
What if it missed?
What if it missed?
July 13, 2025
I revisit my domicile of former yore
Not from a distance so vast
But from a time spanning even more
I arrive as an outcast
Expecting adoration
Receiving aborration
And complete censor
Why have you forgotten?
He who offers all life
Why has thou forsaken?
He who removes all strife
As the crowd collectively gathered
As a single minded pool
Focusing their vile and their hatred
As if it were an ancient rule
Hear the fool
A pathetic Picasso
Look at his garb
A putrid Poe
We are in the presence
Of an arrogant Aristotle
Methinks he frequently partakes
From Bukowski’s bottle
These were not my children
From so long ago
These were the ignorant masses
Requiring a flambeau
In a manner in which all Gods
Might attest
I did what all deities should
When similarly stressed
Humans milling aimlessly in place
Mimicking food to digest
So I re-guided that asteroid
Leaving dinosaurs forever blessed
As I revisit my new children of current yore
Whose cold blood pleases my warm heart
And whose size grows even more
It pleases me to have done my part
Expecting admiration
Receiving adulation
Forever an idyllic splendour
Dare
Dare
July 12, 2025
My friends already knew too much about me. I chose dare instead. My friends are devious to the core. Today could be a very good day if they live up to expectations.
Their dare for me: dress the part, go on the train, and see if someone would grope me.
I had heard about men with wandering hands and the dangers a young woman could encounter if left alone among a densely packed crowd of such men. It sounded dangerous. It also sounded exciting. I was up for the challenge.
I took thirty minutes to change into a business suit with a short skirt and high heels. I left the top two buttons of my shirt open. I applied too much eyeliner and too much perfume. My friends said I looked like a tart. I felt much more than a tart.
To see who won, all three of them would enter the train from the previous stop and video all that would occur. I told them that I was not afraid. They all instructed me to be careful, “just in case.”
“Just in case” came within 40 minutes. By that time, I was wedged between three men using a coordinated effort to touch everything they could. The youngest one was cute, so I permitted him the most leeway. My friends stood in three different areas to video his work and my reaction.
He was slow, at first, reaching for my skirt hem and then pulling away. Soon, he rested his hand on my rear. The other two pushed against me so I had to push against the cute one. When I did, he began to move his hand across my rear. I did not turn to him, instead adopting an innocent look of someone trying to avoid the embarrassment of being publicly humiliated on the train. I took a few deep breaths. I gave into his intentions, as slowly as he was forcing them upon me.
Within a minute, he had gone too far. Here, with his hand under my skirt, I should have cried out. I should have called for help. But I didn’t. I held onto the pole and pushed my rear back upon his hand, giving him free reign to proceed.
I gave an approving smile to my friends so they wouldn’t intercede with what transpired. One of the men in front reached up to begin feeling my breasts. The third one took my hand and lowered it to his groin. I was all in when I unzipped his fly. The cute guy behind me slid two fingers inside of me. My breast man had unbuttoned my blazer. I was almost ready to scream from Mr. Fingers, when Mr. Fly wanted to push me down to my knees.
That is when my friends decided I had gone far enough. Their prudent interference saved me from becoming an infamous video star. At first, I protested. On the way home, I acquiesced to their reason.
Later that night, while I was alone with my thoughts, I changed my mind yet again. I began thinking of alternative endings for that train ride. I began thinking about how far I was willing to go with three strangers.
Perhaps it was for the best, I did not.
But that conclusion never appears in my subsequent dreams. Not once.
46
46
July 12, 2025
The Tinjit Ambassador waited.
Those that knew him best, knew of his infinite patience when dealing with matters of state.
Otherwise, he was not one to be trifled with.
Major Skilton informed me of the difficulties when docking with any of the ships of the Rapst Confederation. Each airlock was slightly different. Each atmosphere contained an unique odor, almost a signature, in which the Rapst felt at ease when breathing. First contact with this species noted the importance of ceremony and the significance of ego. No Rapst had ever made an alliance, let alone a trade, with any species that did not stroke their ego.
