer spends about two minutes before each song talking. I guess that I should not have bought a live cd.

Computers are not like other machines; they have a mind of their own. One minute a computer will be doing something, like it is supposed to, and the next minute the computer is doing something else; something that, I guess, it wants to do. I am at the mercy of my computers. Sucks.

She likes handsome men, and I am ugly, so I will not reach out a hand to her.

As the cold weather came on, I realized that one of my favorite jackets was not in my closet. I searched up, and down, through all the shirts, pants, and jackets, hanging on the pole in the closet, several times, on several different occasions, but did not find my jacket.

I really like that jacket; it was a denim jacket with a nice lining. It would not keep me warm in the middle of winter, but it was perfect for early fall, and spring, wear. I like older coats, and jackets, more than I do new ones. I like when a jacket is familiar to me. I like reacquainting myself with my coats, and jackets, each year as the weather turns cold.

Last year, I had a job at a bookstore where there was a coat rack, that the employees hung their coats on while they were out there slaving for that minimum wage. I thought that maybe I had left my coat in there, but when I checked it was not there.

Last week, I was rummaging through a box in the bottom of my closet, and I found a pair of denim jeans. Clothing items often fall off of their hangers in my situation. I continued rummaging thinking that I would have to throw the jeans in the washer later. A day or so passed; I picked up the jeans, and discovered what do you think? The jeans were actually my denim jacket. I was so happy.

Annie Hamm: "I would never deny someone sex based on a little puke on the comforter."

E Harmony is offering me the youngest girls with the biggest tits that this old man has ever seen in the Facebook Ads. Beam me up, Scottie.

I'm not planning on dropping soon, but friends are dropping around me, so I know that I will not be here forever.

There are women who I want to / would like to hang out with who I would never want to date.

I wrote a poem about you, about us, about me, but I will never post it.

I bought a double cheeseburger, and a "naked" dog at The Varsity, in Midtown, tonight, and the guy that I bought the trash food from said that I looked like Santa Claus. Where do you go to apply to be the man in red?

Sometimes, when people don't know who you are, they think that you are a schmuck. Well, I'm not a schmuck, and I refuse to be treated like one, so if I am in a situation where some schmuck-like behavior is being directed towards me, I am going to leave, like I did tonight. I would rather be alone on the sidewalk, than surrounded by fools. It feels good to breath the city air, and not have my breathing inhibited by those around me.

She is not what you see in front of you. She is the product of all the years that have gone into her before you met her. You weren't there when what happened to her happened to her. You may never know her. Don't fall for her appearance. Don't let that pretty smile suck you in. There is sarcasm lurking in this woman, a mean streak that has been developed by years of others being mean to her. Take her hand, but take it slowly.

I'm having a dinner party, tonight, and I am excited about it, except for the fact that I have to clean this apartment. The carpet, in this humble abode of ours, is a mess. There is animal hair all over it. I need a high powered vacuum cleaner to stay on top of it; and someone to push the vacuum cleaner around for me. And cook my meals. I'm a simple man. I don't want for much.

We're going to have spaghetti, and I am going to offer two choices of meatballs: veggie, and turkey balls. Well, not turkey balls, but ground dead turkey meat that I form into balls, and then cook.

Balls, is a good word; albeit a weird one, in some senses. It can mean so many disparate things.

Kiss my balls.
Have you seen my tennis balls, honey?

I love how each new day gives me opportunity. I have the opportunity to act on what I learned, yesterday, among other things. Last night, I had a lousy night, but this morning is good. That is one of the beautiful rewards of the gift of life: things are not stuck where they are, and we are, for the most part, not stuck in the same rut for life. We have choices. We can choose to stay stuck where we are, or we can do something about it. My mood can remain somber, bitter, withdrawn, or I can realize that what happened last night does not matter, that it is now that counts.

Let's make our nows count!

I really hate cleaning. I like to live in filth.

As I scurry about the abode with a broom, in lieu, of powerful vacuum cleaner, trying to get the massive amount of animal hair up off of the carpet, my dog Morisson is like, "What's up with this? What is going on here? We never clean."

‎My very good friend, Cyndi Craven, a dynamic singer-songwriter, checked in with this, after I posted that I am a slob: "A feral organism is one that has escaped from domestication and returned, partly or wholly, to a wild state." Cyndi has a knack for being intelligent, and succinct in her postings. I love her.

My cats get really weird when I clean. They get quiet, and they find a vantage point where they can watch me scoop up their hair, along with the dogs' hair. They are somber as they watch. It is as if this hair that is scattered all over the floor is important to them, and that losing it somehow signifies that a part of them is being removed from the space.

I can't keep up with The News. There is so much of it. It is always changing. I, mostly, don't like what they feed me on the tv news, so for now, though I have a tv in my home, it is not plugged in. The local news is really crazy. It is evil. How these people find so many rapes, murders, and home break-ins in my hood, I don't know. I sometimes think that The Journalists, and Camermen must sideline as rapists, murderers, and b and e specialists creating opportunity for themselves, making something for them to talk about, write about, take video of.

I met an artist named Cher by the free sample area at Trader Joe's, this afternoon. I was sampling multiple cups of the free coffee that the grocer also gives away in that corner of the store, when Cher walked up, wearing a large navy colored beret.

I asked her if she was, "In The Guardian Angels?"

A chat about Police States then ensued. (Trust me, most of my conversations in the grocery store are not about why The Americans won't riot like The French just did. Usually, I just ask a gal if her fabric softener is working for her, and we talk about apple sauce.)

Cher was refreshing, not only because she was intelligent, and had an interest in things besides Monday Night Football, and not only was she an artist, but she because was putting her art before money.

And she was paying for it. She was considering selling her eggs to get her next project off the ground.

"They pay you six grand for the first batch, and then eight for round two," she said. I went from telling her that I would not want any mini-me's running around where I could not love them(she told me, "Don't worry, you don't have any eggs!)to wishing I had me some eggs to sell for $1,400 grand.

Gosh, I could get a new laptop with that.

(The dialogue in this story is not the exact dialogue as it occurred. I have paraphrased a bit, one, because it is impossible for me to remember whole conversations, word for word, and, two, for literary affect.)

And by the way, her name really wasn't Cher; it was Elizabeth Taylor.


I get the feeling, today that, if anything did ever work out with this person who I am thinking about, and then quit working out, at that level, that all of her friends would hate me. She hangs around a lot of gay men, and I think that they are very possessive, to say the least, and downright clingy to say something more. I could be wrong. I have been wrong before. I have a lot of random thoughts about many different things during the day. Thanks for letting me share.

I drank enough coffee at our dinner party, tonight, to keep me up until New Year's. The Good Neighbor Amer poured cup, after cup, like she was selling it to me, but she wasn't, and The Dinner Party was a Huge Success. If you are lucky, I might invite you to one in the future.

I've often heard men talk about their dicks, but women don't seem to much talk about their clits. Why is this?

I need a vacuum cleaner, a very powerful one. I need a vacuum cleaner that can pick up the hair from two dogs, and two cats, and two turtles. I need a vacuum cleaner that I can ride like an imaginary witch's broom about my rooms. I need suction like suction has never been. I need. I need. I want. I want.

A great stress point in my existence are the moments where I wait for a page to come up on my computer screen. I get real tense waiting for that website, or that Facebook page, to open up in front of me. I think that the tension, in such situations, rivals that which I feel in traffic in this blue city surrounded by a red state place that I live in: Atlanta, Georgia.

Traffic really blows in Atlanta. My good neighbor, Adam, has been lending me his Toyota while he is on the road with work, and I am so very appreciative of it, but it can be a very fucking stressful thing to drive in this city.

Yesterday, my youngest son wanted me to take him to the great Credit Union, (BOND), that we both belong to. We were in The Haight Asbury District of our city: Little Five Points, where the credit union is located, stuck at a light, when my son looked at me, and said, "This light sucks. I can walk there faster than we can drive. I'll meet you up there," and he jumped out of the car. I watched him walk off for as far as I could follow him, and then I went back to waiting, waiting, waiting in traffic.

When I got to BOND, I saw my son walking in the door. He had beat me to the punch. It is a lousy thing that our "leaders" can't figure out a better way for traffic to flow. Remember that song by Huey Lewis, "I need a new drug?" Well, we need new leaders. Ha ha. I'm not sure how I went from being uptight in front of the computer screen to calling for Revolution, but I did.

We have the Tea Party, and The Coffee Party; I'm starting The Sushi Party: do you want in? We'll figure out our "policies" as we go along, and stop to have sushi, often.

My son, and I had sushi, yesterday. The young man paid the bill. You have to love that when this being that you half created takes care of you, even just a little bit. I love sushi, and I love my son.

I hitchhiked to Atlanta in 1982. I had been in Tallahassee, Florida visiting my brother for a few weeks. He was in law school there, and when the two of us hooked up, there was way too much drinking, and hell raising.

I woke up one morning with a particularly bad hangover, after a particularly insane blackout, and I realized that, if I stayed in Tallahassee that my brother would not get through law school, that I would fuck it up for him, so I took my hangover, and followed my thumb to the largest Southern city near Tallahassee, Atlanta. I had lived in Los Angeles for a year, immediately before coming to Tallahassee, and living in L.A. had killed any desire that I might ever have to live in a small town, again. (To be cont).

I just discovered that my dogs like uncooked tofu.

If all you could eat was pasta for the rest of your life, would you live longer if you ate whole wheat pasta instead of white pasta? (Kill The White Man!)

I think it interesting to note that parents who were very wild often clamp down on their kids, and don't let them do a damn thing. I remember being in the living room of the apartment that my kids, and I lived in when they were young; I was on my computer, and they were watching MTV. At that point in time, MTV had transferred from being a Music Station to a Teach My Kids About Sex Station.

I was exasperated. I didn't want them watching what they were watching, but I knew that they could watch it somewhere else, and I figured that it was better that they were watching it with me present, in case they freaked out, or had any questions. I think that, despite MTV, my kids turned out well.


I have not enough money, and, still, too much of a belly to be pursuing the ladies; yet I do.

You know what always outwits me: ceiling fans. I never know whether to pull the chord one, two, three, or four times to get the thing to stop. I don't know how many times I have looked up to the ceiling to see the fan slowly circulating, having been not turned off correctly. What a waste of my electric bill, I'm sure.


There was a mysterious puddle of brown water on the kitchen floor awaiting me, this morning; yummy with coffee. I think that one of the cats, and not one of the dogs, is responsible for this mess. I will have to check the kitty litter box. Often, cats give you strange signals that that you need to clean their box, like if they think that it is full they will start pissing on your kitchen floor in the exact spot that you stand every morning, and fix yourself coffee.

"Today is the greatest day," sing The Smashing Pumpkins on my computer, this morning. (Pandora is a nice thing). I'm not sure of the rest of the lyrics to this song, but I sure relate to those five words. Every day that I am alive, and breathing the air, is the greatest day.

There are certain times of day for certain things; I was just going to edit the interests page of my Facebook, but I realized that it was morning, and that that time is supposed to be devoted to writing, and basically, nothing else. If I do not write in the crisp, fresh, wide-awake morning hours, as I have been doing for so long now, I might not do any writing during the day, as I get involved with other things, such as editing Facebook pages.

Thanksgiving looms close; it is a week from this Thursday. I will eat meat, turkey and ham, obviously, for the first time, in two years, on this holiday. For the past two Thanksgivings, I was not eating meat. I do not like the way that animals are raised, and killed in this country. (I know nothing about how they are raised, and killed in other countries).

I was anemic most of the time that I was not eating meat, but I felt better about myself as a living thing. I don't think that we, as living things, have to eat other living things to survive. Maybe we had to back in The Caveman Daize, but we have evolved. I am giving thought to going back to not eating meat after Thanksgiving.

I see tortoises rip the shit out of pigeons, pull them into the pond, and eat them. I watch, on videos, on the internet, lions eat, and kill, everything that is around them, and it seems natural that animals eat animal, but are men, and women, animals? Are we pigs, or no better than pigs, if we eat everything that is around us?

Enough on this, fow now; I have to piss.


I need to eat slower, or among other things, I will choke to death while eating. I developed the habit of eating too fast, while I was developing the habit of eating on the run, as a waiter. There was never, it seemed, time to sit down, and enjoy a meal, even though I was around so much of it in the restaurant business, and there was always food to snatch from the kitchen, or off of a customer's plate, that needed to be consumed before such was inspected by a restaurant manager, or a customer.

"No mam, the menu said that there were 8 succulent, bacon covered shrimp on the plate, not 9!!"

I never had a customer notice a missing shrimp, or some missing fries, on their plate in the decade, or so, that I brought them their food. And no manager ever caught me scarfing food either. One did catch me giving a beer to another employee, and fired me, and that was a bummer because I really dug that job.


Try walking in my shoes. I just walked in dog shit, and they're not dry yet. Yogi Masters in India build floor of dried feces; my carpet is dirty, but not that bad(conceptually); for what do I know, I'm just a guy walking in dog feces.

I'm listening to music; content, but the thought of marmalade invades my mind. I can make it tonight without it, but how will I feel tomorrow?

