Music… ah, sweet blanket of music wrap me in your melody, let me breathe your beauty, as your poetry tells of where I’ve been, and where I’m going.  Of course that’s true for you too, you know.  You’re going the same place I am, the same place as all of us.  After all it’s just another dark night on planet earth, headlights can only stretch so far you know. Might not want to see past the light though, but if you knew of what lay beyond, it might be worth a peek.  Then again, that might spoil the fun of it all.  No, I don’t mean to throw around “paradoxes”, that’s too easy isn’t?  Anyone can talk in riddles, it takes thinking to talk around the riddles, like puddles of water; you want to stay out of.   Do you understand how fast time is passing?  Good God Man! It’s passing as we speak, and zoom, it’s gone, as you thought about what I said.  It is the “present” that passes, and the past is all that remains.  But the past is not dead, it lives and breathes within all of us.      It is a mistake to think that the past is dead. Nothing that has ever happened is quite without influence at this moment. The present is merely the past rolled up and concentrated in this second of time. You, too, are your past; often your face is your autobiography; you are what you are because of what you have been; because of your heredity stretching back into forgotten generations; because of every element of environment that has affected you, every man or woman that has met you, every book that you have read, every experience that you have had; all these are accumulated in your memory, your body, your character, your soul. So with a city, a country, a race; it is its past, and cannot be understood without it. It is the present, not the past, that dies; this present moment, to which we give so much attention, is forever flitting from our eyes and fingers into that pedestal and matrix of our lives which we call the past. It is only the past that lives. Will Durant      You are the past my friend.  And you should welcome it to your breast and breathe deeply of your own.  Inhale that sweet source of life, the very beginning of what you know to be you.  It should be felt with such force; to let it's truth absorb into you,  pressing against your soul a warmth you've never felt. There is no way you can deny the past, for it would be denying yourself.  

Driving and listening to music

Watching the sun fall into a brownish red

A west Texas kind of sky

I’m wondering what took so long

For you to come into my world

 

Knowing without any doubt

That life before you was good too,

And though our life is better and the best

I know that what made me…. And you

Was time before us

 

Time to live, time to love,

And time to learn

you and me living, loving, and learning

how to find… us

 

And when that final sun slips into the sky

I’ll thank god for all the good times

And most of all - that west Texas girl

And the time to find her

 

Any pretty woman I didn’t take the time to kiss…. Any crazy thing I didn’t do…I meant to..

 

Man I love the words to that song…

 

Wouldn’t it be sad - if all you ever had was a granite epitaph that said I meant to…

 

Sitting here with a little grassy buzz, drinking Crown, thinking about Rom and Log, a.k.a. “Romantic Ice” and “Logical Ice”, and how long it’s been since their input was evaluated.

 

Rom:  Well… it’s been a looonng time since “Ice” has wanted to hear from us, eh?

 

Log:  he’s been busy

 

Rom: yeah, working his ass off, not to mention all those “home projects”.

 

Log:  better than selling cars and flying from bar to bar….

 

Rom: that’s debatable..friend.

 

Log: oh surely you are joking!!

 

Rom: I didn’t say that what he used to do was better than now; just that it was debatable, geez, pay attention.

 

Log:  you’re worse than ever if you even think for a minute - that Ice is not better off now, than he was.

 

Rom:  you might be right, Log, this “Blogstream” thing is pretty nice. 

 

Log:  geez…  it might be if you’d stay out of his head, and he wrote sensible stuff, instead of all those poems and that other radical stuff.

 

Rom: Me? I’m just the color commentator here.  

 

Log:  What are you doing now?

 

Rom: dancing to the frigging music, what does it look like?

 

Log:  why can’t you pay attention to me?

 

Rom: I can, it’s just that - its so fucking easy, I can dance, order some more crown, recite the Gettysburg Address, and listen to you all at the same time. By the way, “ICE is thirsty; I can tell, he’s staring at his empty glass.

 

ICE:  be right back guys, gotta go fill my glass

 

Log: shit, see what you’ve done; he might not come back for an hour or so.

 

Rom:  you know if I were ICE I’d videotape this screen. 

 

Log:  what?  What for?

 

Rom: shit, wouldn’t it be neat to see all this writing going up on the screen, and nobody at the keyboard?

 

Log:  are you nuts or something?

 

Rom:  no – but you are, if you don’t know that we are nothing but figments of ICE’S imagination.

 

Log:  HOLD IT, HOLD IT, don’t go there again, it took us two weeks to climb out of that hole last time.

 

Rom: yeah, you’re right, turned into a bummer didn’t it?  You shouldn’t take me seriously, I’m just kidding around.

 

Log:  well that sounds better; do you feel better?

 

Rom:  feel?  Feel with what?

 

Log:  gaaaah

 

Rom:  just chill; give it a rest.

 

ICE:  I’m back, what’s been going on?

 

Log:  nothing man, you wouldn’t believe it anyway.

 

Rom: never mind him ICE, just tell me, “are we getting crocked tonight”?

