The Mazdarati Conundrum

Why and what happened when I stopped blogging years ago?

The answer is best explained using this analogy…

When I started blogging it was much like the vehicle I now drive. Which is a GMC Yukon Denali XL.

It’s big, imposing, comfortable. 2 rows of captains chairs, 12 speaker BOSE stereo system. 2 video screens, leather interior, wood trim. It has it all.

I treated my blogging as such.

Just get in and drive.

Be spontaneous and let it ride.

By the end of my run. I felt I was no longer in the Denali….

I was back driving my first car. She was dubbed ” the mazdarati”.

The Mazdarati

That’s close to it. Mazda GLC hatchback. No frills. Bells or whistles.

The horn didn’t even work. I had to lean out the window and scream.

The only spontaneous thing about it was the smell…ugh.

I put diesel gas in it once…

Not a good idea.

Anyway, my blog ended up like that car…


Now, all this time later. I giving it another go.

Where have been during that time and what have I been doing since then?

Follow along as I get back in the Denali and take a long ride.

The last six years have been life changing and eventful. The future promises to be just as chaotic.

I tell it as I see it.

Once again….

It’s good 2 be gone.


Z 50 Lingo

I created this space for the purpose of writing….uhhh….stuff.

I have always been enamored with the prospect of being able to write a story and have the bravado to have others read it.

Being brave enough to put my real name on it….that’s another story.

For now, I go with this blog as my channel for bravery.

Writing about family events and happenings are one thing

(that I do often),

but creating fictional stories are quite another.

I have written quite a few. They are listed on the menu…..


If you are fortunate enough to not have to use the iPhone app for your blogging experience then most of the bold capital words underneath my blog name and tag line represent the titles to said fictional stories.

It is my belief, than in order to write fiction it is best to read fiction.


I read a lot of fiction.

We have 1 bookstore in our town. It is a books slash movies slash video games slash music…store.

I go in there often and slash through their bargain novel section.

I buy a virtual cornucopia of books that are not very good….at least to me. I will buy 4-6 books for a total of under $10.

Every once in a while I will find a diamond in the coal.

About 6 months ago…I found THE diamond.

For $3, I bought a book by an author named

Carlos Ruiz Zafon.

Go ahead…

Say the name again and just let it roll off your tongue.

Carlos. Ruiz. Zafon.

Here is the book.

That book…..

That one book……

Has created doubt in my mind about being able to write fiction.


Because anything I have started to write, I have compared to that book, and have deemed it unworthy.

I know…I know…that is exactly what my wife tells me.

I can’t compare myself to someone else.

Especially not to an novelist that has been translated into over 50 languages, published around the world gathering numerous international prizes and reaching millions of readers (at least that’s what the back of the book says)


I have.

And because of it, my fictional side has gone on hiatus.



Tonight, we went into the slash store.

I went to the novel section, like I always do, and headed for the “Z”.

I have done this for the last 3 months.

Always the same book by Mr. Zafon is there……

The one I have already read.

Until today….

I paid full price….no mark downs. I never pay full price.


And it’s a continuation with the same characters.

Mr. Zafon…..I will read your continuation and I am quite sure that I will be left in awe of your ability to create…


I will write fiction again….

And you can translate THAT into over 50 languages….

Ode 2 Torrance

20131207-203505.jpgAll work and
No play
dull boy

All work and no play make good2begone a dull boy. “all work and no play make good2begone a dull boy”.

All work AND NO play make good2begone a DULL boy.


-all work and no play
-make good
-dull boy

Boy dull a gonebe2good good make play no and work all.


all WoRk AnD nO pLaY mAkE GoOd2bEgOnE a Dull BoY

The Transition Of Mr. Wilkes

David Wilkes started his Saturday the same way he always did. He got up out of bed at 6:45 am, went to the bathroom and then headed to the kitchen to brew some fresh joe. While the coffee was perking, he checked in on the kids and returned to his bedroom to put on his jogging clothes. He awoke his wife, to tell her he would be back after his run. Same routine, every Saturday.

He stretched his legs for a few minutes, took in a few deep breathes to clear out the lungs, then opened up the app on his smartphone which tracked his distance and time.

As he reached for the handle on the front door, he felt a sharp pain on his left temple. His vision was emblazoned with a piercing white flash and he went down in a heap.

“It’s a strange feeling looking down at your own body as it lies on the floor beneath me.” He thought as his spirit rose up above him and through the ceiling into the open air.

He drifted up into the blankness before stopping into a sea of white.

He looked around and saw a figure walking toward him.

He couldn’t quite comprehend what he saw. In his bewilderment, he made a single statement….or question, if you will.

“Dad?….Is that you?”

Mrs. Wilkes jumped out of bed when she heard the crash from the other room. She grabbed her robe and put it on as she rushed out to see what had happened. A feeling in her gut feared the worst.

