NEW BOOK BY K

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop."
--Lewis Carrol, Alice in Wonderland

"Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after."
--Henry David Thoreau

Bundy just "nipped" the Fed Ex man, just as I was assurring the man that all my dogs were "safe!" (Bundy, Morrisson, Bolton, and Henry were all out,and about the yard when the Fed Ex Man pulled up). Bundy, thankfully, only got the man's pants, and didn't tear them, but scared the poor guy half to death, though he took it well.

I'm going to visit my grandson, Elliot, this afternoon; and, of course his parents William, and Tomi! I have to thank my Good Neighbor Lisa for letting me use her car for this, and other adventures: she truly is the bleeding heart liberal that she claims to be!

On the way to Elliot's house, I have to stop at The Cable Company office, and turn my modem in for a new one. I have been without internet for almost a day now, and the pains of withdrawal are intense, though I have been chipping in on the unsecured account of somebody nearby. I will gladly pay them a hamburger tomorrow for some internet use today.

On my way to see my grandson, Elliot, the car that my neighbor, Lisa, had so kindly lent me overheated. I put almost a whole jug of anti-freeze in the radiator, but that was not enough for the car, so I am holed up at a Coffee Shop near Buckhead, waiting for The Tow Man. A very good thing about overheating in the heat is that I had with me my new copy of, "Up From the Blue," by Susan Henderson, so I have something fun, and fascinating, to read.

I am not a moderate man. I don't know if I can blame that on being born on the cusp of Gemini, or not. Things are what they are; I mostly find.

The Italian Meat Lover's Pizza that we ordered from the chain store pizza place turned out not to be a pizza for a man who loves meat, but to be a pizza for a man who loves Italian Meat in a very small portion. The skimped on the cheese, also, but at least I do not live near The Nuclear Reactor that got hit by the tsunami in Japan, or am living under bombs being dropped on Libya.

It is such a beautiful day, and out of the blue skies my friend, Jeff Waller, called and invited me to have lunch with him. I met Waller Dollar when he was a barista at The Edgewood Caribou. One day, I was telling him how I was going to open a Cleaning Service, and it turned out that he already had one, and Jeff hired me on to help him clean what we called, "The Big House," once every other week. The Big House had six bathrooms in it, and they were all mine to make sparkle, every other Thursday, and then I would help Jeff make beds, run a mop with cleaning solution over the wooden floors that graced the house, and mop the basement floor. I also dusted pictures. It is hard to believe that such a slob as I was cleaning somebody else's house.

My hip got so bad, around the time that I had hip replacement surgery, that I had to quit the job. Jeff carried on without me, for awhile, until he got a job as a steward for Trans Air. His schedule is busy, but we have managed to stay in touch, and have coffee ever other month or so. Sometimes, in this busy world, you have to fight to keep friendships alive. Jeff, and I, are winning the fight, I am glad to say.

I don't know that finding a good home for Bundy would be good for Bundy; he has a good home, now, and he loves living here.

My dog, Bundy, severely aggravates me when he goes ballistic when a friend, or family member comes to visit. I am really at the end of my rope with this, but instead of getting rid of him, I am going to put a leash on him when someone comes to the door, and he has let them know that he is the boss, and take him back to the bathroom.

I will call the bathroom, "Key West," and, evnentually, Bundy will go to Key West every time that I tell him to, and not stand by the front door barking, ferociously, at all who enter, and then jumping up on them, "lovingly," when they come through the door.

This is taking control of the situation, instead of being controlled by it. And, instead of just putting a muzzle on Bundy when he goes for a walk, I now will put his muzzle on him every time that he goes out the door so that he can bite no more Fed Ex men, or anybody else.

I feel good about these decisions, where I did not feel good about shipping Bundy off to "a good home." I love Bundy, and want to continue to grow with him. Trust me, we have both come a long way, since we hooked up, by accident, almost three years ago.

I am on The Love Porch with The Good Neighbors. I wanted to go see Spanky & The Love Handles in Oakhurst, tonight, and mingle with singer-songwriter Art Linton. but then I started thinking how it is an amateur night out there, and having been an obnoxious drunk for so long, I certainly don't want to be around one, or more, on St. Patty's Day, or any other day.

An ashtray with cigarette butts in it used to bother me. The beer, and wine, aisle at the grocery store used to bother me. I used to not be able to keep any liquor in the house, scared that I would consume it, but, today, praise my Higher Power, none of these things bother me.

