Category: My stories

Space Signals

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We’ve been waiting centuries for the signal to arrive, and now that we have it, we can’t understand any of it.
It’s just digital jibberish flowing through the vastness of space, and we have no idea what any of it means.
But it’s out there. And we’re collecting it up, storing it in a digital library until we can figure out what it all means.
Sometimes I wonder if way out there in space, strange beings are gathering up all the crap we broadcast out into the void.
I’m sure the idiots at the RIAA will sue them for it.

My funeral

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yesterday night
I was thinking about
my funeral
if i were irish
i’d have a wake
and at that wake
there’d be alcohol
and music
and a guillotine
so my friends
and family
could hold a raffle
and the winner
would get to
cut off my head
(unless, of course
that is how
i died
in the first place)
instead, i am jewish
and there you will be
sitting shiva
for seven days
but just because
you have to sit
it doesn’t mean
it can’t be
on a whoopee cushion
or on a shiatsu
massage device
draped over
your chair

Water Flows

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If you insist on looking back, fine – Let’s all look back.
Water spreads in the ocean.
Water flows down the river.
Water runs through the sewer.
Water runs down the pipes.
Water collects in the drain.
A teardrop rolls down a face, falls into a drain.
Another. And another.
A painful memory recalled.
Drinking a glass of water.
Water flows into the glass.
Water flows through the pipes.
Water flows through the treatment plant.
From your perspective, it’s a painful memory.
But the water doesn’t know or care.
It just flows from place to place, unaware of what it does.

Salt and Pepper

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Her collection started simple – a dog and a cat. The dog held the pepper and the cat held the salt.
Then, she got a bride and groom set. The Bride’s dress used to be as white as the salt inside it.
Year after year, shelf by shelf – the shaker collection grew.
They kept her company in her old age, surrounding her with gleaming beauty.
When she died, she asked that her ashes be poured inside the shakers and her house turned into a museum.
Instead, the ashes were lost at the mortuary, and the shakers are sold off on eBay.

The H Word

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“To the man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”
Ever hear that?
I have. And I saw something similar to it carved into the bathroom stall: “To the man with a tree and a rope, everything looks like a nigger.”
Disgusting, isn’t it?
Know what’s worse? It’s carved into the bathroom stall of a church.
My church.
I close the Bible and look up from the pulpit.
“Which one of you fuckers wrote that?” I shout.
They stare back. Nobody responds.
Oh well. No sense beating a dead horse.
Potluck Sunday, you know.
Pass the potato salad, please.

Atlantis Rises

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Poseidon raises his mighty hand, oceans boiling with rage.
An ancient land rises from the deep once more.
“Atlantis,” growls the sea god. “How long has it been since I saw you fall?”
He wanders the water-logged streets, rotten wood and cracked piles of marble that were once stores, homes, and temples to his glory.
What was once beautiful and majestic, left in ruin by time.
Poseidon weeps, lowering his hand. The lost continent is lost once more.
He wonders aloud if he’s done this before.
Oh, Senile Sea God, like your temples, how the ages have ravaged your mind.

I’ve Got Spurs

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I’ve got spurs that jingle jangle jingle.
I wish I didn’t. Damn things are a dead giveaway for a cattle rustler.
They used to belong to a rancher, but he tried to catch me rustling his cattle and-
That’s right. I heard the spurs from a mile off.
They looked so nice, couldn’t leave them behind.
I should have sold them off, or dug a hole and buried them.
The Rangers have me pinned in this canyon. It’s night, but I can’t escape.
Bullet in my shoulder, bleeding slow.
I’ll die with my boots on.
And these damn, noisy spurs.

Blue Ear Wax

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Everybody knows you’re not supposed to stick a cotton swab down in your ear canal to dig stuff out, but we all do it anyway.
You gently swirl it around in there, even though eardrums will rip no matter how gentle you are.
The cotton swab comes out and…
It’s blue.
Usually, you can expect some yellow or tan ear-wax, but blue?
What could you have stuck in your ear that was blue?
Why don’t you remember?
Do you dig in there deeper?
Do you call the doctor?
Or…
This is why there’s cotton at either end of the swab.

The Trail

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I walk the mountain trail, my rage builds as I pick up each and every empty candy wrapper or soda can.
This path was once beautiful, just a simple trail winding its way upward.
Then, someone got it in their mind to simplify it and pave it and stick vending machines at either end.
The trash barrels are always full, so every so often the wind blows off the top layer of trash back into the trail.
It’s quiet right now, just before dawn. There’s a faint breeze blowing through the leaves.
Pretty soon the tourists will come.
Damn them.

Childhood Squid

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When I was little, my grandfather took us to an old-fashioned Merry-Go-Round. It had hand-painted horses and lions and elephants and…
And a squid. A bright purple squid, its tentacles waving about, and its beak snapping along in time with the calliope.
My brother and I would fight over who’d get to ride it. My grandfather wasn’t much help, because he was Old School. He thought kids ought to fight over such things.
It took thirty-five years, but I’ve found that squid. It’s in a museum.
Keep an eye out for the guard, dear.
It’s my turn to ride now.