As she rounded the island in the kitchen and headed for the front foyer and entryway to their home she glimpsed the end table turned over by the front door. As she rushed in closer, she found her husband on the floor with a small gash on his forehead, convulsing as if he were having a seizure.

“OH MY GOD! HONEY! HONEY!” She screamed.

Their children, who were awakened by clamor, came out of their rooms scared. The mother yelled at the oldest, who was 12.


Mrs. Wilkes, returned her attention to her husband, who she desperately held in her arms and spoke into his ear,

“Don’t you leave me…you hear me…don’t you dare. HOLD ON!!”

As she repeated those phrases over and over as she rocked him back and forth, she began to hear sirens in the distance, and the smell of fresh coffee.

“I come to you as whatever you desire me to be. You have never gotten over your Father’s passing….to comfort you in these strange surroundings, you see me as you wish to see me.”

“So this is what happens when in death. Hmph. Where’s the pearly gates…or the lakes of fire for that matter?” David asked.

“You…..are not dead…..yet. You are in transition. Here is where your ultimate choice is made.” The being stated.

“Choice? What choice?”

“The choice to grant the wish that you have wished, or, to return to fight for balance.”

“I wish for a lot of things….it’s just talk..”

“So you, as many others have before you and many others will after you, have stated….just talk. Well, we listen and we give the opportunity to grant those wishes, but only one time and only the gravest of wishes. Your wish…time and time again, has been to be taken away from all the stresses of your life. The stresses that you have created by not choosing. You want it all. Sorry. It can’t be. Now you must choose.”

“Wait…wait…wait. I don’t get it.”

“Of course, you don’t. Your kind rarely does. Let me put it plainly. You have a wife and 2 kids….and you have a mistress on the side. You cheat your business to support both. You refuse to choose. Here….in transition, you must choose. You either choose to go back and face your misleadings, thereby, creating personal balance or stay here…die and let them figure it out. Either way, you lose…..but because you make a choice, your soul can be cleansed and life will go on, or…….you take the easy way out and find out what you transition into after death.”

“How much time do I have to choose?”

“Your time left is based upon the amount of time you leave your body unattended. It varies….the longer you stay here the more chance you have of your choice being made for you…..Time is of the essence. CHOOSE!”

The paramedics arrive and immediately check Mr. Wilkes vitals.
He has a weak pulse and his heartbeat is slowing by the second.

“Mrs. Wilkes…we must get him to the hospital as quickly as possible. Time is of the essence!”

They get him onto a gurney and rush him into the ambulance. Just before they shut the doors, Mrs. Wilkes hears a dangerous cry from one of the medics…


As the ambulance is about to speed off she hears one final cry…


Mrs. Wilkes heads back into the house to get the kids to go to the hospital, just in time to miss the slow driving BMW that speeds up to follow the ambulance.

The mistress pulls up the sleeve on her silk robe and checks the time.

7:09 am

He is never late. Always arrives promptly at 7 with that sexy sweat dripping off his brow. His little jog was his warm up for the real workout that she provides.

“Maybe he has finally decided to stop coming…..nah…he has been mine for over 9 years…his getaway from “family”….” She thinks to herself.

She feels a strange knot in her gut that makes her think that something has happened.

“Maybe I should drive by his house…just to be sure he is ok.”

She changes into tight jeans and t shirt and grabs the keys to the Beemer, that Wilkes bought for her, and heads toward his home.

“What of you mean, either way I lose? If I choose to stay.. I don’t have to face either woman or the company…that sounds like a win to me. If I go back….I must confess my sins, to all, to create…..balance? That doesn’t sound like balance to me…it sounds like death either way.”

“So…your choice has been….”
David quickly cut him off.

“Whoa..whoa..I didn’t say that. I love my wife…and my kids. I just got caught up in a little side deal that marred my judgement for a while……I CHOOSE TO GO BACK!”

“Very well. You have chosen. Your time here is essentially….up.”

The vision of his father turned and walked out into the blankness. As he disappeared, David Wilkes began to ascend back down to reality. During that journey he thought to himself,

“I don’t know who that was…but me coming clean is about as likely the Pope going to strip club.”

The ambulance arrives at the ER and David Wilkes is wheeled in. A black BMW screeches into the parking lot. Followed shortly after by a Volvo station wagon.

The woman in tight jeans and Mrs, Wilkes with her 2 kids in tow, both rush into the waiting room and up to reception desk at essentially the same time.

They both say in unison.

The women look at each other, up and down, with quizzical looks.

The receptionist replies,

“Well…isn’t this special. Mr. Wilkes is in ICU. Just follow the signs….”

David drifts back down to where is body is located. He noticed his body laying limp on a hospital bed with multiple machines and tubes hooked up to him. He travels all the way down and back into his life and tries to open his eyes.