There were no visibly homeless people at my local library, when I stopped in to see if they had, "The Seven Story Mountain," by Thomas Merton. There was a security guard--I didn't notice if he had a gun--at the front door of the library, seated at a table guarding the bathroom key.

Up at 6:55 am. I'm a lucky dog to have these dogs. I'm a lucky dog to have these cats, and turtles. I'm a lucky dog to be alive this morning, to be breathing the air of another new day.

Good morning world. I am starting my day with a beautiful cup of coffee, and the song, "Touch of Grey," by The Grateful Dead, and, yes, I certainly will get by, and I hope that you do, too. Today, a new day, is full of so many possibilities, things to be thankful for, things that can happen to you, and me. We, if we have them, are on the path to our dreams. And, once our dreams come true, we can start new dreams. We are blessed, you and I.

Prayers don't seem adequate. I feel very powerless over the situation in Japan. Millions of people. Millions of people are affected by the situation there. I have learned that I am powerless over people, places, and things, but, somehow, I want to shake God, and say, "What the fuck?"

Good news for heavy smokers, and people killing their livers with booze: you don't have to worry about quitting now that Japan's Nuclear Waste is finding its way into the human eco system. Organic dining: who cares!

Henry, Morisson, Bundy, and I just did a long walk, over an hour. The sun was more intense than it has been on any of our long walks before this this year. I can see that our long walk days in the sun are numbered! We will have fun while we can. We ran into a man who was wearing a "Dog's Rule," shirt. He said that I was "a better man than he was," for being able to handle my trio of dogs. He had one dog laying at his feet, who was very well-behaved. My not so well behaved Bundy kept straining at the leash to get near the dog. Go home, Bundy, go home!

Part of our walk was in the park. I am amazed at the number of people who cannot hear you say hello because they have headphones in their ears. One of the greatest joys, I thought, of walking in the park was saying hello to strangers, who are sharing the same beauty of the day that you are. I am wrong though; people want to isolate themselves from people, and exist in their own little worlds. We, mostly, don't know the name of the person living next to us. Don't touch me; I'm sick.


It's quiet on the porch. I just let the dogs out here with me, and there is nothing for them to get excited about, nothing to bark at. I love quiet moments. A horn piereced the air, as I was driving home from my poetry reading, this evening. Some asshole in a new BMW felt that the rest of us weren't going fast enough for him. Not all who drive BMW's are assholes, and there are certainly a good number of pricks driving late model VW vans.

A thought on giving pleasure to all The woman who I was talking to, and I, both agreed that the guy who had thought that I was a prick was the prick. This made me feel better because I had never known what I had done to the guy other than following my heart and doing what I do.


This morning, after a brisk walk from the abode to the pharmacy, with very few stops along the way to let the dogs sniff, or mark their territory, we arrive at a Coffeehouse where I am seeing if Bundy will let me sit down for a half hour, drink a couple of cups of coffee, and write some poems.

I don't think that he is going to let me. He is going to bark at every dog that walks by, and jump on any human who comes close to him. It was my hope that if I sat at this table for awhile that Bundy would not notice it if I went inside to buy a cup of coffee to bring back to the table.

Other people have dogs, here, but they are not misbehaved like Bundy. Bundy is barking at something. Bundy has just nearly attacked someone; thank God he is wearing his muzzle. I might as well give up on this, unleash the dogs, and head home for a coffee.

Bundy has ruined yet another coffee encounter, but it is alright because I love Bundy, and if I really want a coffee encounter, I would leave Bundy home, and just take Morisson.


I said, last night, that I am changing my dog Bundy's name to Dylan, and I started the process, this morning, calling him Dylan, as often as I called him Bundy. He actually sat in front of me to have his muzzle put on to the command, "Sit Dylan."

The name "Bundy" has bad connotations, either the thought of an idiot on a sitcom, on television, or one of the most evil serial killers of all time come to mind. Dylan,on the other hand, represents one of the best songwriters of all time. I think that the way I treat, and respond to this dog will change with this name change, and will result in correspondingly positive behavior changes in my beloved bad boy dog.

I just called out to him, saying, "Dylan, come here Dylan," and he came over to me to get a head rub. I think that we are onto something here.

Listening to Jackson Browne makes me think, but it also depresses me. Bonnie Rait inspires me a bit, but also gives me the blues, somewhat. I'm going to try The Grateful Dead, on this sullen Sunday, and see how they affect my psyche, as I make some chili, in the K Kitchen.