Most of the writing that I did today was poetry. It seems that a day is either made up of poetry, or it is made up of memoir entries, and that it is, rarely, made up of both.

I bought groceries, tonight, but when I got home I found that I had nothing to eat for dinner. I pulled out the oatmeal again, added water and salt, and sliced a banana into the medley and had myself the dinner of champions.

Some songs just shouldn't be played acoustically.

I still have the teddy bears that my children lost interest in as they grew up. My plan always was to present those teddy bears to my grandchildren, but the teddy bears became so covered in dog and cat hair that I had to think again about that plan. I gave them to the dogs, instead. The dogs were damn glad to get them.

Sometimes, I can write to music, and sometimes I can't. I find it easy to write to music that I am familiar with, but if I am playing tunes that I am unfamiliar with I have trouble getting the words out.

Bundy, and Henry, are particularly frisky, this morning; I can't much get them to stop barking at the front door. No one who walks by escapes their loud admonishments.

Henry, and Morisson, are particularly needy, today. When Henry is not at the front door barking, he is under my arm with a stuffed bear trying to get me to play tug of war, while Morisson is at my other side, nose at my elbow, trying to pull my hands off of the keyboards. I am blessed to have these dogs about.

I can't take Tae Kwondo or Jiu Jitsu because I have had hip replacement surgery. That's ok, I can still have peanut butter for dinner.

I am high by being at peace having come from a challenging level 1-2 Yoga class. Most of the asanas that I did, tonight, I had to use bolsters, or blankets to get into. My mind had no time to wander as my instructor took me through asanas that are new to me. It is funny how a challenge can be fun. I can't wait until my next class.

It is 10 p.m. and I am going to try not to eat anything else, tonight. I had a nice dinner before yoga class, and that should hold me over until tomorrow. I am learning how not to eat all the time, how to not crave food all the time. It is funny, in my life, I go from one thing to another that I muse eliminate, or moderate: first there was the booze, then there was the cigarettes; I have had to work on anger, and depression, and, now, I am learning, finally, to eat correctly. What will be taken from me next: sex? Ha. You can't take that from me because I ain't having any!

I'm out of my cone filters, the ones that I use to brew coffee Melitta style, so I used the regular old top loading filters that fit into my coffee machine. When I brew my coffee Melitta style, I only make one cup at a time, and it takes about ten minutes to make it, including the five minutes, and forty five seconds, that it takes to boil the water in the microwave. Brewing coffee my old fashioned way, in the coffee maker, I have several cups of coffee when the machine is done, so I am, now, tempted to have a second cup of coffee, this morning, when, usually, I am satisfied with one cup when I brew the coffee Melitta style. I guess that it is just more of a hassle than I am normally willing to go through to get that second cup, when I am brewing coffee Melistta style, and, also, I am trying not to overdose on caffeine, these days. That is my coffee story, for this morning, and I am sticking to it.

I'm out of my cone filters, the ones that I use to brew coffee Melitta style, so I used the regular old top loading filters that fit into my coffee machine. When I brew my coffee Melitta style, I only make one cup at a time, and it takes about ten minutes to make it, including the five minutes, and forty five seconds, that it takes to boil the water in the microwave.

Brewing coffee my old fashioned way, in the coffee maker, I have several cups of coffee when the machine is done, so I am, now, tempted to have a second cup of coffee, this morning, when, usually, I am satisfied with one cup when I brew the coffee Melitta style. I guess that it is just more of a hassle than I am normally willing to go through to get that second cup, when I am brewing coffee Melistta style, and, also, I am trying not to overdose on caffeine, these day.

That is my coffee story, for this morning, and I am sticking to it.
Someone is using a leaf blower in the vicinity of my ears. I hate those things. They are obnoxious. I am often scared, when I am walking near one, that a nail, or a penny, will shoot out from under it, hit me in the head, pierce my brain, leaving me speechless, a vegetable for life.

What ever happened to raking the leaves?

Henr, the Great Dane from next door, is trying really hard, this morning, to get a game of tug o war begun with me. He often does this, and if you commence to tug at the stuffed animal in his mouth, you will never get away from him because, once started, Henry thinks that the game is eternal.

When I was in college for the first time, I had the greatest roommate for my freshman year. For the first few months, we were just roommates, polite to each other, quiet when the other was in the room. After a bit, though, we started to talk. And, then, we started to drink together. And, then, he taught me how to smoke.

My father had always blown immaculate smoke rings from the pipe that he smoked until The Surgeon General's Warning about tobacco, and its devastating effect on your health, came out. (He later started sneaking into the garage to smoke same pipe, I guess thinking that we, the rest of the household, were blind, stupid, or both).

My dorm mate could blow immaculate smoke rings from his cigarettes, just like my dad could, and sitting in the dorm room getting drunk with my dorm mate, one afternoon, I talked him into showing me how to blow smoke rings.

He did, and for the next twenty years, I blew immaculate smoke rings out of nearly every cigarette that I smoked. I got hooked quickly, did not realize that I was hooked until the end of my smoking when it was so very hard to quit.

Cigarettes suck.

My dorm mate's mother was confined to a bed, completely invalid, not from smoking cigarettes, but from being hit in the head with an object that flew out of a lawnmower that had been in operation near her. Since I became aware of her, and what had happened to her, I have always been paranoid about walking near lawn mowers, and other machines that blow, cut, or suck things from the ground outside.

I have this turkey, and stuffing, leftover from dinner with Danielle, yesterday, that I am trying like Hell to not eat before lunch time. I am not doing well, though; I keep opening the refrigerator door, opening the container in which the food is housed, and sneaking another little bite of turkey, or stuffing, out.

I love Thanksgiving. It is a chance to get together with my kids, and the beautiful extended family that I am a part of. It is also a chance to eat. And eat well.

I did almost an hour and a half of Yoga, today, at The Studio. I incorporated some new things into my routine, things that I learned last night, stretches that I need bolsters, and blankets to pull off.

It is like I am starting over again by taking a level 1-2 class, as opposed to a level 1 class, but this time I know that there is light at the end of the tunnel, that if I persevere I will not master, but come to be one with the poses.

I need to start riding my bike, again. I use the excuse that it is too cold to ride. I need the calories gone that riding my bike will rid my body of.

I was fixing to have some corn for lunch, today, when I dropped the container that contained the corn. The cats were all over it, appearing to be eating hardily, but, of course, it was the dogs who finally cleaned all the corn off of the floor. Sometimes, these animals come in handier than a vacuum cleaner.


So, I'm all done calorie-wise for the day; but... I have this bag of roasted, and salted, peanuts that keeps calling out to me: comfort food. These peanuts, like chocolate, ice cream, and a number of other delights that I would constantly succumb to has to be banished, has to be not bought, has to be not brought in this abode.

The leaves are brilliant, this morning, both the ones still in the trees, and the ones covering the ground. The sun is spectacular, throwing light upon the leaves as if each leaf was an actor, and the sun was the light from a spotlight being aimed at them by talented lighting personnel.

Are the leaves being lit by God; is God the handy lighting person aiming the sun at our earth? Who is God? What is God? Does anyone really know? Is faith not but an abstraction, albeit a miraculous one for those of us in its possession?

I hated Lima beans as a kid, I used to hide them in my mouth, and spit them out in the upstairs toilet, so that my father wouldn't hit me for not cleaning my plate because he and my mother worked hard to put that food on my plate. I still hate Lima beans. My parents were Catholic, Irish-Catholic because they immigrated from Ireland, and they went to Church every Sunday that I lived with them, and dragged me along. How boring. I never understood a single thing that was going on in that church. I did understand the collection basket.

The Church gave each family that went to Church numbered envelopes for to put our donation in. I guess by numbering them, they could keep record of how much each family gave. The more you gave, the closer your relationship to God, I'm sure.

As if it wasn't enough to give one envelope to each family, each kid got an envelope, too. Were they soaking the families for every penny that they could, or brainwashing the kids into proper envelope usage at a young age? I don't know. I do know that, one day, as I was sitting in the back seat of my father's car(and note that I said my father's car, and not the family car. My father made it clear to me that it was his house, his car, his couch etc.)I dropped my envelope, complete with my donation down behind the seat, and could not get it out.

I freaked out. Certainly I was going to Hell, and if not the real Hell that I was being taught about in The Catholic School that I attended, then I was going to wind up in a Hell created by my father, and or a Priest, for losing my envelope.

I found a piece of paper in the car, and folded it into the size of my missing envelope. When the basket came around, I palmed that paper, and tried to act like I was dropping it in the basket. The guy passing the basket, took the paper from my hands, looked at me funny, and then went on collecting envelopes from the other folks gathered,

After church, my father asked me what had happened, and I told him. For some reason, he decided not to bust my nut on this one. Relief was certainly with me then.

My turtles have clean water, this morning, because I changed their water, yesterday. I love when my turtles have clean water; everything is so fresh, and clean in their tank, and it is a even more of a wonder to watch them wander about when there is not sediment impeding my view.

I think that I may have been feeding the turtles too much food, and that is the reason that their tank has been getting dirty so fast. I am, now, counting out ten pellets for them, twice a day; ten is the number that the good man who sold me the turtles said to feed them. I have gotten in the habit of pulling out a pinch of food, and dropping it in their water. Bad habits are easy to form. I am breaking this one.

My cats are on high alert because Dude the Dog is spending the night, and Dude is not trustworthy, when it comes to cats. The cats have headed for high country, one of them has jumped up on top of the turtles' tank that sits next to my desk, having just hissed at the dog from my desk. There is a chain reaction to all this; the turtles have gotten quiet, and have quit moving around; all their attention is focused on the cat who is sitting on top of their home for the first time ever.

I'm having oatmeal for dinner, at 10:15 pm. The cats just had a snack, they both came to the floor for that. Dude thought that that was his opportunity to commune with them, but he was wrong: Jaggar hissed at him, and I told him to back off. Poor Dude, just wants to have a cat for a snack!
It's a great new day; I started it by stepping in dog poop in the hallway leading to my bathroom, as I was heading, very groggy-eyed, towards taking my morning pee.

Then, I couldn't find my cell phone.

I get frantic when my cell phone is missing, just like I do when my internet service is interrupted. I said my morning prayers of gratuity, though, thanking The Lord for letting me see yet another new day, and asking him to guide me in thought, word and action.

A calm came over me, and I soon remembered where my cell phone was.

It was in the pocket of a pair of sweatpants that I had thrown on because Dude had run off late last night, getting through two doors in this old house to do it. Thankfully my neighbor, Carlos, was walking his dogs, and Dude came bounding up to them, allowing Carlos to grab him. I had run home and thrown on some warm clothes, and some shoes, instead of the slipper/sandals that I wear in the house, and I heard Carlos talking to Dude as I approached them.

I was so relieved. I did not want to have to call Kevin, Dude's owner, and friend, and tell him that his dog had run off, and I could not find him. Dude was just visiting for the night, while Kevin drove north to Alabama to have an early Thanksgiving with his mom, and her husband.

It was kind of Bundy's fault that Dude got out of the house, because Bundy had taken off, heading into the night for his almost nightly, now, walk without me down the street. I had left the porch door open for him to get back in, as I always did when Bundy ran off, and as I was letting Bundy into the apartment, Dude slipped out, and found the patio door open for him.

Dude is like Morisson used to be, and like Bundy kind of is now: he is a bolter. He likes to get out into the great wide beyond at any opportunity given him. I plan to give him no more opportunities.

Dude and my cats, Kobain, and Jaggar were standing next to each other, on the floor, near my desk, this morning, which is amazing, because when I went to bed,the cats were perched in high places in the apartment, hissing at Dude whenever he came close to them. The cats were waiting to be fed, as they usually are in the morning. Dude was probably amazed to find him them down at his level. The cats ate, and then returned to their high places.

According to my neighbor, the Landlord paid over three thousand dollars for water in this old house that houses my apartment, and others, so today he is coming over with the water dept. to, as I understand it, rip up / lift up all the toilets in the building trying to figure out where all the water is going.

It sucks that I have a third dog over here: Dude; but I know that I won't get evicted over it. Our landlord is pretty flexible with animals, as long as you pay a pet fee on them, and pay your rent on time. I am luck in that I have two cats, and two dogs, and I only paid one pet fee. I didn't think about the cats, when I was telling him about my pets, conveniently for sure, when I was signing the lease, and Bundy wasn't supposed to move it with us. I was going to find a good home for him, but one took its sweet time materializing, and by the time it did, I was hooked on Bundy, and couldn't see giving such a bi-polar dog with special needs to a stranger.

I just cleaned my bathroom, head to toe, since the landlord is going to be in there for awhile. This is only the second time in the two years, and two months, that I have lived here that I have cleaned that bathroom that well. The other time was for a birthday party that I held for myself, earlier in the year. I sometimes clean the sink, often clean the toilet, but hardly ever mop the floor, or clean the tub. Come to think of it, I didn't clean the tub just now. I figure that the water that runs out of the shower head every day takes care of that for me.

