Monday, November 27, 2017

Broken Parachute

A dare can increase the odds of bad choices.
I can accept the challenge or not.
Feeling the pressure, I decide to jump.
In the midst of falling, I realize that I’ve been given a broken parachute.
Comprehending the odds, I now have few choices at this moment.
In midair, my mind is racing through my few options.
In desperation, a voice tells me to pull the spare.
It works.
I survive another day.
The experience somehow humbles me.
When asked again, I think twice.
The broken parachute has not only made me afraid but it’s made me weigh the odds between life and death.
I’ve become disciplined to appreciate life.
After a heated argument with a close female friend, I decide to jump again.
I pull the first toggle, I have success with the first parachute.
When I land, my female friend forgives me.
You win some, you lose some, but when your odds are high, you have a better chance.
When your odds are slim, you take drastic measures to increase the odds.
With the second parachute, I increased my odds.
I guess on the second jump, my female friend imagined life without me and decided to forgive me.
Through it all, I learned one thing: “Shit happens.”
Pardon my old English, but I’m fortunate to be here.

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Thanksgiving tales of the Turkey & the Hare

For the humans, it was thanksgiving, and as usual, there was war brewing between men, but no one knew about the battle taking place on the edge of a farm by the woods. Author, was his name, and he wanted to eliminate the human race from the face of the globe. This was odd because Author was a turkey. Witnessing the slaughter of billions of his relatives, he became bitter and vengeful against the humans.
"I've lost my wit," He told his dear friend Brad, the hare.
"I want to fight them, I want to crush all hope of their existence from the face of the earth. We must not let this slaughter go on," Author, the turkey, explained to Brad, the hare.
"You've lost your mind, we have no chance against the human. They're much to strong," Brad, the hare, replied.
"No, have you taken the time to watch them. They're sick, and I don't know why they were made. They make holidays with our families' faces on the cover of coloring books in baskets. They pluck the feathers from innocent birds, whom, have done them no harm. We must group together and kill them all," Author, the turkey, explained.
Being his usual self, Brad ran away to spy, while Author went to gather up his army to go to war against the humans. All dressed in battle gear, he lead his troops to attack; standing at the top of a hill in the woods, he noticed a huge mushroom cloud emerging from the other side of the woods. He also saw Brad, the hare, running at full speed in their direction, away from the cloud.
"They've killed themselves! Get underground, they've killed themselves! Seek shelter, we must hide underground until the dust settles," Brad, the hare, said rushing to save his family after giving Author the message.
"Oh, what a surprise. You all heard what the hare said, take shelter until the dust settles," Author shouted to the crowd of animals ready for war.
Most of the birds took to the sky, while all of the other animals found a good spot underground. Once they got word from Poncho, the dove, that everything had settled down, they all gathered together to celebrate the victory that they didn't even have to fight.
Author, the turkey, and Brad, the Hare, stood tall on a log.
"Dear friends, we've been blessed by the creator of everything; we didn't even have to fight, but by divine law, we've been given a great gift from the humans. Brethren, they've killed themselves and left us to care for the planet. Now we, as grateful animals, must be thankful and work together by never forgetting this day of gratitude, handed to us by the humans. I, in all of my wisdom as a turkey, believe, that they did this for us. They did this for us because they felt sorry for ages of neglect against our kind. They fought each other, but friends, on this day, we will fight for solidarity. We're now at the top of the food chain, brethren," Author explained to a huge crowd of animals.
After his words, trillions of animals cheered.
"Long live the animals, long live the animals," they shouted at the top of their lungs.
Smiling and basking in his freedom, Author, the turkey, shook hands with Brad, the hare, and they both lived a long life, in peace, with the rest of their animal friends, never to see a human again.
The End. 

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Tender Jones AKA the Underdog