Stolen reports from that first contact indicated humans were both adaptable and crazy. It is from the former that I am here today. From the latter, it shows a Rapstian value system. I think it may show a level of desperation.
“Ambassador, the airlock is secure. If you have a strong stomach, carpe diem.”
I have always admired Major Skilton for his engineering prowess and the time he took to learn Latin.
“Return in 24 hours. By then I should have an answer for the President.”
With that, I heard the airlock close. I walked through to the other side, waiting only seconds before their side opened.
I did not permit the odor of dead fish to be read on my face. I am too stoic for that type of rookie mistake.
The Under Ambassador extended his arm to shake my hand. His multiple scars and stitches extended the circumference of all four of his appendages, reaching as high as his second elbow. This gesture was for me. I reciprocated by removing my knife, cutting the skin on my left palm, and smearing the blood across my shirt.
All present were in agreement that I was worthy of an audience with the Ambassador.
Within thirty minutes, the Tinjit Ambassador greeted me in my provided quarters. After formalities, he insisted on getting as my species would say, “down to business.” As with all Rapst species, ego is preserved when both parties do not look directly at each other during negotiations. I focused my sight on the floor. The Tinjit always fix all of their eyes on the ceiling.
By Rapst tradition, the dialogue had exactly 56 minutes before conclusion.
“We, the Tinjit, are at a cross road. You understand that we are the Rapst apex predators. We feast exclusively on our less developed subspecies, mainly the Clinkos. Our problem exists with keeping a balance between what we consume and how the Clinkos are maintained. Historically, the Clinkos live a long time. As they age, they grow, they mature, and they regenerate their wounds quickly. However, as they age, they begin to taste poorly, no longer becoming palatable to the Tinjit diet. As such, as they age, they become of less use to us.”
This was all new information to me. Somewhat disgusting, but information, none the less. “How can I be of assistance?”
The Tinjit Ambassador took a moment before answering. “I am honored you spoke of yourself and not of your species. The Tinjit want you to assist our genetic scientist with creating a human infused, Clinkos hybrid that would not live as long, but would keep their taste for their shortened lives. You have 46 chromosomes. The Clinkos have 46 chromosomes. Our research indicates hybridization is possible. If you assist us, you will have an elevated status among the Tinjit.”
“And what if I decline your offer?”
As the door opened to the room, four additional Tinjit rushed in to secure me. They stripped me of my clothing and lifted me onto what I believe was a medical table.
“What I speak of is not an offer, it is an order.”
I missed the 24 hour deadline for returning to Major Skilton and his ship. I can only assume I will never return.
The Under Ambassador greeted me just after the Tinjit medical corp took samples of my blood, skin, fat, semen, and spinal fluid. I remained secured to the table bleeding from my arms from the teeth of the Tinjit Ambassador who decided to taste me.
The Under Ambassador was here to infuse my blood with a sample of his own Clinkos blood, known for promoting rapid regeneration of wounds and injuries.
Within a mere minute, I began regenerating, abating much of the pain I had endured. Unfortunately, the process left me with hideous scars, similar to that of the Under Ambassador.
“The Tinjit Ambassador wishes me to inform you of the successful adaptation of your 46 chromosomes with the 46 chromosomes of every Clinkos on board. Once we have secured another series of withdrawals of your fluids and flesh, we will begin honoring you in what you call, päsCHAməssleee.”
His pronunciation was poor enough to ask for a translation. Good enough not to actually require one. His arms scars looked more healed than I remembered. His smiles reassured me I was taking his place during feasting.
He no longer reeked of dead fish. Unfortunately, I did.
How do you take your tea?
How do you take your tea?
July 09, 2025
I asked Kalinda, the young lady who my son speaks so highly of, to meet with me, at my home, this Saturday morning. My son, Thomas, would be out attending to business until Sunday evening. In that time, I could meet with and assuage what seemed to be a series of fears she has about their relationship together.
Though I have a fairly large home, I prefer no servant staff. When the doorbell rang, I greeted Kalinda and asked her in. I had the parlor well provisioned for the two of us.