Dude is not my dog, but he will sit, and shake, when I ask him to. This causes Morisson, who mostly stays away from Dude, to come sit near Dude and offer me his paw also. I love Mo so much.

I just realized that the cats, mostly, pick a spot where I am between them and Dude. I would think that this makes them feel safe, because they are sure that I will not let anything happen to them at the hands of Dude. And they are right. Kobain is resting on top of my printer which sits to the front of me, as I sit at my desk, and Jaggar is on my deks, sleeping on the pile of papers that have accumulated there.

Dude will be going home this evening, and things will go back to normal. I wonder if things would ever normalize if Dude were to become a permanent part of our family. I am glad that I do not have to find out.


I find it interesting that it is usually male "friends" who have something to say derogatorily towards what I do on these pages. It seems that to them I reveal too much. Hmmmmmmm my reply: don't read it. I am a memoirist, and a poet. I offer snippets of my life. I'm happy with that. I hope that you are, too.

Pictures can cause trouble, I learned the semi-hard way, the other day. If men you know see you in a picture with a woman that they find attractive, they are not going to be happy for you; they are very likely going to get jealous, and wish that it was them in the picture.

Oh well.

I'm still going to have pictures made with people.
I need to re-think my "friends."



My dad said, "Fuck."

I say, "Fuck."

My kids say, "Fuck."

If you don't want your kid to hear the word "fuck,"
stay the FUCK away from us.


I am going to work more on me. I really am.

We're on the road to Etowah, Danielle, Sandy and I.

We had a nice salmon salad, courtesy of Sandi, before we got started, at her house, where we met her dog Hala. Hala loves to chase sticks, and pine cones. Hala is addicted to chasing things, and bringing them back to you. What a fun little dog.

Sandi has three cats, who all hid from us: Basil, Sissy and Momma. Momma is mother to Sissy and Momma. Momma is daughter to Big Momma who was abandoned when a building in the area was torn down. Momma had a brother, Thumbs, but he got run over when he wandered too far from home to the highway. Thumbs liked to wander, though, and died living the way he wanted to live, which is, of course, a blessing.

Sandi, and her man Romin, have an incredible rock collection, full of rocks that they dug from the ground themselves.

The traffic sucks on the Way to Etowah. It is three days before Thanksgiving, and many people are heading north, south, east, west to spend the holiday with loved ones. Sandi says something about a police officer hiding in the median up ahead. The state has to buy their turkey, too.

We are headed to Indian Burial Grounds by the Etowah River, near where the Pumpkin Vine Creek dumps into the river, near a fish weir built ages ago by the Indians, says Sandi.

"What's the speed limit?" says Danielle, who is driving. No one was sure.

"Don't rain," we say out loud, mimicking each other, sincerely. It is overcast.

The leaves on the trees, lining the highway, here in north Georgia, are brilliant.

"Sometimes, we see coyotes on the side of the road," says Sandi.


We get to the burial grounds and there is a chain on the fence. A sign says that the place is closed on Tuesdays. We were bummed, but Sandi lead us on a further adventure. She found another path to follow, and we followed it until we felt rain.

"It is good to get out of the city, breath fresh air, and clear your mind," said Sandi, and I agree with her. We didn't walk the path that we wanted to, but we did walk a path. Any path is better than no path. I really enjoyed my day. The girls, and I, agreed to find another path to follow, soon.

Happy Trails to you.




Henry, and Anna, the great Great Danes from next door are visiting, and they will be visiting a lot until Sunday because I am dog sitting them!

Anna is content to crash on the floor by my bed: low maintenance. Henry has to bark at other dogs that walk by our door, and likes to come and stick his nose under my arm, trying to pry my hands off the keyboard, so that I will give him attention!

I'm going to cook a Green Squash Casserole, today, to bring over to the kids' mothers' house, tomorrow, for T Day. I am also going to make some mashed potatoes. I love T-Day: such a great chance to hang out with my kids, and the family that I landed in, after leaving/being kicked out of the family that I grew up in.

I have The Grateful Dead playing on GrooveShark.com. I can write well to them.

What are your plans for tomorrow? Are you cooking?

I don't know where to start, this morning, so I am going to take the easy way out, and talk about the dogs first. I grabbed the leashes, this morning, as I let the dogs out, deciding that we would take a short walk, instead of just hanging out on our front lawn. It is my thought that the dogs may be pooping in the house because they are not being given enough time outside, when we go outside, which would, technically, make their pooping in the house my fault, but not their peeing.

Bundy bolted the minute he got outside the porch door. He headed south, like he has been doing, and was out of site almost immediately. Morisson walked obediently at my side, as I headed off after Bundy. I caught up to Bundy, and put the leash on him. I oould tell that he didn't like this new found lack of freedom, on what had become his turf. From now on, I am going to put the leash on Bundy on the porch, so he can't bolt. I usually don't like to put the leash on him on the porch, because he gets excited, and pees, on the porch, and I have to clean it up. You do what you have to do, though, and every day with these dogs is a new learning experience.

I got into an argument with an old friend of mine, recently. What it was about I will keep private, but the result is that I learned something from it that will, hopefully, make me a better friend to him, and others.

I am all about people letting me have space to air my grievances, to bitch, as it were about what is pissing me off, but I am not always so generous myself about giving people the same space. Well, fuck 'em I think, but, today, I don't like my way of thinking on that, and I am going to try and change it.

Thich Nhat Hhan talks about mindful listening, where you listen with love, and care, to what another human being has to say. I am going to try to be more mindful. I am going to try not to tell people to fuck off when they have anger towards me. I really am.

What did you say?


It was a beautiful day out, yesterday, so I headed to the park with the dogs. I had it in mind to maybe get in some distance, but Bundy killed that with his intense fascination with EVERY dog that walked by. My legs felt good when we were done, so maybe Bundy did me a favor by not letting me overdo it.

I told someone the other night that I was a jock when I was in high school, but I think that that is a misnomer: I was an athlete, not a jock. I played tennis. I played basketball. I ran track. Athlete, not jock; I just wanted to clear that up.

I was also the sports editor of the school newspaper. Every monday morning, during football season, I would go to the head football coaches office, and ask him how he like his teams' performance that past Friday, and what was it looking like against the opposition this coming Friday. I loved writing, and I dug interviewing people, so this gig was a natural for me.

My favorite interview, though, came during chemistry class. Coach Rod Drake was our chemistry teacher, and he was also the coach of the jv football team. I would let Coach Drake talk football for about ten minutes, and then I would raise my hand, and ask Coach a question about the JV team.

Coach Drake would put his chalk down, and start talking football, and though football wasn't my favorite sport, I did prefer hearing about it over listening to talk of chemistry.

With about ten minutes left in class, Coach Drake would suddenly launch back into chemistry, and cover the essentials of the chemisty lesson quickly.

I'm here, and I'm ready for love are the lines to a poem that come to mind, but am I. Am I really ready for love?


I've got milk; therefore I can make coffee, and I am happy. I am doing Yoga on The Love Porch, playing Indian Music as people come home from work, and school. The dogs are with me on the porch, and they are happy



The turtles' light just went out. This is a premature action on the part of the bulb; it should have lasted longer. Mo, n I, are in for a walk to the pet store. Bundy can't go because he has psychotic separation anxiety issues. This means that he pitches a fit if I leave him anywhere, and try to take care of business. He'll have to stay here, and guard the abode. Watch out for Bundy, if you are breaking in; he doesn't mess around.

My Mamannette's Vanilla Pudding is made, and is in the refrigerator chillin' until lunchtime tomorrow! Yoga tonight was challenging, and fun; not a minute to think about anything else for an hour, and a half, but the Yoga business at hand. I think that I am going to make my Green Squash Casserole in the morning. I am tired now, and want to relax. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!

I got The Big Lebowski, Dawn of The Dead, and the three Pirates of The Caribbean movies, as a Thanksgiving Gift from my oldest son, yesterday; what fun!

Thanksgiving 2010, was a very beautiful day. I got to hang out with Elliot, my grandson, his mother Tomi, and his Dad, Zero, for a bit, as well as with my other kids, Scout, and Graem, their mom, G2, and their Dad figure, Andy, his mom, and dad, Susanna and Andy, and our dear family friend, Bev.

Of course, we were blessed too, with great food, besides Great Company.

For me, Thanksgiving is a day to give thanks for what I have, a day to spend with family, and friends, and not a day to bemoan The Evils done to the Indians, and Turkeys. Lousy attitudes about this, and other holidays, never do anything for anyone, including the Indians, and the person(s) with the lousy attitude. I like to see things done / steps taken to rectify things, not just a bunch of whining that makes the person feel like they are, somehow, rectifying what can't be rectified.

Some sort of a weird bug/cold made it's way into my body, late Thanksgiving Day. It was of the cough, scratchy throat, runny nose variety. I took some cough medicine, and Ibuprofin, before I went to bed, and I slept in late, today, and that seems to be helping. This is the second sickness that I have had in several months, and I, usually, never get sick.

All my side dishes, at G2's Thanksgiving dinner, were a flop, except for Momannette's Nilla Pudding. G2 already had a Squash Casserole, and Mashed Potatoes, so mine weren't needed, and nobody seemed in the mood for a Tomatoe Cucumber Salad. Oh well. I know what I am eating for the next several days.

I have been hitting on the leftover Momannette's Nilla Pudding...HARD. I had some at 4 a.m., when Henry woke me, barking, and nudging my hand, with a stuffed bear, trying to get my hand to engage in a very early morning game of Tug of War. Go to Hell, Henry!! I also had some around 8, when Henry woke me, again, this time at a fair time, and I took him, and his sister Anna, outside to take care of biz.

I need to buy a battery for my glucose meter. It has been dead for several weeks, and I especially need to keep an eye on my blood sugar level through The Holidays, when there should be lots of great food to eat.

I am thankful for good food during The Holidays, but I am more thankful for my family, and my friends. I hope that all of you have a safe, and blessed, Holiday Season.

I am having the most wonderful tomato and cucumber on romaine lettuce salad with strong hints of garlic powder and black powder while listening to The Jerry Garcia Band. I have to bust out my Christmas music soon, and will be putting up The Christmas Lights soon. I love Christmas, and I Love Christmas Lights.

I am feeding The Dogs my leftover salad, Morisson, and Bundy love tomatoes, and cucumbers soaked in balsamic vinaigrette, and Henry is making nice headway on some tomatoes from The Salad, I don't want to feed Henry too much of this, though, as he tends to have a tenderer constitution than my dogs do, and I don't want to be, soon, wiping up stinky Henry poo from my floor.


Soon, I'll take some cough medicine, and off to my bed I'll go. That is not stopping me from having a coffee, right now.

Today was a very pleasant day, but there is nothing more to tell you about than I have already told you about. Did you go shopping today? What do they call it, "Black Friday?"

What a horrible name for a shopping, or any other day. It should be a tribute to people like Adolf Hitler, and Charles Manson, and not the day signalling the start of the Holiday Shopping Season.

If I was in charge, things would be different!

God Morning, finally, at 11:28 a.m. on a beautiful, beautiful Saturday. God Bless us all.

The dogs, Anna and Henry, had me up a couple of times earlier in this great day, but I didn't have to stay up long: they did their thing, and that was that! Anna is laying down on our carpet, right next to my bed, and Henry is barking at something, or someone passing by in front of our house; typical behavior for both dogs! We just had a snack; the dogs love that. My dogs, Morissson, and Bundy are in their usual positions, Mo underneath my seat, and Bundy underneath my desk.


I don't know, fully, what lays ahead, today, but I know that I am looking forward to it. I hope that your day is brilliant, too!

I keep trying to tell myself that I do, but really I don't feel any much better. This cold has, pretty much, got the best of me.


Herbal tea is more soothing on an ailing throat than is coffee and one percent milk.


The lights are up. Unraveling them wasn't much fun, and one of my three remaining strands, the red ones, don't work. That leaves one white strand, and one multi-colored strand. It seems as if I used to have much many more Christmas decorations, but I am down to one box full. I guess what I have is what I need.

I am being driven from this home with a cold to get cough syrup, cough drops, honey, and cat food. What a day to run out of cat food. The cats are relentless, they don't care that I am sick, they just care that I have put nothing in their bowl so far, today; no wet cat food snack, that is...they have a full bowl of dry cat food.

I have just sucked on a Ricola Natural Herb Cough Drop, done a shot of Ny Quil, and am now sipping on a hot lemon, honey, cinnamon beverage that is supposed to help fight colds. I was thinking back on my week, and on Thursday, I felt fine, so this ailment has been with me for two days now. I am ready for it to be gone.


I feel much better today. I'm not sure if I am still sick, or if it is just some sickness lingering. I am finding that there is an art to using space heaters to hear your abode, as opposed to just pushing the lever on the central heat.

One of the cats, Jaggar, I think, woke me up around 4 a.m by knocking over a casserole dish that was sitting on my counter waiting to be washed. I got up and cleaned the mess up off the floor right then, because the crash occurred near the animals' water dish, and I didn't want a cat, or dog, to walk on the mess and get a splinter in their foot.

It is Sunday morning, so I am starting the day off by playing the song, "Losing My Religion," by R.E.M. Makes sense to me.