So, Bundy got the muzzle off, today, on our long walk. Fortunately, he got it off on a part of the walk where there were no passersby. He had been working on getting it off, ferociously, for most of the walk. When I put it back on him, I tightened it. He did not try to get it off after that on the rest of the walk; maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he could do it!


My black cat, Jaggar, started my day off by sprinting from one end of the apartment to the next, for about ten minutes. I don't know who put speed in his morning meal, but it is always good to see my cat happy. Bundy, errrrrr, Dylan, and Morisson, have spent most of the morning, so far, at my sides. They each want to be petted, and, of course, they wouldn't mind a snack. It is a gorgeous day out there. I haven't yet, today, looked at my to do list, but it should, definitely, include a long walk in the park, and much Yoga.


Up at 715 a.m. Morisson spent most of the night in the bed next to me, which is, normally, a no, no, but last night there was a fierce storm, and Mo shivered his way through it, greatly scared of the thunder, and lightening.

Dylan went with me to Staples, so that I could return some pens that were totally unsatisfactory: fine tip pens are useless in my estimation; I must have bold tipped pens. Dylan, on his own, is a much more manageable dog, not only to walk, but to hang around the house with. Morisson has been visiting the neighbor all day, and I can see that Dylan enjoys being the primary focus of my attention.

Up at 3:45 a.m. Morisson jumped in the bed with me, again, tonight, fearful of the fierce storm that was raging outside, and has kept me awake, so far, for most of the night. I'm hoping that the storm will end soon, so that I can get some sleep.

I just walked Anna, and Henry around the block. That's not enough for Henry: he is barking up a storm. I still have Mo, and Bundy, to walk. I don't feel like walking, today, it is wet, and cold, out there; such bothers the arthritis in my right knee. I feel like saying, "Waaaaaaaaah," today; it is one of those day, but I realize that saying, "Waaaaaaaah," is stupid. I am blessed to be alive, today.

My new Facebook friend from Pakistan, asked me if I would like tea, or coffee, better, and said that she would fix me a coffee, if I was in Pakistan. Then she asked me, " why amrica n says pakistanis are tererist, are you agree with them?"




Dear Mikel K:

We're not going to be able to keep anything from this submission, we're sorry to say. Thank you, though, for letting us have a chance with your work.
Sincerely,

The Editors
POETRY



Though I am not in the mood for company, I have brought the great, Great Danes, from next door, Anna, and Henry, over to hang out with us. They are usually good company. I have, also, lit a nice stick of incense, and turned The Jerry Garica Band on. I just swallowed a huge cup of coffee. That's about all that I can do do improve the mood in here, besides shooting heroin, or smoking crack, which never happened when I was "out there," and ain't going to happen now.

Henry will not let me pet him on the face, and, yet, moments ago, when I started to scratch my cat Kobain, who had jumped up on my lap, on the head, and to do the same to my dog, Morisson, who was seated at my side, Henry started to bark jealously at me. Jesus save me. Jesus explain this animal to me.

Henry will not let me pet him on the face, and, yet, moments ago, when I started to scratch my cat Kobain, who had jumped up on my lap, on the head, and to do the same to my dog, Morisson, who was seated at my side, Henry started to bark jealously at me. Jesus save me. Jesus explain this animal to me.

Up at 4:58 a.m. It is raining, again, this a.m. Morisson is following me about the abode, scared. I think that he jumped in the bed with me last night, but he didn't shake ferociously, or try to dig his nose into my hand, like he so often does when a storm drives him to break the no dogs in my bed rule. I love this time of day, especially for writing: it is pure; you all are asleep, the world is mine at this time.

Morisson is terrified of storms thunder, and lightening send him into my bed at night, cause him to follow in my footsteps when they occur during the day. Bundy has separation anxiety. If I bring him with me to the store, he pitches a fit when I leave him for five minutes to do what needs to be done. I'm sure that my cats, and turtles have their phobias, also, and there are plenty of things that I am scared of.

I just found a dead bee amongst the myriad of papers that I am throwing out. (How do I accumulate this junk; things seem so important at the time.) I started to wonder if a dead bee had a soul, and if it had had a soul when it was living. I started to wonder if this dead bee could sting me, if it could, in fact, as a dead bee, kill me. Do I need to clean more, or less, often?