“How do you take your tea?” It was a question no one had previously asked her, possibly because she had never tasted the brew. Possibly because she had never experienced it properly served. I was to later learn that she did not know what she wanted or even how to ask for it.
But I digress.
Initially Miss Kalinda refused, but, eventually, I convinced her of the benefits of partaking.
After a few sips, I witnessed the onset of a teenage meltdown avoided via my own house blend.
I gave her time to collect her thoughts, take another sip, before she revealed the cause of her recently stemmed emotional outburst.
“Your son is cheating on me!” Upon hearing what I already knew to be true, I gave her the opportunity to compose her thoughts and continue.
“Right now, in Dallas, he is cheating on me with a college friend who is more friendly than necessary. I know this from a private investigator I hired last week. Thomas is not even trying to be discreet.” She rummaged through her purse to retrieve photos of the two, nearly naked, in the hotel elevator and the hotel pool. While I rarely wish to view my son’s indiscretions, I had to admit, even he was far too ostentatious to be considered “respectable”.
Kalinda took another sip before asking the obvious. “Do you know about this?”
I took my last sip and rejected another ration. “Of course I knew. Thomas is my son. I have always known about his dalliances.” This shocked Kalinda. “Why didn’t you tell me? I have a right to know. No one should be treated this way.”
Usually, I am reserved in nature. However, today, I began to provide to Kalinda the facts she could not remain ignorant of. “Thomas is a grown man, who knows what he wants, and how to get it. I raised him this way. It should come as no surprise that he extends his charm to more than one female. Deep down you understood this when the two of you began dating. It is just that you turned a blind eye to it as he became even more open with his actions. Last Christmas, I saw you listening at the door of one of your friend’s room. You must have heard her screams as they “exchanged gifts”. When the two of you arrived for Easter, you put on a brave face as Thomas deflowered the caterer in the kitchen. Twice, if you count the time she was delayed serving the desert. Think about it Kalinda, Thomas is, and always will be, lecherous. He will always be a senior officer in the family business. Should you decide to join him in his ascent to the top, be prepared for more affairs.”
I permitted Kalinda to think about what I said. She didn’t think for long.
“If you were me, what would you do?”
“Kalinda, that may be the most intelligent statement you have delivered today.”
“How so?”
“Listen carefully to what I am about to say. If I were you, I would get one step ahead of Thomas. I would make myself more desirable in every way possible to Thomas. This means more than sexual. This means educational. This means spiritual. This means all things business related. If I were you, I would know what I wanted, get it, keep it, and make all near me pay dearly to think about it.”
It took Kalinda a while to ponder the implications of what I said. She did graduate with honors from college with her MBA at age 20. She came from old money. It didn’t take her too long before she narrowed the list down to a category containing a number of her own personal inhibitions.
We spoke at length for nearly an hour before Kalinda asked me to assist her in making Thomas hers. Such a young woman, at that moment, overcame numerous reservations and discomforts in asking. She wanted to learn what Thomas wanted her to know. She wanted to learn how she wanted to desire. It would not be enough to go through the motions. I explained this to her. She blushed, held back her ego and asked to begin immediately.
I sat next to her, gently pulling her hair back from her face. Today, and thereafter, was going to be quid pro quo. All exams would be practical with grades of either A or F.
Those were my terms. Kalinda swallowed hard and agreed to all of them sans diffidence.
For the record, I gave her Kalinda her first lesbian kiss. She returned the favor, taking longer than I, with more meaning than mine. By sunset, I laid the Universe before her, unfolded for her to explore, as well as be explored. She rose to the occasion and began to reciprocate. Only one can be in control and when offered the reigns, Kalinda did indeed take control. By midnight, she remained true to all her collegiate stamina denying my pleas for rest. I awoke at sunrise, bruised and battered. Kalinda made breakfast for the two of us.
“Out of curiosity, I explored your nightstand. What a naughty girl you and your toy collection are. Today, there will be no rest for the weary.”