Since it is Sunday, there are a lot of people walking their dogs down our street, and in front of our abode, which gives Henry a lot of targets to bark at. And bark at them, he is. I want to throw something at him, and tell him to shut up, but it, mostly, wouldn't work. Henry would think that the thing that I threw at him was meant to be used to start a game of tug o war, and yelling at him just wears me out, and only works rarely.

My cats are much happier with me, this morning, than they have been for the past several days. My flu coincided with there being no wet cat food in the house for them, and this they did not like. I was subject to loud meowing, for the past couple of days, as I tried to swallow cough syrup, and fix some herbal tea for myself. These cats have no mercy. They cared not that I was sick.

A lone cockroach was walking across my desk, this morning, when I turned on the light to begin the day's writing. I half-assedly tried to squash him with my hand, but not really wanting squashed cockroach on my hand this early, I let him escape. He came back about ten minutes later; I swatted him to the ground, and crushed him with my foot.

You don't see cockroaches around this home much anymore since I squeezed that cockroach killing stuff into all the places that the directions on the box that held the cockroach killing stuff told me to. The cockroach that I just killed seemed a bit disoriented; he ran towards me, instead of away from me. Time to have some breakfast, now.

Mr. Anti-Social Cat Jaggar has taken up two new "social" practices that I am pretty sure that I am not crazy about. The cat now climbs up my chair, and hangs out at the top of it, while I am writing. He also sleeps on, or between, my feet when I am in the bed.

For a cat who has ignored me for so very long, these are like breakthrough behaviors, but they are not, for me, the most comfortable behaviors to have to endure. When he lays down on my feet, as I am sleeping, I feel very claustrophobic, and when he camps out near my head on the chair, I am scared that he is going to scratch me. I am sure that Jaggar, and I, will come to some sort of happy medium on these things. We always have.

Santa and his elves were arrested at a bank south of The North Pole while trying to rob it. Santa said, "I was only trying to make Christmas happen for all the boys, and girls. The tight economy has left us with no cash for presents for the kids, and we were just trying to take from those who had extra."

The power went out for about 30 seconds waking me from a pleasant sleep. I reset the clocks in the abode immediately; I hate to not know what time it is. As I reset the clocks, I saw that it was 6:am, a good time to get up make the coffee, and feed the animals.

My nose was stuffed, so I pulled out my neti pot, pouring water in one nostril, and feeling it come out the other. I did this on both sides, hoping that the miracle of the neti pot would, once again, work.

I don't think that I have completely beat the flu that has been ailing me, but I am close. The sickness doesn't want to leave me, but I am kicking its ass, by doing the right thing. You have to take care of yourself when the flu attacks you. You can't run around the town like some sort of social butterfly. I'm not the most social guy in the world, much of the time, and I certainly am no butterfly.

Addiction to reading glasses can be a painful thing. When I sweat, my reading glasses get foggy, and I have to wipe them off. It is an endless process, sometimes, as I sit at my desk and write. I am commenting, though, and not complaining here. Having foggy glasses is better than climbing the stairs to heaven, or taking the express elevator to hell. I am alive, and breathing, and I am thankful for that.

I took Bundy out on a leash, this morning; he didn't like it. Bundy is used to running off into the neighborhood the minute that we step outside. Someone, in the hood, will, eventually, get pissed off about this, or concerned, and take Bundy in. They will call me and say, "Hey, what the fuck. Why is your dog running all over my lawn? He just took a poop there. I will not stand for this. Come get your dog; and bring a bag for the poop."

I will have to eat shit, because Bundy has a mind of his own. Or worse, he could get hit by a car while free styling it about the streets, and someone will call me up to come scrape him up off the road. His corpse will look like zombies have had him for lunch. Not a pretty site. I hope to avoid all this by keeping him on leash. Screw Bundy, and his freedom. There is freedom for that dog in doing what I tell him to do. I know, and act, in his best interests.

Morisson followed Bundy and I around the sidewalk, and street, loyally. At this time I do not have to worry about Morisson running off, although, at one time, I did. Morisson is no angel, and I know it, but I appreciate that, right now, as I am having to keep a strong eye on Bundy I don't have to have major concerns that Morisson will run off.

I'm hoping that my flu is entering into a completely different phase, today, and that phase being the phase it out phase. I am eating way less, today, if that tells me anything.

I just got done watching the movie, "Dead Man Walking." I love a movie that makes you think.

The good neighbor said to be careful out there going to Yoga class that there is a tornado warning in our area.

I jokingly wrote back that I am a hurricane, and, now, I am wondering if, since I joked around about it, if I should go out at all. Things have a way of coming back on you.

When I was a kid, my mother told me the story of how she was taking a lady home from where they both worked, a hospital, and fire engines came roaring by with their sirens blasting.

"Ha ha," said the lady, "My house is on fire." When my mother got the lady to her house they found out that it was indeed the lady's house that was burning down. Be careful what you speak might be the lesson to be learned from this.

I got showered, and dressed for the 6p.m. Level One Yoga class, but it is pouring rain outside, and I would be walking; not a good idea as far as getting wet, and not a good idea seeing that I am just coming out of some sort of flu.

I went in and checked on my neighbor's great Great Dane, Anna. She is still not ready to get out of bed, here at 5:30 p.m. I think that she knows that it is pouring down outside, and she is not interested in visiting the facilities when they are in that shape.

There is another Level One class at 7:30 pm. Maybe the rain will have stopped by then, and if not, maybe I can borrow The Good Neighbor's vehicle. I need to pick up a few groceries, too. I find myself in one of those times when funds on hand might not equal groceries needed. Ah, life in the broke lane!!

I am continuing to read Brian Rosenberger's book of poetry, "And For My Next Trick..."

This is NOT happy go lucky stuff. Sometimes life just sucks, and Brian has documented such for us. He carries me along with him, and makes me go way back: back before pink pills, and hour long chats on anonymous couches, before shutting up long enough to hear what others had to say, shutting up long enough to benefit from their experience, strength, and hope.

Getting happy means shutting up, realizing that you do NOT know it all; if you did, you wouldn't be in the shape that you are in. I'm not saying that Brian and I are in the same space, or come from the same space; I'm just saying that his poetry is making me remember where I've been.

Because it was raining outside all day, my dogs did not go outside, despite the fact that I lead them to the door many times. Instead, they waited until I went to Yoga, and took two massive craps on the temporary carpet that I have laid down in the hallway that leads to the bathroom.

I mean massive. You would think that these dogs had been recruited by Noah, but told that they couldn't crap for forty days, and forty nights. I didn't bother yelling at them. I have tried that, and it does not work. The pet store has a spray, for ten dollars, that the sales associate said might work.

Has anybody got ten dollars?

I am ending the day coughing, and I have no cough syrup. Without the syrup, I guess that I will see how sick I really still am. I'm going to crawl into bed with Mermaids. I hope that your night is spectacular.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

When I broke up with my second to last girlfriend(the last one broke up with me)she sent me an email saying that I had a "small cock." I'm pretty sure that she did this, well, of course, because she was pissed off at me, but also, because I had said to her, earlier in the relationship, that I was, "sick of her saggy boobs." I wasn't sick of her saggy boobs at all, in fact I pretty much worshiped this woman's tits, but I was in a bad mood, and wanted to say something that I knew would hurt her.

Now, it is true that I don't have the world's hugest penis. Porn movies would certainly not cast either me, or my cock. But, my dinky cock satisfied that woman for three years. She climbed on it, and worked it to her advantage, until she was screaming almost once a day for the whole relationship.

Since she said this, I have come to view my dick in a new light. I find myself evaluating it, and wondering what the next woman who gets close to it really thinks about it. I don't think that women tell a man that they think his dick is small. (Except for my second to last girlfriend), so you are always left to wonder what she thinks about it. I am not sure what I think about it. I never think that it is huge, but there are moments where I don't think that it is the smallest cock on the planet.
Sometimes, in Yoga Class, I feel strong, and, sometimes, I feel weak. Doing the same asana over, and over, I am constantly amazed at how much further a teacher can take me within a position, often making me feel as if I am a beginner all over again. This is part of the process, I am sure, and the key for me is the same thing that was the key to gaining sobriety: "Keep coming back." If you don't quit on it, it won't quit on you.

It is ffffffffreezing cold out there, this morning, 37 degrees according to the little temperature box that resides on my laptop monitor. Wearing just gym shorts, and a sweater, I headed outside with the dogs, thinking that they would want to do their thing quickly, because of the cold, and head back inside to the warmth.

Wrong.

Both dogs headed North fast, and I knew that since Morisson was involved in the great escape that my neighbor to the north of us was out with her dogs. Morisson, and Bundy are very social, especially with this young lady's dogs. My neighbor was dressed for the weather. She looked as if she was headed to a ski slope, or was going to be shoveling snow for a couple of hours.

My teeth started to chatter, as I tried to coral my dogs. I am still at the tail end of this cold that I have been at the tail end of for several days, and I was dressed woefully inadequate to be out there semi-hollering at my dogs. I felt stupid to be standing there in gym shorts. I felt stupid that my dogs mostly ignored my commands. What kind of a man was I? One too stupid to dress for the weather? One not in control of his dogs?

When the dogs and I finally made it back to the heat, I had an email from The Good Neighbor. In the subject heading was a frown. Kitty Poo, her cat, had escaped, yet again. Would I keep an eye out for her?

What is it with our animals that they keep running off? We feed them. We pet them. We walk them. (Well not the cats.) We love on them, and, bam, the first chance they get they are headed out into the neighborhood.

Dog experts, please restrain yourself from commenting. I have the answers to my own questions, and only offer up these tidbits as an exercise in memoir.

I'm taking all the animals to the pound.

IF anyone has any extra large flannel shirts, and or thermal clothing that you would like to donate to my cause, well then please donate them. Also, if you would like to contribute to The K Grocery Fund via my tip jar, please do. I thank you in advance.

My dad accused me of being a bum, and said that I would, "Never have a pot to piss in," on regular occasions. For the longest time, I had no interest in the pot that he was pissing in, and did not see how he could call me a bum being as busy as I was staying at the top of my class academically, excelling in athletics, and stacking watermelons and bananas in the produce dept. at the local grocery store in the hours that remained in my week.

What people close to you say, often is hurtful. I think that people assume that because they are related to you that that gives them license to be mean to you.

A woman who I was dating for a number of years, recently, heard me tell, several times, the story about my father saying that I would never have a pot to piss in, and I guess that she got tired of hearing it, because she bought me one of those metal pots that you can piss in.

"See, you're father was wrong," she said, as she gave the pot to me.


When you dirty a dish, do you clean it right away? I don't.

I let it sit in the sink, until it is crawling with cockroaches, until a horde of flies surrounds it, until rats stare up at it from the sink drain.

I wait until alligators from Florida have crawled up here, and are hovering over that dish before I think about washing it. When bears from the Great Forest appear, I put the dirty dish in the dish washer, where I let it sit for several years.

When Hell freezes over I might think about turning the dishwasher on.
I am the ultimate sinner: I have a dirty dish in my sink.


Why do cats like to sleep near, or on, your feet when you are sleeping?

I mean what is up with that? I feel claustrophobic when one, or both, of my cats closes in on my hoofs for a nap, or for the night, when I have crawled into the bed to get some shut eye. I would complain to my cats but they would only feign an apology, and then go back to doing what they like to do best, which is doing exactly as they please.

Does anyone have a cat-unfriendly dog that I could let lay down with me? He or she would have to sleep on their side of the bed.

And I don't think that my cats sleep on, or next to my feet because they stink, as one person suggested. My cats have better taste than that, and I wash my feet at least once a month.

Coffee irritates my throat, where hot water with lemon, honey, and cinnamon soothes it, but I must suffer some, and have my coffee while this cough of mine takes its time removing itself from my existence.

Two Mexican gentleman are out in the cold, this December 1 Atlanta afternoon, digging up the lawn of the couple who just moved in next door. A young guy in a huge, new white truck drops them off in the morning, and picks them up at night. There is money in the landscaping business for somebody.

The two workers stopped, and leaned on their shovels, looking over at Henry as he took his afternoon piss.

"Es muy grande," I said to the men, and one of them smiled at me and said, "Si."

"Se llama Henry," I said.

Henry finished peeing, and we went in out of the cold. Thinking back on it, since my Spanish is only limited I wonder if the man thought that I was referring to Henry's dick as "grande" as he peed.

I'm glad that I am not in charge of the border.

I don't know why I tell myself that I hate anything with the Walt Disney tag on it. As a kid I grew up listening to Old Walt introduce us to a tv show of his that I loved. I loved the Mouseketeers, I think for awhile.(But certainly not for as long as I loved Leave It To Bever, Hogan's Hero's, Gomer Pyle, and Andy Griffith). I think that someone along the way told me how cheap The Walt Disney Corp. is, in paying its workers, how lousy they treat them,and how fascist an organization it is.

Of course all this is innuendo. I don't remember who told it to me. I don't know if it is true; so why am I hating?