"Johnny, good God, would you get me a fight!" Jones said in frustration.
"But Jones, you've lost every fight, no one wants to fight a loser," Louie explained as Johnny left the room in disgust after trying to convince Jones to retire.
"Damn it Louie, but I feel like a winner, now find somebody for me to punish! You hear? I feel like a winner. Get me a fight! I feel like punishing somebody, I'll fight anybody!," Jones replied with certainty.
Louie went out and set up a fight with him and Big Hands Collins. Big Hands was looking for an easy fight to get ready to defend his title. Assuming it would be a walk in the park, he even put his belt on the line. He tried to be as nice as possible but Tender Jones wasn't having it. He had all of a sudden felt like a winner one morning and he was ready to fight his own mother to get some reps if he had too.
"I'm going to bust your face until the print on my gloves are on your skull, do you hear me boy," Tender Jones said to Big Hands in their one-on-one interview. When Big Hands spit in Tender Jones face, it was on.The fight was set.
Feeling the heat of the fight, Tender Jones had took Big Hands into the unexpected twelfth round and a lot of people who bet against Jones, had been shaking in their boots and double checking their bank accounts. In the last five seconds of the fight, Tender Jones hit Big Hands with the hardest uppercut known to man. Big Hands was down and from the looks of it, he wasn't getting up. Tender Jones had just won the biggest upset of his little career and stunned the boxing world.
Terry the announcer, like everyone, was stunned, you could hear a pin drop, the arena was so silent, Terry then jumped into the ring to get a word from Jones,
"How do you feel about your upset, Jones?"
"I told the world I was ready to punish somebody and that's what I did. Everybody thought it was over but when you wake up feeling like a winner everyday, even with no wins, as long as there is a body on the ticket, somebody is going down. Now I want you to look at me. Take a look at the one they called the underdog. Look at my critics' faces. They look sick, look at them! Somebody call the doctor," Jones explained holding his new title.
"Tell us how you did it, Jones. Everybody in the sports world had you marked off the moment you stepped in the ring. You have never won a fight in your career. How did you manage to convince the champ to fight you? How did you pull this off?" Terry asked.
"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, Terry, it's the size of the fight in the dog. Sometimes you can get used to losing and it can be rough because no one want's to be around a loser. But when you wake up feeling like a champ you just need someone to fight and I thank the champ for taking me as a joke. This is what this sport is about. It's about being down and out but finding a way to make things happen and that's what I did. I shocked the world by beating a big ugly bear that counted me out," the new champ explained as he turned his back to the camera and walked out with all of Big Hands ringside girls.
After the talk, Terry, being 70 years old, felt like a winner himself so he faced the camera to send a message home to his wife, "Unbelievable, the world now has a new champ that is 1 and 50. Gina, I'm an old man but I'm coming  home and taking you out tonight. Let's make another baby, cuz I feel like a winner. By God, I feel like an underdog."
The End.

In Cashtown

In the midst of a cold somber night, the poor stood waiting for their free meal at the shelter. In Cashtown, the poor had ethics similar to the rich, except theirs' came with little strings attached. A poor man's art dwells in simplicity, because with little, one can achieve a lot. Standing in a group to stay warm was protocol for a group of nobodies with nothing left in Cashtown. The figure of the moon stood tall in the sky at night, while the smell of green peppers invaded the nostrils of those homeless by the pizza shop. When you're poor and hungry, anything taste good, and hunger can drive a person to do some hostile things for a meal.
Poor able citizens like: Jimmy, Peter, Jermaine and Greg, had all been hired to kill some powerful people, but ended up back in the system. Suzie, Barb, Alisha and Jada, found themselves linked-up in a human trafficking ring that involved mass prostitution. The need for someone to be sent to free these lost poor souls was evident, because human dignity had reached an all time low in Cashtown. Even in scripture the beloved Christ looked out for the poor, but these situations were different. When I say different, if you didn't have anything to offer in Cashtown, then you were left in an alley to rot and starve. Marvin, the caretaker of most of the poor, had to show the children of Cashtown how to slay and burn rats if they wanted to eat. If you want to see the full picture of how the town worked, then you have to understand the ways of each class of people in Cashtown. The rich used the people in the middle, and the poor got what was left over: dirt, pesticides, food infested with bacteria, and even human feces; the list of leftovers can go on-and-on. The fear of being left with nothing is what haunted those at the top in Cashtown. This fear was evident in the struggling citizens, who had been hanging on to their last meal. No one wants to be thrown to the wolves, but in Cashtown it was evident that the well of cash had run dry. Reports of police hearing gunshots in the middle of the night and the paramedic job that became just as tiresome, was the lasting legacy of a city destined for failure. This violence stemmed from the roots of sloth and the lack of wealth to establish better resources to aid those in need. A town named after something that had become so inflated with interest but was now scarce: "Cash."
Even a bum can look good with money, but education becomes evident when he or she is in higher demand. The language and dialect of a child creates the sound of those he or she idolized growing up, but that alone won't protect them from a bully searching for a punching bag. Why should you feel sorry for someone who has nothing? Why should you give such thought to a crippled child or a blind man? What are the details of a story in a city that once had tall buildings with homeless people running through the streets? What does this tell you about the state of human empathy when it comes to maintaining their own kind? Women selling their bodies to feed their children, whom, were raised with no love from anyone. One night of love left their mother to fend for herself. Skeletal remains of human bones lacking food to feed their flesh. Millions of crying babies in need of care. This is what drove the atheist to his state of thought. This is what drove humanitarian aid workers to their breaking point. Men having to reach deep into themselves to see what really fueled their souls.
Does it matter to invest in flying cars when no one has the cash to pay? Does it matter to pay for education when no one has the cash to buy the books? The evidence and details of what caused such an array of social behavior can be found at the starting point, reflecting on what drove such people to make such foul choices. The details are encoded in those choices, yet some people are left with no choice but to give-in to circumstance. In Cashtown, once the cash dried up, the real nature of it's citizens became evident. The science is clear and concise: "Cash," is what kept the ship afloat.  Many are afraid to go back to what's left of a town named after green paper filled with pestilence and disease. Many are afraid to comprehend the carnal nature of those once fueled by capitalism; capitalism, mixed in the tears of a naturally organized social breed of citizens. Fumes from rocket ships that led the people into their peak of knowledge are all that's leftover, emblazoned in a field of crosses of the brave citizens that once roamed the streets of Cashtown.
Cashtown is now fenced off with toxic fumes and nuclear waste surrounding it. "How did such people end up like this?," was the number-one question on the minds of those who went back to do research, never to be seen again. Their bodies now lie beside the burned bodies of victims in the oil fields of Cashtown. In Cashtown, life was only good when you had cash, everything else was feelings and emotions that you couldn't afford. In Cashtown, social behavior was a waste of time; time, that you would eventually pay for in the end, wishing you had back. If nothing more, Cashtown should remind you that nothing in life is free, and everything comes at a price. Beware when you enter the blocked-off city gates of Cashtown; it may cost you your life, and don't walk the streets alone.  Although the city is now abandoned and infested with animals filled with radiation and pesticides, the smell of cash is still in the air. Those who don't know will be innocent victims and be a reason for others not to enter.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017