The Doctor is hovering over Mr. Wilkes monitoring the machines and his slow progress. He watches as David opens his eyes slowly. The Doctor plus out his mini light and flashes it into his pupils and back and forth between each eye. The pupils show no reaction.

There is a knock on the window. The Doctor looks back at it and notices 2 women anxiously standing there.

He walks out to greet them.

“Hello, ladies. I am going to assume that only 1 of you is the spouse of the man inside. It is that woman that I will speak to.”

Mrs. Wilkes speaks up first.

“I’m his wife and have been for 12 years. I don’t know who this bitch is.”

The mistress chimes in.

“I’m the bitch that has made him happy for 9 years and I’m the one he was about to leave you for.”

“Ladies… Neither I nor the man in that room has time for this. Mrs. Wilkes…you may go in with him and I will brief you on how he is. Ma’am, you may wait here or in the waiting room. Mrs. Wilkes will decide if you need to know anything.”

They enter the room in ICU and leave the mistress by herself.

The Doctor begins to fill her in on her husbands prognosis.

“Mrs. Wilkes, it doesn’t look good. His brain went without oxygen for a significant amount of time. I believe he can hear and see and understand what is going on around him but he won’t be able to respond. Maybe in time, this will change. I can’t be sure without more tests.”

“But..his eyes are open….” She hesitantly said.

“Yes, ma’am. They opened just a few moments ago….although that sounds positive… I believe that it was a nerve reaction that may happen from time to time. If you will notice they show no reaction to the light.”

He flashed his light again in front of his eyes. Nothing.

“Once he gets moved to his own room, you will be able to spend more time with him. For now, I will have ask you to give me some time to run some more tests.” He stated and then paused to look out the window and the mistress who still stood there and then continued…

“It seems you may have other things to deal with besides this. Your husband will be treated to the finest care, during this transitional period of his recovery. Please, time is of the essence at this stage. I will keep you fully informed of his progress.”

Mrs. Wilkes thanked him and ventured out of the room to deal with the other woman.

David Wilkes just stared up at the ceiling. He could do nothing else. He listened to his wife and the Doctor conversing. He knew his Mistress was there as well and immediately began to devise a plan that he would put into motion as soon as he was able to move and speak.

He heard the Doctor ask his wife to leave. He heard her walk out and heard the door slide shut.

He then heard the Doctor clear his throat and walk back over to the bed.

The Doctor leaned over and looked into David’s eyes.

David continued to stare up and saw as the Doctor came into his sight line.

The Doctor looked like his father.

David wanted to scream….but couldn’t. He could only stare and listen to what the Doctor had to say….

“My dear Mr. Wilkes….you may cheat your business…you may cheat your wife…..but when you try to cheat death…..there are consequences.”



It has been close to a year since I last checked up on “Girl, not of this world”……..


And is written in honor of a fellow blogger-


She requested a follow up. So here it is….

*each link is a tie in to the story*

Please hit the links while you read for full effect…it’s like a pop up book for your senses.

The Wisdom Runners of the Galaxy are a collection of peaceful and wise beings. Although, when crossed, they are known to be quite nasty. They place information gatherers on stars that have living beings, in order to monitor their evolution as a species.

Currently, there are quite a few gatherers on the star known as Earth. A relatively young civilization separated by water masses. Their trials and tribulations have been monitored extensively since the beginning.

Most of the gatherers do as they are told and transfer information as scheduled.

Some do not.

Some get caught up in the species and question their purpose.

The girl is caught up.

She is from the newest generation of gatherers. She either wants to be set free amongst the humans or taken back to base.

Because of this latest conundrum, the Runners have decided to counsel together to find a viable solution.

“We can’t let her decide. She signed on for the gathering…she must remain there to gather.” Number 1 says.

Number 5 quickly interjects,

“We have ways of dealing with ones who don’t comply. Dariois has been a prisoner on that mountain almost since this stars gathering has begun.”

A wave of over zealous laughter filled the chamber.

“Yes, and although he has been there for so long….his time there will run out. The beings who have sought him are becoming wiser. He has had 1 seek him twice…he will be freed from his prison soon.” Squawked #3

“We have disposed of gatherers before where freedom is not an option over time…” #8 said with a grin.

“SILENCE!” Yelled the leader without a number as he banged his cane on the large floating table.

“Termination or violence is not our way….anymore. Even we are being poisoned by our venture into this particular star. I feel we only have one solution in dealing with the girl.”

He paused, as all great leaders do, to assure that all attention was focused on his next statement.

“She is not lost….yet. Only teetering on the edge. We must send someone to her that knows the goal of our existence. The one who uses the ways we were meant to use and not the ways we have derived. His successes are small, as of yet, but great things are sure to come. He is the wanderer.”

The chamber fell silent. #4 was the only one who chose to speak.