I don't know why, for sure, that I tell myself that I hate Walmart. I like shopping at Walmart, but, like you, I have heard all the stories about how they put mom and pop shops out of business when they come to town, and how, for the longest time, they did not take very good care of their employees, though there were five or six Waltons who had become billionaires off the sweat of those workers.

I don't want to hate. Hate sucks, and someone told me that if you are going to Love that you have to love all beings.

Is this possible?

Jim Morrison was giving a poetry reading to a small group of us, last night, in my dream, and he got all chocked up at one point, and came down from the stage nearly in tears.

Allen Ginsberg was one of the six, or seven, people watching Morrison, and he went up to Jim, stuck his finger in his face, said, "You can't do this to me. You suck," and stormed off.

Morrison got it together, read quite a few more poems, and then jumped down from the stage. We followed him out of the club, and he found a place to recline against an old warehouse. He pulled out a piece of paper, and began to read, again.

"I need some food," he said, and I found myself volunteering to find him a sandwich. He counted out money, with ample tip, and I headed off.

When I got to the sandwich place, it was right at closing time, and nobody wanted to sell me a sandwich. "But it's for Jim Morrison," I said, and nobody cared. It seemed like I was in that sandwich place eternally, trying to get a sandwich for Jim.

I don't know if I ever succeeded, because the dream ended.

This cough has now been with me one day short of a week. It doesn't really appear to want to leave me. I have looked up homemade cough syrup remedies, and am going to buy the ingredients to one of them later in the day. I have found that the homemade shampoo that I make out of water, and baking soda, and the homemade conditioner that I make out of white vinegar and water, work very well, so I am optimistic about trying to make some homemade cough syrup. I like the idea of homemade; it is more affordable, and, so far, is better than the commercial product. I have not had dandruff since pouring the vinegar and water concoction on my head. Someone told me, recently, that vinegar kills yeast, so maybe that is what it is. I am thankful to be alive, today. What a precious, wonderful gift that life is.

I likes me some white bread with the unhealthy peanut butter, and some raspberry jam on it. I'm not saying that I eat it all the time, but every once in awhile I do sneak me some.

And that is me sneaking it on me.


Yoga Class, last night, was miraculous. I got up into an assisted by the wall headstand, and stayed there for awhile, and I did my first shoulder stand in the two and a half years that I have been taking Yogs without the assistance of the wall. My teacher was truly happy, and amazec, and I was very, very pleased.

I was getting into headstand with the assistance of the wall before my hip replacement surgery. After the surgery, it was a bit like starting over in Yoga. I could no longer do head stand, and a scattering of other poses that I had been able to do, so last night was a great breakthrough on headstand for me.

My teacher was working with other students when I got up into head stand, and I knew that I had to hold the position for her to see me in it, not so much to impress her, but to let her know that I was able to do it, that I was now at that level of headstand.

"How did you do it?" she asked me.

I told her that I tried twice(so I didn't give up on it, when I first failed), and that I made sure that my arms and elbows were positioned correctly to give me support. And, I told her, I said a little prayer to God, before I went up.

"Talking to God is good," she said. "In fact God is the essence of Yoga."

I like my teacher. I like the stories that she tells about her slow ascent on the Yogs trail, about how she was in a Level One class for four years, and they practically had to push her into a Level 1-2 class. I was in a level one class for 2 1/2 years before I joined Nancy's class, so I can seriously relate.

When we were about to do shoulder stand by first throwing our legs back over our heads, as we lay on the ground, my teacher seemed concerned.

"Have you ever done this, Mikel?" she asked.

I said, "No, but I think that I can. And I did. And, now, I will, maybe, never have to use the wall again to get up in shoulder stand, and I am firmly on my way to getting up in it unassisted by a chair, or any other props.

I did two things in class tonight that I have never done. I am not wildly ecstatic over this fact. I am thankful. I am on the Yoga path, and I like being there.

Namaste.

The animals, cats and dogs, are gathered around me sleeping. I sit at my desk, and they lay on the floor. What draws them to me? Is it that I feed them? Is it that I pet them? Is it because I talk sweet to them when we are here alone?

I came home, last night, and found Bundy jumping off of my bed. This is a no no, and Bundy knows it, but I didn't really push the issue. It has gotten cold outside, and I am sure that my bed is warmer than Bundy's floor. It is funny that Bundy did not hear me fumbling with the key, and opening the door. He must have been sleeping.

My cat, Kobain, gets up on his hind paws, and places his front paws against the kitchen cabinet doors beneath me, anytime that I am fixing something in the kitchen, signaling that he thinks that he should get something to eat, also.

Most times when I am ready to wash clothes, Jaggar has beaten me to the top of the washer where I keep the cats' dry food, hidden behind a bottle of clothes' detergent so that Bundy can't get at it.

Cats often dictate my behavior here at home; go figure.

Up at ten am. I had to turn the central heat on last night. I did not see how I could beat this cold that has now lingered down to a mucus producing cough, wandering from space heater to space heater in a cold apartment. You can't beat the man. You have to pay the piper.

I feel weak, this morning, and I don't, yet, want to think. I left a pill container on my laptop so that I would find it the first thing this morning, and do something with it, but I can't remember what it is that I was supposed to do with it, and I don't want to figure it out, just yet. I just want to drink my cofee, place my fingers on these lapboard keys, and see where the muse takes me.

I am going to call the utility corporation, and see if I can get a fixed rate plan for my bill; that way I pay the same amount on my bill, all year round and will, hopefully, pay less on my bill this winter than I would have if I did not have the plan. You have to have a plan man. The man is trying to keep you down.

I like to talk in different accents to the computer voices that ask me questions when I talk to Corporate America. I, often, practice my Southern accent, doing my best Tom Petty. Sometimes I yell at The Computer Voice to see if it will have any reaction on it. It doesn't. The corporate computer keeps talking to me in that same pleasant monotone no matter how I talk to it. It is so boring to talk to a computer, and making up different voices helps me deal with the mundaneness of the situation.

The real lady who finally came onto the phone to talk to me approved me for a, "FLat Rate Plan."
I had called it a, "Fixed Rate Plan," and she, immediately, corrected me. Corporations want everybody on the same page, calling everything the same thing. There is not much room for deviation with the corporation.

My new FLAT RATE plan is for $152.83 a month. This will save my ass this winter, when the bill often gets up to $250.00. I am happy to have had a heating strategy for this winter. I will have heat, and I will not get thrown out on the street because I can not pay for it. There is warmth within The Machine.

I hate when workers have to say, "Thank You For Shopping at Our Corporation," or "Our Corporation Thanks You For Shopping With Us."

Why don't they just train the employees to have manners, if they don't have manners. My mother taught me how to say, "Thank You," and it is a normal part of my daily interaction with my fellow human beings.

Happy Holidays.

--Mikel K

I find myself, perhaps, running short on the groceries before the next money comes in. If you have some cash that you would drop into The Mikel K Tip Jar I would appreciate it.

Mikel K Tip Jar: www.mikelk.com

The dogs will pounce on fresh cooked oatmeal, when I lay it out on the floor for them, but, this morning, I put some Quick Cook Steel Cut Oats on the floor for them, and they too their sweet time eating it. Steel cut oats are supposed to be better for you than instant oatmeal. What is wrong with these dogs of mine; don't they want to be healthy.

Kobain stood next to Morisson, patiently waiting his turn to see what the oats were all about. This is unlike Kobain. He will normally butt right in and push Mo away from his food, if it is the food that he is after. Kobain is an experimenter when it comes to food. He will stick his tongue on just about anything(sounds like some men I know). Jagger pretty much sticks to dry food, nibbling out of the bowl off, and on, for most of the day.

I need to feed the turtles. I turned their light on, when I woke up, briefly, at five a.m., but I did not drop any of their precious green floating food sticks into the water above them.

I'm about to make one of my world famous banana breads. I can't use my favorite/best casserole dish to make it, this time, because Kobain knocked it off of the kitchen counter trying to find a dish in the sink to lick. He deserved fifty lashes, the kind you see someone get in a Johnny Depp Pirates of the Carribean movie, but I'm not about that, and, even if I was, with cats, I don't think that it would work.

You can maybe get a dog to assocaite with a huge bunch of poop on the floor, but a cat is just going to hate you for punishing it, and figure out ways to get even with you later. He, or she, might move from sleeping on your feet, which, as I have said before is bad enough, to sleeping on your face, which might kill you. Never underestimate the powers of a cat.

I want to make the banana cake to take to a cast party at the director's house tonight. I am sure that I have told you that I have been cast in a movie. My role is as The Masters' Seargent. I don't know who or what this is, yet, but I should be getting a script, soon, and I will fill you in then.

I've been watching a lot of Johnny Depp movies, recently. I figure that Mr, Depp is pretty good at what he does, and maybe I can learn a thing or two from him. I like the way that he ran with his arms in the air in his pirate movies. I want to copy that and use it sometime in my acting career.

Career?

Is acting now a career for me, something that I can make money from? Who knows. Stay tuned.




It now seems stupid to have gotten mad at him, like it alwasy seems stupid, with time, to have gotten mad at anyone. I'm in much better control of my anger than I used to be when I was younger. I guess that I got tired of apologizing, once I sobered up, and learned that you had to apologize for things. I think that the booze helped me greatly do things I would have to apolozize, and The Catholic Church and its Confessional Booth made me reticent to make amends.

Google is really amazing; I'm not sure how I lived without it. My good friend, Sugar Kayne, the talented singer/performer, often drops by my house with a bag of food in her arms. She has bailed me so many times; times when I was just about to run out of food, and had no money to buy more. Sugar understands artists who will truly starve for their art, because she is one of them.

I wasn't home, this time, when Sugar dropped by with a bag, this time full of fruit, and produce. There was an abundance of potatoes, and a nice stalk of celery among other things in the bag. I knew that the potatoes would go bad if I didn't figure out something to do with them, and I like celery, but I am not a maniac about it, so it, too, might go bad.

I hate to see food go bad, so I sat down to my laptop and typed Potato Celery Soup into Google. Don't you know that you can type just about anything into Google, and it will give some information about whatever it is that you type in.

Suddenly I had in front of my a multiplicity of Potato Celery Soup recipes. I have never made sop before in my life, so I took my time finding one that I understood, and that I had all the ingredients for.

The result is that The Good Neighbor, and I, are now eating some pretty decent soup. Thanks Google.

I'm eating the first home made bowl of soup that I have ever made while listening to Charlie Lonsdorf sing, and The Grapes play on their, "Juice,"cd. I'm going to a helluva party tonight. I thank my Higher Power for The Blessings.

I'm about to take a shower. I just combed my hair. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on. The dogs are laying on the floor. The sun is in the sky.

I got a letter saying that I had, "Been approved in a Senior Medical Plan." I can't believe that I got that old that fast.

Tonight, I'm going to meet the cast of the movie, "Blood Reign," which will be shot in January with me in it!! Us select few are gathering at the home of Director Daniela Garcia. I am road tripping with Rusty H. I am sure that it will be a Big Adventure.

I just realized that if someone is taking pictures, that if they have a camera strapped to their chest, or one held in their hands that I don't take a picture of them; it never even occurs to me to take their picture of someone if they have a camera.

It does occur to me, though, that it is late, now, and that I should go to bed. The Cast Party for The Movie "Blood Reign," was a huge success, as was my home made banana cake at the party. The actors and actresses wolfed it down like they were vampires, and it was some human's neck.

There are a lot of vampires in The Movie "Blood Reign." Many of them are kids, and I met many of those kids, tonight: stellar group I am telling you; stellar group.

Being On The Road with Rusty Hale was a phenomenal experience. I will have pictures of many of those kids who will play vampires in The Movie tomorrow morning when I am not so tired, and juicy tidbits from the philosophical ramblings of Rusty Hale, as we rambled to Columbus, Georgia, but for now it is Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Rise and Shine at 9:53. My dogs are so good. They waited seven hours for me to come home last night from the cast party for The Movie, "Blood Reign," and they did not piss, or poop in the hallway to the bathroom, as they are won't to do.

I love my dogs.

The party was great. It was a meet and greet for the cast of the movie. It was held in the home of the movie's director, writer, producer, and one of the leads in the movie, Daniela Garcia. Daniela is great. It is going to be fun to work with her. I know that I will also learn a lot about a genre that I used to be greatly interested in, and am now, again interested in: film making.

Being an extra in the movie, "Free Jack," many years ago, killed any aspiration to be in pictures that I had. I remember one morning where they fed us bubble gum, and coffee for breakfast. I knew that Mick Jaggar, and Emilio Estevez, the "stars" of the movie were not standing around in the cold chewing bubble gum.

Estevez was rude to me. Fuck him. I knew that I was not going to "get into" the movie business by being an extra, so I concentrated on my poetry for the next 20 years, writing it, and performing it on Atlanta stages, and in an Atlanta tv studio. I think that all that work as a performing poet prepared me for my role in "Blood Reign," as The Masters Servant. I am glad to be where I am.