Is that man suppose to be standing on the ledge of that tall building?
I wonder if he knows that if he falls the gravity will kill him...
Woman and man.
Chicken and egg.
Dolphin and water.
Boy and girl.
Hmmm...if one does not acknowledge the other, who will populate the earth?
The book just sits on the shelf; the writer is broke, for no one will read his thoughts.
I wonder how this will alter the course of time.
Are muscles made to get stronger?
Is air made to breathe?
I go to the medicine cabinet to take my medicine; I've lost my mind.
In the process I hear two men on the radio arguing about a player that missed the winning shot.
People cheer when the ball goes in the hole, but they get upset when the ball doesn't.
Mustard and ketchup,
Burger and bun.
That's normal, at least to the majority of people.
Realizing that I've lost my mind, I look out the window and notice that the man didn't jump.
He got everyone all revved up, while the fire department talked him down.
I have a choice.
His girlfriend is in my apartment, I finally get it.
Only I can fix this broken record.
I almost killed a man.
I stop the conversation and tell her to go home.
When she leaves, I decide to sleep on the floor.
How simple was that?
Pondering the look on her face, I hope I didn't let her down.
She must think I'm different.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017


He started off strong and made many friends on his way to the top.
He was very ambitious in the beginning and full of spunk.
After shattering every record, there seemed to be nothing left to accomplish so he got married and settled down.
He soon escaped from his bad marriage and moved away to clear his mind.
Feeling the woes of aging he sat on the edge of his bed, he then decided to lay down.
He decided to rest.
For there was nothing left to do.

Monday, November 13, 2017

Who will volunteer?

Down to the last dollar.
Down and out.
Smart, yet intellectually broke.
Never afraid to love but often left alone.
Left with little but in the heat of the battle I see one hand rise from the crowd.
I'll go, Sir, I'll go.