 

Log: no we’re not; tonight - ICE is going to balance his checkbook.

 

Rom: on a Friday night!  That’s not going to happen.  It’s a crocking night for sure!

 

Log: “crocking?” what kind of word is that?

 

ICE:  it’s a crocking night all right…

 

Rom: same as any word when you add “ing.” Means it’s an ongoing thing.  Like for example, “Fuck” means nothing really, till you add the “ing.”  But.. when you add “ing” then immediately you get this visual picture…

 

ICE:  got it already, yeah..

 

Log: both of you disgust me..

 

Rom: oh yeah, I didn’t see you “opting out” the last time, or did you close your eyes?

 

Log: I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. “Opting out” is a phrase used when one wants out of a credit card that has changed its terms.

 

Rom: what the hell was that?

 

ICE:  correct.. exactly, now guys why don’t you try and get along, for a change?

 

Log: but ICE, at least I try to suppress such thoughts…

 

Rom:  why in the hell would you want to do that?

 

ICE: yeah, what about that - Log?

 

Log: well, it’s the proper thing to do ICE, you don’t want to be running around with all those thoughts in your head, they’ll take you down the wrong streets.

 

Rom:  yeah, I remember that Saturday night we sold that little convertible to the blond.  Man, she was hot!

 

Log:  I guess you forgot the part about her husband trying to kill ICE?

 

Rom: well that was later, and really not ICE’s fault, how’d he supposed to know she was married.

 

Log: What!  What do you think when you see size 13 cowboy boots in the closet?

 

Rom: I never seen those damn boots you keep talking about.  Did you see them, ICE?

 

ICE: She told me they belonged to her daddy.

 

Log: yeah, “daddy” as in “gangster.”

 

Rom: he wasn’t in the mob.

 

ICE: whatever just drop it.

 

Rom: see why I like “fucking?”

 

Log: or “drinking”

 

Rom: check

 

Log: or “smoking”

 

Rom: check, usually anything that burns..

 

Log: or “chasing women”

 

Rom: check

 

Log: or-

 

ICE: Cut it out Log!

 

Log:  what about Rom?

 

ICE: he’s just responding to you - dumb ass!

 

Log: not now.. he’s in the “5^th Dimension,” cause “you know what” is playing…”A whiter shade of Pale”

 

ICE: yeah did you know that it was John Lennon’s favorite song?

 

Rom: he probably doesn’t know who John Lennon is.  Remember the last time we talked about Lennon? Log was wondering whether or not he was one of the “Lennon Sisters?”

 

Log:  crap! what bullshit, you know better than that.  ICE was mixing “Old Charter” with “Coors”, that night, and I thought you said Lenin, not Lennon.

 

Rom: So you thought Lenin was one of the Lennon Sisters? 

 

ICE: now guys why can’t you just get along?

 

Rom: it’s his tight ass that causes the friction; he’s frigging weird, like one of those “angry young republicans” on the Blog.

 

Log:  There you go again with that Blog crap, and you should talk, you don’t even think we’re here.

 

Rom: hold that pose; I’ll take a picture and show you.

 

Log: hey ICE, you’re glass is empty.

 

ICE: back in a minute

 

Log: quit fucking with ICE; let him enjoy his Friday night.

 

Rom: me?  I didn’t bring neither one of us up.

 

Log: wasn’t me either, but I’ve enjoyed it, what say we “X” out of this “Microsoft Word Program,” and get some sleep.

 

Rom: I’m with you man, but let’s not make it so long before next time, ok?

 

Log: sure, we’ll do lunch or something, seeya later..

 

Rom: I’m closing the program now, and when ICE get’s back he’ll find something else to do, like listening to his music, drinking, fu-

 

Log: “X” out the damn program!!

 

Rom: done… asshole

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey” I said, answering my cell. I knew it was her from the Caller ID.
So – you’re gone? ----- I could hear the “catch” in her voice.

-------- telephone conversation between my 2nd wife and me. This takes place on the day I went home at lunch - and moved out of the house. She had called me at about 5:45 p.m., which was about 15 minutes after she would of arrived home from work. I had been expecting the call – for several hours.

“Yeah” I say….

She’s crying.

“Sure was a fucked up house I walked into tonight”, Diane said.

“yeah, well I’ve had it, I love you D, but I just can’t live with you.”

“Where’re you staying”? --- her soft, caring voice

“I got an apartment over on the Westside.”

“That was quick.” - the unsaid was that I must have planned the leaving…..

“Well I was lucky, Kevin (my son) still had 3 months left on his lease, and needed to get out of his apartment. I just told him I would help him out, and me too, by taking the apartment off his hands”.

---- it was true, but Kevin had told me this a couple of weeks before, after he’d already moved out. So, yes folks, it was a planned leaving.

“Oh, yeah, right.” ---- her hard voice

“I didn’t plan it D, but you know it wasn’t working, hadn’t worked in a long time.”

-----------------------yeah I lied about it “not being planned.”