It wasn’t until 2pm that Kalinda made her departure. I tried to convince her otherwise, but to avail. She was a new person; a woman on a mission with a mere three hours before she met Thomas at the airport. He told me he would be bringing a new lady friend with him.
May God have mercy on their souls.
Afternoon Air Smells Freer
Afternoon Air Smells Freer
July 08, 2025
He had lied to me again.
After I secured him to the chair with a variety of ropes and duct tape, he woke from his somewhat less than peaceful slumber. The blood dripping down his forehead had since dried, the wound since clotted. His face, on any other day, would heal, even if left unattended.
Such is the nature of human physiology.
But this wasn’t any other day.
I opted for a roll of Saran Wrap, both for the convenience of deployment and the clinginess of the plastic to itself. I might have informed him of my intentions. However, I remember watching old Batman TV shows where the Joker/Penguin/Riddler make that same mistake permitting the Caped Crusader to escape and foil their nefarious plans.
My captive would receive no opportunity for a respite, let alone a departure.
When he realized my intentions, he began negotiating. The plastic wrap made its first circumference of his head.
I permitted him his last full breath prior to continuing. He might have used it for begging. He might have thought to insult me. Instead, he began apologizing.
Ironically, his gunshot wound to my knee crippled my gait, but not my hearing. My surgeon confirmed this to be true.
Too bad I did not believe what he had to say either.
When I finished the second circumference, he began thrashing. I expected a struggle, so I watched all he could give. If viewed face to face, all one could see was spittle rapidly evaporating. All one could hear was crying.
By the fourth circumnavigation of his head, even the crying disappeared. The thrashing soon followed. An eerie silence filled the room. It was, for me at least, cathartic. No more unlawful orders. No more ignorance of civil rights. No more lame excuses of his safety trumping my rights. Silence. It answered all of my unanswered questions. It opened a penultimate door of opportunity. I dreamed of this day and it finally arrived, albeit 12 years too late, but arrive it did.
Even though I could leave, I chose to remain for a while longer. Part of me envisioned him with a deception in which he had not passed from the Earth. He was like this. Slippery, elusive, the modus operandi for his profession of fallen expectations.
Within thirty minutes, even I accepted the reality of my new life.
I gathered my belongings, what few he left me with, and opened the front door, never to return.
Dábale arroz a la zorra el abad
Dábale arroz a la zorra el abad
July 04, 2025
Disregarding the moniker, Miss
By elevating their life ibidem
Access to a first kiss
By elevating the veil’s hem
Together for life
Finally announced
As husband and wife
Finally pronounced
Replied as equally confirmative
Particularly not a suggestion
Answered in the affirmative
Singularly an abbott posed question
Rivaling the gown’s procurance
Her lips cover her pearly whites
For a final bit of assurance
She grips her father as her knight
And all eyes are on the prize(s)
As respected, the bride appears
And the gathering rises
As expected, the song plays
As expected, the song plays
And the gathering rises
As respected, the bride appears
And all eyes are on the prize(s)
She grips her father as her knight
For a final bit of assurance
Her lips cover her pearly whites
Rivaling the gown’s procurance
Singularly an abbott posed question
Answered in the affirmative
Particularly not a suggestion
Replied as equally confirmative
Finally pronounced
As husband and wife
Finally announced
Together for life
By elevating the veil’s hem
Access to a first kiss
By elevating their life ibidem
Disregarding the moniker, Miss
I Got It Wrong
I Got It Wrong
July 02, 2025
I will never listen to Douglas again.
She is beautiful, charming, well-spoken, and available. I suggested dinner tonight at eight. She agreed, but informed me she had to work until seven. I countered with an offer to pick her up here (at work) and take her to the restaurant of her choice.
This caught her by surprise. As her fingers advanced to her hair, curling the end in a clockwise motion, she gladly accepted.
“Hope you like sushi.” were the last words she spoke as she turned and walked away.
“Dude! Did you see that? That thing she does with her hair.” Douglas (my coworker who always finds a way to interlope in my business) commented. “What do you mean?”