I rode to Daniela's house in Columbus, Georgia with a very interesting fellow. Rusty Hale is an actor, a camerman, a stage hand, but most important to him, a father, and a husband. Rusty is very philosophical in nature, and it was a pleasure to pick his brain, and listen to his stories about his wonderful family, his life's work as a stage hand, and an actor, and to listen to him talk about what is now our movie, "Blood Reign," which Rusty is the Lead Camera Person for, and an actor in.

The two hour trip from Atlanta to Columbus went by in the blink of an eye with Rusty to talk to. Rusty makes pit stops, too, when he is on the road, which was a relief. When I was a kid, and my father would drive us from New England to Florida for some fun in the sun, he would not stop, even if you were crying out in pain because you had to go to the bathroom.

Notice from THE NORTH POLE: The Elves want you to know that Santa's third tier of unemployment just ran out, and he is not sure if he will qualify for the fourth tier. Also, the house at The North Pole is about to be foreclosed on, and they have been renting Rudolph out to the sperm bank. The kids in Iraq and Afghanistan won't see Santa, for sure, this year. Santa has great, great grandchildren to think about, and apologizes to the rest of the children of the world that Santa Service may be slow, or non-existent this year.

Bedtime: I'm going to suck down this hot honey, lemon, and cinnamon drink, and then take the dogs out for a walk, before I crash. I just swallowed a shot of NyQuil.

This cough is coming to a conclusion, finally, and I am very happy for that. I need to get plastic for these darn windows. I can feel cold air coming right in from the outside, and heading straight to my throat.

I bet that there are millions of American hacking up mucus just like I am right now.
Is there strength in numbers?

If you think it's butter, but it's a serial killer, you better run.

Up at 5:23 a.m. I confirmed yesterday that I will be going back into the studio with Producer James Lewis on Jan. 10 to work on a piece called, "Media Mind Control." James is a true professional at the soundboard, a very creative soul. I look forward to working with him.

My cough is much better, this morning, but not completely gone. The doctor, when I went to see her, on Thursday, gave me a sheet of paper that says that it normally takes about two weeks for the coughs associated with flus to go away. Today is day nine for me. It took my friend, Christy, two and a half weeks to lose her cough. Man, I hate to be sick.

The good neighbor wanted to learn how to make butter with her persimmons, and she doesn't have The Internet so I looked it up for her. What a learning experience; I didn't even know what a persimmon was before this Google search. I hope she lets me sample some of the butter once she makes it.

Scarlett is coming home soon. Her father passed on Thanksgiving Day, and Scarlett has been staying in St. Louis grieving, and helping her mother grieve. Her dad wrote the neatest Christmas Poem. You can check it out here:

http://www.facebook.com/notes/jane-elliott-reis/christmas-toys-written-by-my-dad-david-r-anderson/472060392695

It's Sunday; are you in the pew, waiting to put money in the basket. Praise The Lord, my HIgher Power, The Creator. I should praise my Higher Power, and give thanks every day of the week, no matter where I am, for I have the gift of life.

I pray, this morning, for all the alcoholics, and drug addicts who are out there, today, suffering. May they find help for their pain. A 12 Step Meeting can be a very good place to start on the path to remove this pain. Keep coming back.

Bundy just bit two people, one after the other, outside a nearby coffee house.

I had him on short leash, but he still managed to jump up and bite these people.

I was told, awhile ago, that Bundy has not had the "Bite Instinct," bred out of him. I am going to have to have Bundy put down. I can not let him put me in this position. He has done it before.

I have a muzzle but he spends the whole time, walking, scraping it in the ground. He is a good dog, besides this, which kind of sounds funny. He is a good guard dog, barking intensely at folks who come to your door. He is smart. Loyal. Friendly, but he is headed to the pound to be put down, if no one wants him. He is part Lab, part Rotweiller. I love Bundy, but he is more than I can handle.

Do you want him, or know of someone who does?

I've changed my mind. I just put a nail in by the front door, and I have put Bundy's muzzle on it. When someone visits, he will wear it. When I walk him, he will wear it. Bundy will become one with the muzzle. I should have not thought that Bundy would not bite, when he has done it before. I thought maybe he had grown out of it. It was a hard way to learn he hadn't this morning with two scared, and angry people yelling at me.

I feel wishy washy. Should I have the dog killed, or not?

Bundy just got out of house arrest: I let him out of his muzzle, which I had put on him for an hour to let him get used to it. He ran back to his spot behind the chair where he often hangs out, and I had to throw his treat in after him, saying, "GOOD BOY!!" I know my place in this dilemma, and I am going to do my thing; Just watch me.

I just finished watching The Movie, "The Squall." I thank Rusty Hale for suggesting it to me. I cried at the end, during the courtroom scene, when the Captain was trying to walk out of the courtroom, and the kid who he had kicked off the boat stood up, and rang the bell that had come from the ship that sank. I love movies that make me cry.

My dad abused me for 18 years, and then I went back twice after I left at 18, and he did it again, both times. I don't think putting a cartoon character on FB would have changed who he was.

My name is Fred and my daddy stopped hitting me, and emotionally abusing me cuz he saw this cartoon on FB. And I'm Lisa, my uncle quit having sex with my cuz he saw Bugs Bunny on his friend's FB page. Thank you all so much.

Bundy wore his muzzle tonight, on the first walk that we had taken since the biting incident, this morning.

He didn't like it. About a third of the time, he would try to rub it off onto grass, or pine straw, anything soft that he could fine to rub his nose against. We only encountered one person on the walk, a homeless guy, who I have seen walking these Atlanta streets for at least a decade. The Homeless Guy stepped out into the street to walk past us. I bet that he has an unpleasant history with dogs, all the walking that he does.

When we got home, Bundy was thankful to have the muzzle off, and I am thankful that he will now have it on anytime that he leaves the house. Bundy is a good dog. I don't want to have to have him killed.
Who is a better writer...Mikel K...or Hunter Thompson?

Up at 8:02 a.m. Cough still with me. I had a wild dream about the movie, "Blood Reign," which I have recently been cast in to play a minor role, which I am major-ly happy about.

All I remember about the dream is that the movie was trying to set a World's Record for most Vampires in one movie, and there was a line of them miles long, many more humans in line waiting to receive their makeup job.

We were shooting in Brooklyn. I couldn't find my camera. Daniela Garcia, the director, and female lead, in the real movie road off on a white stallion. Kim Sonderholm, the maile lead, continued to be a polite, and charasmatic man through out the shoot, and I had a love interest, of sorts, who was hooked up with another man. Rusty Hale was a looming presence through out the dream, appearing in almost every scene.

That is not the plot of the real movie, "Blood Reign," but that is how it came to me last night: no popcorn, it would have messed up the sheets.

I could have had a V8, but instead I had 12 shots of Jagermeister, 5 Long Island Teas, and two pitchers of beer, and they landed me in jail, almost every time, at the end of my drinking. And the truth would be two or three shots of Jager, two or three long island teas, and one pitcher of beer. I want there to be accuracy in this journalism.

I am thankful for the day, I am about to walk the dogs around the block. Bundy hasn't bitten anyone, today; of course we have been inside all morning, and he will wear his muzzle when we pound the pavement.

"Nipping isn't what I consider dog biting-- to which we'll define here as more serious dog aggression. Nipping is more "play-biting" or a quick 'correction' one dog will give another (or you) when that dog is either excited or wants to be left alone. Dogs do this because play is actually the primary way they assert dog dominance. And when your dog nips you, he's testing to see how you react."

http://www.dogproblems.com/public/department38.cfm

Bundy did not much try to scrape his muzzle off on our nearly hour long walk. He lunged at a group of people who passed us on the sidewalk. I had him on short leash, and he got nowhere near them. He really is lunging at people out of excitement, and is doing what is described above: nipping. he does not tear clothes, he does not break skin. He does piss off, and scare, the people who he nips, so he will now wear his muzzle whenever we go out.
Who is a better writer...Mikel K...or Hunter Thompson?

Up at 8:02 a.m. Cough still with me. I had a wild dream about the movie, "Blood Reign," which I have recently been cast in to play a minor role, which I am major-ly happy about.

All I remember about the dream is that the movie was trying to set a World's Record for most Vampires in one movie, and there was a line of them miles long, many more humans in line waiting to receive their makeup job.

We were shooting in Brooklyn. I couldn't find my camera. Daniela Garcia, the director, and female lead, in the real movie road off on a white stallion. Kim Sonderholm, the maile lead, continued to be a polite, and charasmatic man through out the shoot, and I had a love interest, of sorts, who was hooked up with another man. Rusty Hale was a looming presence through out the dream, appearing in almost every scene.

That is not the plot of the real movie, "Blood Reign," but that is how it came to me last night: no popcorn, it would have messed up the sheets.

I could have had a V8, but instead I had 12 shots of Jagermeister, 5 Long Island Teas, and two pitchers of beer, and they landed me in jail, almost every time, at the end of my drinking. And the truth would be two or three shots of Jager, two or three long island teas, and one pitcher of beer. I want there to be accuracy in this journalism.

I am thankful for the day, I am about to walk the dogs around the block. Bundy hasn't bitten anyone, today; of course we have been inside all morning, and he will wear his muzzle when we pound the pavement.

"Nipping isn't what I consider dog biting-- to which we'll define here as more serious dog aggression. Nipping is more "play-biting" or a quick 'correction' one dog will give another (or you) when that dog is either excited or wants to be left alone. Dogs do this because play is actually the primary way they assert dog dominance. And when your dog nips you, he's testing to see how you react."

http://www.dogproblems.com/public/department38.cfm

Bundy did not much try to scrape his muzzle off on our nearly hour long walk. He lunged at a group of people who passed us on the sidewalk. I had him on short leash, and he got nowhere near them. He really is lunging at people out of excitement, and is doing what is described above: nipping. he does not tear clothes, he does not break skin. He does piss off, and scare, the people who he nips, so he will now wear his muzzle whenever we go out.

December 7, 2010 The little blue Weather Channel Box on the bottom of my computer screen says that it is 25 degrees out. Brrrrrrrrrrr.

I don't mind the cold. I was born to a state where we shoveled snow regularly each winter, so these Atlanta winters are relatively mild.

Layering up is my secret to staying warm in the south. I have taken to wearing a thick sweater, underneath my "biker" leather jacket, a large wool hat, and gloves, as I stomp around the neighborhood with my dogs.

The only part of me that gets cold is my face, and it is not an unbearable cold; it is a cold that wakes me up, and fills me with the promise of life. Life is a challenge, just like the cold, and challenges are presented to us for a reason: mostly to make us grow. I feel like I am growing, and I want to continue to grow.

John Lennon was shot to death on this day in 1980. What a suck in the butt. Why couldn't some lame pop singer have been shot; why the guy with lyrics that mattered? He's running around Heaven with Bukowski, and Hunter Thompson. I'll talk to him when I get there. John, thanks for being a man that mattered, a man that cared. You were a rare breed.

The temperature has crawled up one degree from 22 degrees to 23 degrees in the hour that I have been awake. I am hoping that the dogs won't want to go out until much later in the day, when it has, hopefully, warmed up some. A dog is a dog, though, and you know that they just got to do their thing.

What is your favorite John Lennon song? As dismal as it really is, I think that I would have to choose, "A Working Class Hero." John's main message in his songs was about Peace. I find it weird that the men at the highest level of public awareness preaching peace get shot: Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr., Lennon.

I was worried, this morning, that my turtles were dead, but they were just sleeping. This cold Atlanta weather made me paranoid about their well-being, for a minute. Prynce, and Rue Paul, and I have been through many winters together. I am hoping that all of us have many winters to go.

"The real fun was writing it, and doing it."--Hunter S. Thompson

I agree with Hunter. Kris Kristofferson expressed the same sentiment when people felt sorry for him because he wasn't getting any movie work after the Heaven's Gate movie debacle. People felt sorry for him he said, but he was still creating during that period, and, to him, that was all that mattered. To most artists, the high is in creating. Who cares about cash!

My cat,Kobain, keeps going back to his bowl, every five minutes today. I don't know what is up with him. Maybe he feels that he didn't get enough for breakfast, and is due more. Well, he is not going to get it. He needs to go out there, get a job, and make something of himself. We're just about out of food. Somebody has to make a move.

The water got turned off at our house, so a plumber can fix something, right when I was thinking about taking a shower. Funny how that happened.

I am making home made bread, and I am, right now, waiting for the bread to rise. It is the first loaf that I have ever made. Most of the dough stuck to my hands. I don't know what to expect. It's kind of exciting, this process of creation.

You can't message me on Facebook, or post links to my page. Sucks. Some people still have these features on their FB page, and some don't. The new Facebook is breaking itself in. Time takes time, as they say in 12 Step Circles.

The bread turned out great.

I added honey to the process, and it really tasted great in the completed bread. I had thought that there was too much kneading for making home made bread to be worth it, but I certainly think different now that I have eaten the whole small loaf. I will double or triple up on the ingredients next time.

Time now to go to bed.