“Come back,”… crying.. -----soft voice – almost a whisper

“I can’t D”, “I can’t….” ----this is the “tough part” for me; to turn her down.

“Come over, we can talk this out”. ----- almost a direct order here, but it made me think of her - her smell - the soft blond hair, brushing my cheek, my skin, the way she felt.

“No, we can’t D”.

“D”, she said.

note -- we called each other “D” because both our names started with D.

“You know” – I began….

“You’re throwing away 8 years, just like that”? --- her calm sensible voice

“You know there is a saying”…..

“I don’t need another one of your fucking sayings”. ----this is her real voice, the sharp, direct, very forceful voice, and one that I am very familiar with.

“Well I don’t need any more of this shit”. --- now I’m in the “mad mode”, and it’s easier to deal with. ---know what I mean?

“If you would just come over and talk”. --------- soft, pleading, almost sexy voice, another one I know well. I am very aware of how “seductive” it can be. I am desperately wanting out of this conversation.

“D, I’ve got to go to work in the morning”. --- this is a “dig” at her, because we have “argued” many times about my complaint – “that sitting up till 3 a.m., "discussing our relationship", always screwed with my job performance.

“Yeah, sure”. --------she understood the “dig,” and was admitting it here.

“I need to go, D”, I say softly.

“Okay”. --------her own voice soft

“I love you D”, I said.

“I know”, she replied.

---silence for about 30 seconds—

“I’m going”. I said.

--------- I can hear her crying, and I am too. I bring the phone from my ear, and push the little button that ends our conversation.

********** It actually took another year for us to finally get the divorce I wanted, but that didn’t bother me much, for I didn’t really care anymore. All I had wanted was “away” from her. Diane was a very sexy, seductive woman, and very direct. Men usually “got it” really quick when meeting her for the first time. I sure did. In more ways than one too, but – there is always “two sides” to every story and I will not give you mine here on this blog, when she cannot defend herself and rebut my arguments.

I will tell you this though. After I left her, “many of our mutual friends, men, women, and couples, told me --- “ that they didn’t know why in the hell I stayed with her as long as I did”. One of “those” who told me that was her 14-year-old son.

Anyway, like I said, it took a year for us to finally divorce, and during that time we had a few “long - into the night - talks”, at her house, in my car, and on the phone. They did nothing to repair our broken relationship. The only “times” we thought it might work was, on those times when we’d meet at a club, and our eyes “sparked and flashed” just like old times, while we danced, and drank till the club closed. Then it was off to my apartment, to make love and sleep it off. The next morning we were back “discussing” our relationship. So.. that didn’t work either.

It’s been 6 years since the divorce. We’re both remarried now, and I’ve never been happier in my life. We live in different cities. We send each other occasional emails, but that’s the extent of our contact. It’s the way I want it. It’s the way it has to be. ---------------------------ice

Memo: From the Desk of the President
To: Sheriff Buford
Subject: Mission

As follows – Top Secret – For your eyes only;

Informing you of following developments. It is has come to our attention that the ghost of Mona Lisa is not what you are attempting to snare down there in blogstream.

Moana was captured this p.m. in Tibet. She had been posing as a lady named Patty. Upon her capture she was debriefed, but her information was useless, cause all she could talk about was some guy name of Scratchomo. We worked her over pretty good, but she would not “give”. Finally, we were forced to release her, because we really had nothing on her. She immediately bought a "one-way" ticket to someplace called “The Tomb”, and was last seen with a big grin on her face as she boarded the plane.

Which brings us to your situation at the Blogstream. We now believe that the person your team is chasing is no other than Seagram T. Hooligan. Mr. Hooligan as you are aware, is the famous inventor, and he is recruiting people for his “hidden city” located right outside of Las Vegas, which is known as “Mayberry”. Mr. Hooligan has invented various things in the past and we have managed to keep him “down on the farm” so to speak, but he has been “expanding” as of late and his merry recruitment party just keeps on a pounding.

For example here is a description of Mayberry that we received from a Special Agent just this morning.

Mayberry ==== is a small town of about 10,999, located just outside of Las Vegas, approximately 22 miles. It is made up of about 98 percent women, and all of them are built like a BSH.

The town due to its hidden nature does not collect taxes from anyone, and all residents are exempt from paying taxes, city, state, or federal. All food, expenses, rent, house payments, utility payments, cable bills, etc. etc. are paid for by Mr. Hooligan. Can you imagine such a thing?

Nobody works in this town. All everybody does the live long day is sit around discussing life, drinking booze and god knows what else. The town is cared for by Hooligan’s crew of maintence people who keep everything running on schedule and basically trouble free. When one of the residents needs anything, they just get on Blogstream and make a request and the next thing they know they have what they wanted. Incredible isn’t it? That regular everyday people should get a life like mine.

Anyway, your new mission is to capture Mr. Hooligan and bring his head to this office. Now go out and find this man and bring him to me.

Signed The Prez.....

note: read previous blog to get Sheriff Buford's response to Prez's memo.