“Dude (he always begins a sentence with Dude), when a woman twirls her hair, it means that she likes you. It means that she really likes you. Think past flirtation, if you know what I mean.”
I rarely give Douglas a second thought about any subject other than coding. Today was no different.
But, by 7:05, with her twirling her hair, smiling at me, looking better than she did at noon, I began to revisit Douglas’s words. “Was she really flirting with me? Was it something even more?”
When we entered the restaurant, her hair “manipulation” became more obvious than ever before. She began to run her fingers through her hair. Her smile looked more lascivious than playful. She moved her auburn locks away from her face. With a giggle, she moved them toward her face. Then, with a small grin, she covered her lips with her hair, almost as a coquette, almost with a sylvan innocence. Douglas was right! It seemed to be something more.
I leaned in toward her, just before the waiter arrived to take our order. My date whispered that maybe we should leave right now. She said she was feeling something “different”.
I took her at face value when we rose, then I held her tight and planted a kiss on her.
Something “different” was indeed something “different”.
At the emergency room, she was treated and released for anaphylactic shock from a close proximity to sesame seeds. She told the ER attendant she had never tried sushi before and was up for it tonight. She also told the attendant that I behaved cluelessly when she was trying to limit her exposure using her hair across her face and inappropriately when she asked to leave right now.
Monday morning was my arraignment. Monday afternoon, I paid my fine. Tuesday morning, I discovered my desk on the southeastern corner of the building. I discovered the new desk for Douglas on the north western corner of the building.
Her desk was conspicuously close to his desk.
She still plays with her hair, just not with me.
avoir le cafard
avoir le cafard
June 30, 2025
I reached
Then I turned
I felt where you needed to be
Leaving me deserted when you weren’t there
Usually
I hear your feint footfalls
And the swish of a chemise
When you greet the morning sun
Now
Silence upon silence
Sunlight still permeates the window
Without your opaque frame shadowing my eyes
To be blue in Wisconsin
To have the cockroach in Marseille
I am alone again
A rose by any other name
Backpfeifengesicht
Backpfeifengesicht
June 29, 2025
It was Famke's turn. I egged her to play every day for the last two weeks. She told me, on our first date, I had a face that needed to be slapped. I replied I was up for some slapping if she was.
That date ended right then and there.
Until she called me back a week later.
I was on my best behavior, but the subject came up again. At the restaurant, we got into a fight about the waitress. I said she was clumsy and clueless. Famke told me to walk a mile in her shoes before I make such comments. I asked Famke to pick another place to eat. That is where she lost it. One flat right hand, solidly landing across the left side of my face. The noise rivalled a busboy dropping a full platter of dishes. The patrons at the eatery became silent for four seconds. Cell phone cameras came out, most likely to post anything that would happen next on a variety of websites.
However, nothing of this sort transpired. I smiled. She smiled. I told her, in this country, we have a sport for this. All Famke said was, “Ist das so?”
Now, a week later, I stand waiting. The medic told me not to smile. I told him to mind his own business. He moved away laughing.
Famke was ready with a countdown. I heard, “fünf, vier, drei, zwei, eins”, before experiencing the loudest, Schwarzeneggerian slap I ever encountered. She hit hard. I felt intense pain. My legs buckled. I went down like Joe Frazier in a George Foreman fight, called by Howard Cosell.
Then the lights went out.
When I did recover, Famke had me in her arms. She was wailing (in German) about how much I meant to her (courtesy of another’s cell phone and inclination to post videos). She thought I had died. I am glad I didn’t. I still ignored the medic until he asked if I wanted my knocked out tooth back.
The gap in my smile confirmed, at least, the tooth was mine.
During the car ride home, I milked my suffering for all that it was worth. Famke seemed both remorseful and despondent over the pain I caused her. When we got to my place, she asked if there was anything she could do to make up for tonight.
I told her, there was another sport in the US involving another type of slapping. The English to German translation might be a bit fuzzy, but she would know it as, “prügel.”
It was the first time I ever saw her smile in that mischievous manner of hers. It would not be the last.