Thank you Lord for another great day of life, and for keeping me off of drugs, alchohol, and cigarettes.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

"One who follows the path of Yoga is a yogi or yogin. Yoga is the true union of our will with the will of God. "--Light on Yoga, B.K.S. Iyengar

I have class tonight at 7:30, but here I am on the mat, at home, this morning. I like that. Doing Yoga twice a day is a good thing. The more that I do Yoga, the more that I will be one with Yoga. Yoga. Yoga. Yoga. Do you get my point?

When I started to take Iyengar Yoga, two and a half years ago, I told my teacher that I was going to join a gym also.

"Why?" she asked me. "Just do more Yoga."

It has taken me all this time to understand her, but I do.
Yoga. Yoga. Yoga.

It was warmer, today, on our dog walk, than it has been for the last couple of days. I didn't have to wear my wool hat, and gloves as the dogs lead me around our large Midtown block.

Funny, those two dogs do their no. 2 in the same place each time that we walk this block. I wonder what that is all about.

Since we have been walking the block twice a day, neither dog has pooped or peed in my hallway. I guess that taking them outside for a couple of minutes is not good enough for them. Ah, I live and learn every moment of every day.

Someone just called me, and told me that John Lennon had risen from the dead, thirty years to the day that he was shot. We all knew that Lennon could walk on water, so this rising shouldn't surprise us. He's working on a new album, already.

Up up up at 6:12 a.m., this morning, rising, and shining to another beautiful day. It is 21 degrees out there, this morning; brrrrrrrrrrrr.

I went to bed exhausted. Yoga class was very challenging last night. Our teacher, Nancy Mau had us do a series of asanas that were new to me. We made good use of props, last night, in my practice. I used a bolster, and a bar stool, among other things to get into correct alignment. That is one thing that I love about Iyengar Yoga; if you can't get into the correct position, the use of props makes the position come to you.

I need to get the dogs out for the longer walk around the block this morning. I was so tired, last night, that I only took them to the end of the street. The dogs love a good walk, and it is good for me also. It is nice, in this life, when things are symbiotic.

There is a heat vent above my desk, and it causes me to sweat, which causes me to stress out. Heat causes me to stress, when it is right in my face. I turn down the heat, and then it gets cold in the apartment. I need to breath in, breath out, but still I will be wiping sweat from my forehead.

It's 29 degrees out at 6:13 am. Some "bum," somewhere, slept out last night, and froze to death in his sleep. The quality of my problems is good.

I'm going to bath the dogs today. Bathing the dogs is one of those jobs that is really pretty easy, but I shun it like the plague. The dogs, sometimes, shun it, also, but mostly they are cooperative, once I beat some sense into them. Can you beat anything into any living thing but fear?

There is a new place to listen to music; new to me, anyway: GrooveSharks.com. I like it because you can listen to one artist endlessly, instead of being fed artists that are "alike" the artist you chose, like happens on Pandora. Also, there seems to be no time limit on GrooveSharks like there is on Pandora.

I found Randy Newman irritating, this morning like all he did was bitch about things. I found Crosby Stills Nash and Young soothing, their guitars, their desires for a better world. I like Randy Newman, though; it was just far too early in the morning(5 a.m. ish) to listen to him.

I just made a Vanilla Pudding. It is called Mannette's Nilla Pudding after the woman whose recipe that it is. I just set it in the refrigerator to sit for 24 hours. It is going to be yummy.

Up at 6:32 a.m. It's ten degrees warmer 34 than it has been the last few days. I'm going to put on a bathing suit, and go sit on The Love Porch.

Jaggar knocked his food bowl off of the washer, last night. I guess this was because I forgot to put the bottle of detergent in front of the bowl that I normally do, to keep the dogs out of the cat food. What I am surprised about is that the cat food on the floor, that I couldn't scrape up with my hands, was still on the floor, this morning. I felt sure that the dogs would have slipped down the hallway to chow down on it. I guess that they know that that are of the house is, basically, off limits to them.

I gave the dogs a bath, yesterday. They smell so good. I really need to bath them more often, although I hear that bathing them too much is bad for them. I certainly wouldn't want to do anything bad for them.

My neighbor lent me a Christmas tree for the holidays. It is a small ceramic one, covered in beautiful lights. It is perfect for this small apartment that I live in. I am so thankful to Mr. Adam Ayers for his holiday gift.

The power is off. What concerns me is that we may all freeze to death. Plus, I can' t get on the internet, and can't make my morning coffee. I could walk the dogs, but I don t feel like going out into the cold just yet, today.

It is amazing how reliant we are on electricity. My apartment has become frozen in time. The only things that are working, this morning, are this note pad that I am typing on, that has an amazing battery life, and a portable light that runs on batteries that I was wise enough to buy, some time ago, when the money was flowing thicker that it is now

I think that I hear a large truck outside the apartment. I hope that it is someone come to turn the lights on.

I could crawl back in the bed, and sleep through this dilemma, but I have sleep apnea, and my C Pap machine relies on electricity to pump air down my nostrils. Sleeping without a C Pap will most likely mean that, if I sleep, I will wake up tireder than when I went to sleep. Sleep Apnea is an evil condition, mostly praying on people who are overweight. I have lost a fair amount of weight, but I am sure that it still preys on me. Besides, I am addicted to the C Pap machine, to the ritual of putting the mask on, to the comfort of the noise of the air being emitted from the machine.

C Pap machines are life savers; it is possible to die from sleep apnea. Can you imagine your sleep killing you?

I might have to have banana pudding for breakfast; that is the only thing, in this home, that does not require electricity to prepare. Worse things have happened to me. I will go over my breakfast calorie count, but my taste buds will be happy. Isn't it funny, or unique, if not funny, that if there was a war, it wouldn't matter what I had for breakfast; it wouldn't matter how many calories that I consumed. What if “the enemy” that “they” always speak of were upon us, now; what if that was the reason for the power outage; the Taliban had descended upon Atlanta, Georgia, and were here to kill us all?

Henry is barking up a storm over in his apartment, but I do not see much good in bringing him over here, just yet. He is a bundle of energy, and I need the lights on to be able to watch him. Are the animals aware that the electricity is out, or does everything appear to be normal to them?
I woke up late, this morning: 8:59 a.m. There was a message from The Good Neighbor saying that she had woken up late, and could I check in on her dogs? I took my dogs out first, into the cold of the Atlanta morning, and then went in and said hello to the greatest Great Danes on the planet: Henry, and Anna. Henry was full of energy, as usual, pushing a stuffed toy into my hand, trying to initiate a game of tug of war. Anna wasn't yet ready to get up from the bed.

After Henry did his thing, in the grass that experienced slight snow flurries yesterday, but not enough to stick, we came back to my place, where Henry did his routine inspection of our space, which includes sniffing the cats' bowls, and checking out the toilet water situation.

Henry actually grabbed up Kobain's metal bowl, this morning, and I had to tell him no. Henry doesn't like to be told no, but thankfully, he does listen to the word and obey me.

The artificial heat, that is being pumped into this home, must be making the dogs thirsty because I can't keep enough water in the animals' water bowl to make them happy. Mostly, when I fill it, now, there is at least one dog, and one cat lined up to make immediate use of the water.

I made the mistake of switching my insurance over to Kaiser Permanente. I did this so that I could follow my doctor of twenty years to her new place of work. Kaiser Permanente will not let you stay with your old doctors. They want all your medical business in their house. If you have a shrink, you have to drop your shrink and go to their shrink. If you have a hip doctor, you have to drop your hip doctor, and come see a hip doctor at KP. KP wants you to get your prescriptions from them. KP is a greedy corporation, that is not thinking about the health of their patients, but is thinking about how they can get every dollar possible out of every patient. Be it hard, I am going to unravel myself from KP.

"Looks I'm the fool, again..." sings Tom Petty on GrooveShark.com.

First Column for bold spicy:
I'm a poet, and the poetry game, as I am playing it, is a weird one. Yesterday, I came home from a great night out, to find that someone had left nearly a dozen messages on my Facebook page saying that I was, "Fat," that I was a. "Hippy," a "Fat Hippy," and that my poetry sucked. This person(s) even went so far as to say that a recipe that I had posted was the only decent poem that I had written.

Tonight, I went to the mail box, and found a package that contained a beautiful Christmas cd, cash, and a note that said, "Mikel, you are an inspiration to many."

Such is the bi-polar nature of audiences. Some folks will love you unabashedly, and some will passionately hate you; filled, most likely, with some sort of envy. The envious think that you have something that they want. The envious think that you have something that you don't.

I mentioned, on my Facebook page, as well as what was said in the note of love, and I got some nice reactions:

Patti O. Furniture: "What the fuck kind of people have you been Facebook friending?! I disagree with this asshole's sentiment."

Thomas Dodd: "The thermometer of success is merely the jealousy of the malcontents."
--Salvador Dali

Conchita del Mundo: "It was probably someone from your past. I bet they didn't use a real name.
The fact that they took time out of their day to do something so negative shows what a wanker they are. Who has time for that shit? if they had an ounce of cojones they'd say it to your face.

Jane Elliott Reis ‎"Envy eats nothing, but it's own heart." It sounds like this person is carrying around a lot of envy, and a slowly rotting heart.

Envy is the art of counting the other fellow's blessings instead of your own.--Harold Coffin

"Envy is thin because it bites but never eats."--Spanish Proverb

"Envy is the most stupid of vices, for there is no single advantage to be gained from it."--Honore de Balzac

Billy Fields: "You have really affected this person and they are paying attention to what you do. How else would they have found the recipe? Hate is one of the most sincere forms of flattery."

I have been called fat before, and people have said, once or twice, in the twenty eight years that I have been writing it, that my poetry sucks. John Lennon once said, "I want everyone to love me, and to buy my records." I feel the same way, but realize, as I am sure that he did, that it just is not possible.

Today, I bring a new friend into The Daily K fold, or maybe, more aptly, they bring me into their fold: The Daily K will now appear near daily in The Bold n Spicy News. I have to thank Kimberly James, who writes a fine fine music column in The Bold n Spicy News for turning me onto Bold n Spicy. Check Kimberly out at:

http://boldspicynews.com/category/entertainment/music/kjreport/

Besides being a poet, I am a memoirist, which means that, almost daily, I will bring you snippets of my life. The streets and sidewalks iced, here, last night, and it was impossible for me to get to my Wednesday night Iyengar Yoga class.

Bummer.

I love my Yoga class, but you have to do what you have to do in this world, and roll with the punches. You have to take the good with the bad. You have to realize that it is always darkest before the dawn, and that "that which doesn't kill you only makes you grow stronger."

On the porch, my beautiful porch that I call, "The Love Porch," I noticed that my neighbors, my beautiful neighbors, who I call, "The Good Neighbors," because they are so very good, were home, and I knocked on their door. As they are wont to do, they invited me in, and the next thing I knew Amber Good Neighbor was handing me a plate topped with a slice of the most beautiful looking pizza that I have ever seen that was made from scratch by Adam The Good Neighbor.

Amber's mom, Susan, was visiting from a cold Northern state, but she was as warm as a Caribbean day; beautiful, and charismatic like here daughter. If I had gone to Yoga, I would have missed out on this wonderful visit with these wonderful people.

I used to live with regrets, now I live with Good Neighbors, and a couple of dogs named Morisson, and Bundy, a couple of cats named Kobain, and Jaggar, and two turtles named Prynce, and Rue Paul.

I will tell you more about them in the days to come, but that is all for now.

Happy Holidays,
Mikel K


A nap seems in order after a nice lunch of healthy nacho chips, and dip, a chocolate bar, and a can of chicken noodle soup. Today has been a bad day, and I have sought out unhealthy solutions to pull me through it: comfort food, fattening food; old friends of mine, who I rarely consort with anymore. I should have bought some ice cream, and a cola beverage, also, while I am on this binge. I mean, if you are going to relapse, you might as well do it up.

Tomorrow is another day. I can pull the calorie counter back up on the laptop, and get back on track. I have not fallen into the abyss eternally. Most days of my life, these days, are brilliant. I am glad to wake up. The gift of life is the most precious thing that you, or I, have. While alive, all things are possible.

Do you believe in God? It seems to me that it is not in vogue to express faith these days, unless you are in one of the right wing conservative religions that so many of us tend to shun like the plague.

One of my dogs, Bundy, is asleep at my foot, twitching in his dreams. I can feel him shudder on my foot. For a brief moment, I am concerned about him. I hope that he is not sick. I hope that I don not have to take him to the vet. I hope for world peace, happiness, and food for everyone.

I went to the grocery store to get diced tomatoes so that I could make my World Famous chili, and guess what? I got everything on the list but the diced tomatoes, so, by the recipe that I have, I can't make chili. I was supposed to have a female friend come over, chill, and have chili with me. I just realized that that might not be the best of all ideas. You know the old saying, "Beans, beans, the more I eat..."

Life is like that sometimes, so if you can't make chili, make lemonade.

I think that I am about tired of this beard that has been on my face for two, or three, years now, but I can't cut it off, quite ye,t because I have been cast in a role in a movie with it. This is "The look" that they want, and this is "the look" that they will get.

My youngest son just bought a van. It is his first vehicle. I am so proud of him. The kid works as a mechanic five days a week, and I am glad to be seeing him reap some fruit from his labor. He bought it from the man who he works for. He is blessed to work for really decent folk.