Saturday, November 11, 2017


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Sunday, November 5, 2017

The Good News of Marlin Apple and the League of Writers

"Mr. Apple, you've been staring at that typewriter for days. What do you desire to write about?," Mrs. Jefferson asked.
"I want to write about a garden. I want to write about a place that makes sense," Marlin replied.
Mrs. Jefferson placed one of her apples on his desk that had been given to her by a student.
"Take your mind Marlin and put it in this apple. This apple was made by something. A force that your mind cannot comprehend. Take notice of this force and I want you to except it as it is. Do you see the apple's defense system. It has a protective layer and it hides the seeds in the core so it can keep growing for you to eat. Writing, Marlin, is a force that you must use to feed human thought so their minds can have something to hold onto in this life. The apple grows from a tree and when you partake from that tree you are given nutrients and energy. Once you learn how the tree grows you are given knowledge. This is a process, Marlin, that we all must use wisely. Do not be afraid," Mrs. Jefferson explained.
Marlin wakes up in front of his typewriter. He finds himself in the Kongo of Africa trapped in an old library in the middle of a war zone. All he can hear is typing and explosions from outside.
"Hello, does anyone know where I can get more paper from? I need more paper," He says, noticing a small arm and hand passing him paper over his shoulder.
All he hears in response is, "Shhhhhhhhhhh. Less talking, more typing. We must save the people with our thoughts," a voice says from behind a case of books.
Marlin then relates to his dream. He begins to write about a garden and an apple that if eaten could save the world. As he begins to type, the typing around him stops.
"Someone has a good thought. I can feel it. Someone has a message of wisdom and knowledge that could save the world. Let us read it. Let us encourage him to keep writing," another voice says while slowly walking from a far corner of the small library.
"I want to translate it," another voice says while the whole league of writers began to gather around Marlin.
There was another writer, she was small and handicap and could not walk, her name was Cindy.
"I understand," she said, comprehending the words on the paper, the words were so strong that she began to walk.
Teresa, another writer in the league, she had lost her hearing in a war zone in Bosnia, but had been so moved by the words that she began to hear.
Craig, a writer from America, he had been a victim of domestic violence and lost his sight when his father splashed bleach in his face. He did most of his reading from a braille book.
"I can see Marlin, I can see," He shouted.
"Shhhhhhhhhh. Let him finish." A small voice said, calming him down.
Writing himself to peace, finishing up, Marlin sat with the league of writers around him, there was paper and ink everywhere.
"It is good," he explained.
The reporter of the group, Stacey, collected his pages and began to edit. She bound each page together in the form of a book. Marlin noticed that the noise from the war had stopped. Everyone stood around skimming through the pages of their writings while the sun emerged from the clouds peeking through the windows of the library.
"This is a good story. Marlin Apple, we finally have some good news to report," Stacey said with enthusiasm.
The League of Writers then got a hold of every media source that they could to spread the good news.
With good news the world was all good, and everything good, gives good vibes and good life. With everything good, the possibilities were endless and the thoughts were full of life.
In this, the League of Writers kept the good news flowing, making everything around them good and full of life. The secret weapon could not be found in war but in the power to create good news and good thoughts.
Carry-on and keep writing Mr. Apple, the world needs more writers like you.
The End.

Friday, November 3, 2017

The Unlawful Politician of Cranberry Village

The village was called: Cranberry; Cranberry Village, and it was known for it's witchcraft. When the village people noticed other villagers walking into sick-call and coming out even sicker, speculation soon became a daily part of the village culture. When one of the members of the board, Willie Stevens, had been deep in sin and caught an unclean disease, he was left with no choice but to go into sick-call. One of the witches called it for what it was, an unlawful act that led to disease, and she knew he had to be quarantined. When she tried to expose what Mr. Stevens had been doing to the rest of the public, like any corrupted politician, Willie shunned the witches and got to the village people first.
"Dear brothers and sisters of Cranberry, it has come to my attention that witchcraft is what's making the village people sick. I've got a petition here--a petition to have every last one of them burned at the stake by sunrise," Willie declared.
Willie had now gotten the village people all revved-up. Knowing that they would believe him over the witches and realizing that no one was being cured, the towns people then tied up all of the witches and watched them burn at the stake. The next day Willie's disease had spread all over his body and had also infected all of the people in the village. With no medicine or further treatment, everyone in the little village ended up dead in a matter of weeks.
If one corrupted politician had been righteous and admitted his failures, this could have been prevented. In all of the madness, all that had been left over was a crate of medicine and a small book that one of the witch doctors carried to keep records. The fatal plague soon spread to other surrounding villages, but with no science left to find a cure or treatment, most of the people turned to the priests and other religious clergymen for help. One village priest passed out jars of alcohol and old booze and told the masses of people to mix it with water that he had sanctified and made holy. Realizing that nothing was working, little Edith, one of the village's young virgins, had somehow become immune to the fatal disease. In desperation, the village priest and the people took to her as being the pure saint sent from God to heal them, they then took specimens of her blood and began to mix it with theirs. Having no knowledge about human physiology and little education, masses of village people soon realized that it would only work for some of the victims. With little Edith and only a tenth of the victims alive, the remaining villagers got together and proclaimed Edith as their queen. They then burned the bodies of the dead, and began to build temples with the virgin, Queen Edith, as the center piece. Two thousand years after this terrible travesty, the lost book of records recorded by the witches was found by archeologist whom all hailed it as the lost text of the holy scriptures. Using the techniques in the lost book, the new age of thinkers revered it and found it useful in their practice of purity and lawful ways, never knowing it to be a product of witchcraft.
A practical thinker will read this story and understand that there are mechanics of knowledge. A conclusive thinker may see it as it is--realizing the cause and effects. But in each case, whether good or bad, without science, there would be something missing in the recipe of certainty when evaluating the facts. The only thing certain is that one event led to the construction of assumptions rooted from corruption. Leaving present thought to be shaped by one corrupt act of foul play, with only the story teller knowing the truth and the individuals in the story being the victims of a lie. This chain of events all occurred because of one unlawful political act.
The End.