I am a writer. I work all the time. I work on poems, and on memoir entries like the one that you are reading here, but I don't make a dime from them. My brother, who is a lawyer, can not understand why anyone would waste their time writing these "things" that I do. I don't much understand lawyers.

The Daily K #3

Bob Marley is a good artist to listen to if you are seeking inspiration. As I listened to,the Marley tune, "Everything's Gonna Be Alright," last night, while typing out some new poems, my cat climbed to the top of the chair that I sat in at my desk, and dug his razor sharp claws into my back.

"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

--Bob Marley

I gingerly unhooked my cat's claws from my back, and shirt. Then everything was alright.

My dog Morisson looked at me funny, as the moon was rising, when I was making chili in the kitchen. As I dumped black beans, and diced tomatoes into a large bowl, I was dancing, and singing, along to the song, "Get Down Tonight," by K.C. and The Sunshine Band.

Morisson was looking up at me like I wasn't quite right, but he was happy when I scooped a table spoon of the finished chili onto a plate, and laid it down in front of him as a snack.

Dogs are happiest when you are feeding them something. (They love it when you pet, or scratch them, too).

Tis the season... A friend of mine said that she was going to buy a toy for a tot, but that she WAS NOT going to buy it at Wal-mart. How does Wal-Mart thrive when so many people hate it? Maybe it is only the circles that I run in that have such feelings. I sneak into Wal-Mart every once in awhile. I drink Coca Cola every once in awhile. Target is supposed to be evil, also, with conservative anti-gay ownership, but I buy underwear, and socks, from them, every once in awhile. I'm a sinner.

The dogs need to go out, and it is 45 degrees outside, this morning, so I have no excuse to not get out there, and scoop up mounds of doo doo, as we walk this Midtown city block that I live on. My son's mother told me not to write about my dogs' doo doo, and I told her that Hunter Thompson did, which was a lie. Hunter wrote about much loftier things than I, but look where he wound up.

I just found a small black speck of something in my oatmeal, but I refuse to believe that there is anything bad in my lunch. Was finding this dark speck akin to cancer finally finding its way into the lungs of a person who failed to heed the surgeon general's warning? Could the speck have poisoned me? Could the speck have, somehow, polluted my body?

The people who make our food are concerned about our heatlth, are they not? I have nothing to worry about when eating manufactured eats; do I? Didn't they once say that cigarette smoking was safe? I'm going to finish my oatmeal, inspite of that little black spot. I'm going to assume that it was not bad for me, just like a cigarette smoker assumes that he or she can beat the odds; and, yes, often, I have oatmeal for other than breakfast. This morning I had four tablespoons of homemade chili for breakfast. Variety is the spice of life. Yum, yum.

The dogs, and I, just did an hour walk through The Hood. We stopped to say hello to a two year old girl, and her family. The little girl wanted to say hello to the dogs. I warned her, and her mommy, away from Bundy, and told her the deal with him wearing a muzzle, that he was a nipper, and all: a dog that would bite you out of the sheer joy that he was experiencing in meeting you.

The little girl came forward, and tried to pet Mo, but Morisson was standoffish. He walked away from The Little Girl, and started sniffing a tree.

"Morisson," I said, "Say hello to the little girl," and I tugged, a bit, on his leash. The dog was not interested in this two year old. I apologized to the little girl, and her mommy, and went on with our walk.

Next, several city blocks down the street, we met a man named Phoenix. Phoenix said that he was a record producer.

"Hip hop," he smiled, "The stuff that pays."

He also said that he was from Africa. He had no African accent, and if you didn't know better you would have thought that he had been born at Grady Hospital, here in Downtown Atlanta, and had spent his whole life in this beautiful Southern city of ours. I mean, he talked no different than any of us; we who were born in the U.S.A.

My parents weren't born in The States, they were born in Ireland, she in Dublin, and he in County Cork. They had accents. The cool kids in the public school that I was transferred to in the 6th grade let me know that my parents talked "funny." That was the job of the cool kids, when I was a kid: to point out inadequacies, to pick on, belittle, and even beat up the kids who weren't "cool."

The cool kids were bullies, and I realize now, cowards. They always operated in a pack. They were lead by the largest kid in the school, a moron who eventually became captain of the football team in high school.

I wonder if the people who make our food, the people who make cigarettes, are bullies?
It's all about choice, isn't it? It's all about freedom of choice, and we are all free to make
our choices. I didn't have to eat that black speck that I found in my oatmeal, you don't have to smoke.

The I hope that you are feeling better dept... The Good Neighbor, Adam Ayers, was nearly down, yesterday, with the flu. The flu sucks. I hope that he is feeling better, today. Today, I baked one of my World Famous Banana Breads. I am baking it for a special woman. Don't you wish you were getting some?

Tis the season for giving...

I have a friend who lost her job due to the economy. She is a Legal Secretary/Para Legal. She is the nicest woman in the world. She is a hard worker. She has a great smile, a great personality. Her car tag is expired, so she can't drive, and her cell phone has been turned off, so she can only communicate with you on Facebook. She has over 20 years experience in the legal field. She needs a job. She's kind of a hippy chick in that she is always giving. She loves Panic, and The Wayside Riders. If you have a job to offer her, or know of someone who does, or if you want to help her out with her tag, or her phone, you can contact her at:

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1385170195

The Ho Ho Ho Dept... Santa is coming early for you as I am giving you the link to the James Truax flick, "Mikel K The Movie." I am not the only talent in this movie, named after me. There are also some great Atlanta bands in the flick, and featured performances by Rob Maallard, and Coleman Lewis. Enjoy. (Warning: this link is not good forever. Filmmker Truax takes the film down, and adds to from time to time, making it then unavailable to The Public).

Mikel K The Movie: http://vimeo.com/17148007

I hate it when I am cranking out great works of literature and Windows decides to restart my computer because I "need" updates. I hate it when I think that my Vonage phone bill should be near twenty bucks, like I thought that I signed up for, but it is closer to forty dollars. I also hate it when Vonage charges me ten dollars to change to a less expensive phone plan. Come on y' all why don't you make it an even ten? Or twenty? Or two thousand?? I mean you have me under contract and can throw me to the floor in just about any manner, at any time, that you like.

I need coffee.

It's four thirty a.m. and despite these minor inconveniences, I am glad as hell to be alive. The dogs, cats, and turtles are still asleep. They keep more regular hours than I.

I opened my comments box at OpenSalon.com to find this,this morning:

"Mikel, My dream is to personally meet at least some of the people who pass around lies like "writing matters" and "writers are paid" and beat them until they're unconscious with a two-by-four filled with nails."

Got to love sharing your experience, strength, and hope with the mass of man; remind me never to post my mailing address in this column, and gosh, oh my, I was hoping to hustle Christmas cards from you all.

I said, "Happy Holidays, or Merry Christmas...whatever you celebrate to a usually friendly lady, and she she practically screamed at me, "I CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS; THE BIRTH OF JESUS CHRIST."

The song lyrics that come to mind here are,"Once there was a way to get back home." I'm not sure why those particular lyrics come to mind as I recreate this event in my head; perhaps I yearn for simple times, times when I wasn't aware of the hatred that people have for each others' holidays.

On the other end of the spectrum, a few weeks ago, I said, "Happy Thanksgiving," to a lady. She harumphed me, and said, "HAPPY HOLIDAYS," letting me know that SHE knew full well that ALL the Indians had been killed by Columbus on Thanksgiving. I also got the impression that she was not thankful for anything. I'm sorry as hell that The Indians got fucked, but in my life, I look for things to be thankful for.


My computer has taken a dive, again; once more telling me that I need to turn to AC power when I am fully plugged in. It does this every so often(too often), and I am sick of it interfering with my writing. Can anyone buy me a laptop for Christmas, or whatever holiday that you celebrate?!

Henry and Anna are visiting us, again, today. Henry and Anna are the great, Great Danes who live next door. Henry is addicted to trying to involve you in a game of tug o war with his stuffed toy of the minute being what is tugged. Henry is one and a half years old and is full of life. He is playful like a little kid. Anna is nine and a half,she is the queen of the scene here on Vedado; she spends most of her time in bed, but really likes to eat.

I remember when I first met these two regal beings, how large they seemed, like mini-horses of some sort. Now they are huge in personality, but seem like Anna and Henry to me.

I made the mistake, recently, of following my Primary Care Physician, otherwise known as my Doctor, over to Kaiser Permanente. I was glad to stay with this woman who had kept me healthy, and hooked me into such a great network of doctors over twenty years years. KP wants everything; they won't let you stay with your old doctors, you HAVE to come under their fold.

I hate being told what to do; I hate being coerced, and I am going to have to let my old doctor go, but that is what I am going to do. I'm not sure how to undo the mess that KP, and I by joining them, have created, but I will figure it out. I look upon "problems" as challenges, these days; nothing is going to bring me down, nothing is insurmountable.

Is it love when a woman vacuums your carpet for you?
Tune into The Daily K tomorrow to possibly find out, and to hear about how The Wayside Riders gig in
Tucker, Ga. went down.


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Chec out The Wayside Riders at these links:

http://www.reverbnation.com/waysideriders

http://www.archive.org/details/WaysideRiders

"Good, better, best. Never rest until good be better and
better best."-- Mother Goose rhyme

"Just write. Don't worry if it's good, or bad. Just write."--Kerry Wendall Thornley, poet, philosopher, mad man speaking in Coffeehouse: Atlanta's Underground Poets a film by Geoff Beardsley

This woman messaged me at 3 a.m. on Facebook, and asked me if I was, "connected to Al Pacino in any way?"

I asked her why she was asking, and she said that she was just wondering.

I told her that I had just watched the movie, "Frankie and Johnnie," and that was as close as I had ever gotten to him. Like Hunter Thompson once said, "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."

My name Mikel, and I am a Recovering Music Journalist.

Scarlett and I went to see The Wayside Riders in Tucker, Ga. at The Moonshadow Saloon, last night. Danielle Strickland, and her possee from Albany were there, as usual, grooving to the hypnotic sounds of The Riders, and rooting for their main man, lead guitar player, Shell Stamps, who is also from Albany.

"They sound a little bit like The Allman Brothers," said Scarlett half way through song one. I smiled at her, thinking to myself that she would see that The Wayside Riders travel a wide spectrum on their musical journey. The Wayside Riders sound like many bands, but in the end they sound like The Wayside Riders, a very original, intelligent progressive band.

There are four vocalists in this band, each one contributing to the writing of The Wayside Songs, and two drummers. Standing near Preston Holcomb, and Rick Welsh,the drummers, you get the feeling of what it must have been like to have gotten beaten up by Mike Tyson back in the day. The only other percussion unit that I have felt such a powerful energy from are the percussionists in the aforementioned Allman Bros., who I experienced full on while working as a rock n roll stage hand, a few years back. The stage hand job that I was assigned to that day had me standing just off stage, while The Allman Brothers played, at what was then called Hi Fi Buys Ampitheatre.

The Wayside Riders show, last night, was incredible as are all Wayside Riders shows.
The Wayside Riders:: powerful, mesmerizing, intelligent.


When the going gets weird dept...Charles Manson was recently caught with a cell phone hidden under his California state prison bed. Who the hell would call Charlie, and who the hell would Charlie let his murderous little fingers do the walking to on the phone? This is crazy. Can you see him dialing out..."Hey, baby, it's Charlie would you knock off Madonna, and Sean Penn for me?"


http://articles.latimes.com/2010/dec/02/local/la-me-prison-cellphones-20101203

I often talk to my animals, and, today, as my black cat, Jaggar, was meowing loudly on the kitchen floor below me, rubbing up against my leg, and begging for a treat, I found myself asking the cat if he, "Had earned it?"

Just what did I mean by this. I think that it is some weird throwback to my childhood, when my father would constantly grind into my head that you, "Had to earn things in this world." My kids are, basically, grown so I guess my cats, and dogs will, now, have to put up with my wisdom being imparted onto them.

To my dogs Bundy, and Morisson: "Get a job!"

Often, I leave talk radio running in the house for the dogs, cats, and turtles when I leave the house. Someone asked me if the animals like listening to the radio; I honestly don't know because they can't speak to me in so many words.

I,recently, moved my television, and VCR in front of my bed, because I just started getting dvd's in the mail. My bed is near the front door, so, today,I left the movie, "Love Field," running for my furry friends,while I went to buy some groceries. I'm not sure if the dogs, cats, and turtles like movies, either, but there is the nice side benefit of having human voices in the house, as well as my half lab, half rottweiler dog, Bundy, when I'm gone, and the crack head shows up, kicks our door in, and wants to leave with one of my laptops, as he did about two years ago, when I was living in another location.

One of my computers is completely down, and the other two need tweeking; so where do I go; to the high priced Geek Squad, no, I head over to see Wayne Myers, the computer genius, who fixes computers at a reasonable price. Wayne works out of his home in Midtown; if you are nearby, and need computer help, I suggest that you contact him at his Facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000054602155

Peace and Love.
Peace and Love.
Peace and Love.

K