“Is the wanderer not the one, who at one time, was on this counsel? Was he not banished for defying the rulings?”

The leader retorted,

“Banished is a strong word. I prefer to use the term relinquished of duty….but his chip can be reintroduced into the system. I’m sure he would at least listen. I will do so if only I have the approval of the counsel.”

Number 2 queried,

“He could be in another galaxy by now….how could you possibly find him?”

The leader quickly replied,

“He never fled to another galaxy. He has been an inhabitant of Earth all the while…”

End part 2.

Did ya hit the links? You gotta hit the links. It’s my epic tie in crossover story….


Hit the links.


The Shine Part 2

If you would like to read Part 1 press “here

The old black man in the oversized suit with the tie knotted in a perfect Windsor and the immaculately shined shoes walks the streets of the city and watches its inhabitants with open eyes and a heavy heart.

His cane taps the littered sidewalk ahead of each careful step that he makes.

He stops and watches money and small baggies change hands on the corner in front of the closed down theater.

He inhales a solemn breath and exhales as he walks up to them and by them, only acknowledging them by a slight smile and a tip of his fedora.

As he continues down the block, he passes a small group of teenage girls, each in tears, as they read a story in the newspaper about a young male tv star who has died from an overdose of the same substance he just saw change hands.

“I can’t believe it,” one sobbed, “he was so talented. How could God let this happen to him?”

Once again, the man passed in silence with a tip of his fedora.

As he reaches the square, he sees a man in a very expensive suit on a pedestal, waving the Bible around like a sword, condemning the verdict of a trial.


The small but growing crowd of onlookers clapped and yelled in unison,


The man on the pedestal, stopped his sermon for a moment when a bright gleam caught his eye. His words stuttered as he noticed it was just the sun shining off the shoes of the old black man who was passing by.

The man with the shiny shoes, looked up at the man, tipped his hat, and moved on, cane tapping in front of each step.

The pedestal man was dazed for a moment but quickly returned to his adoring masses.

He returns to the park. The place where he finds he peace and sits on his favorite bench to rest a spell.
He takes off his hat and pulls a bright white kerchief out from the inside pocket of his oversized suit to wipe his brow. He then carefully places his fedora back onto his head and leans back to relax.

As he looks out among the pathways of the park, he sees a site that brings a real smile to his face.

The newspaper writer and the shoe shine boy, walking side by side, engulfed in deep conversation.

“To you, I’m just a poor kid, trying to get by. You see me as a shoe shine boy. I see me as a kid who wants more than money. I want knowledge. I get that by talking to people and cleaning their shoes. I’m happy….are you?” The boy confidently states.

“…Sure I’m happy…I guess…but I have deadlines to meet. Stressful deadlines. If I can’t meet them I will be shining shoes right next to you. You can’t possibly understand.” The writer retorts.

“Not much chance of that,” the kid replies, “you just paid me to shine your shoes and are confused at why I’m happy to do it….you better stick to writing.”

He chuckles and looks away from the writer and over to the bench and sees the man in the oversized suit watching and smiling at him.

“Look, there’s the man you have been bugging me about. Maybe, he can help talk some sense into you.”

The two walk over to bench. The old man motions for them to sit down next to him. Each take their place on either side of him.

He looks at the boy and then at his shoes and says,

“Here sits the boy, who fills my heart with joy. He shines my shoes, and takes away my blues, and makes my time here something to enjoy.”

He then looks at the writer, puts his long and bony arm around him and says,

“Here sits the writer, who lives for the check. He needs approval for happiness, but is always a wreck….not quite as poetic but fitting none the less. How are you young man?”

The writer sighs and replies,

“My Father said he wanted human interest not human fiction. He says every homeless guy claims to be the son of God, but no one believes he is here….now.”

The old man laughed a hearty laugh and replied,

“Your writer instinct led you to fudge your facts. I stated some “claim” I am the son of God….and some “claim” I am a son of a bitch. I made no personal stake in any claim. Your human interest story should have been on the boy here who has a passion and vigor for the good in people that has not been seen in a long time….instead, you wanted to claim fame by being “the one” who met and interviewed the supposed son of God… wonder your Father didn’t buy it…I don’t think mine would have either.”

“Must you always leave me with more questions than answers?” The writer asked.

The old man stood up and straightened out his wrinkled suit and looked at the writer square in the eye and spoke,

“That is not my purpose. The answers you seek are within the questions I leave you with and within yourself. Intertwined within each other. Untie the knots and see them both for what they are and not for what your society wishes you to see, and YOUR purpose will be as apparent as the shine on my shoes. Find your purpose….and you will shine. Just as this boy does.”

The boy beamed and gave the old man a wink.

The writer continued to stare and process the words he was hearing.

“I must go now my friends. It is unfortunate, but to be able for me to talk the talk, I must walk the walk. For it is with the walk that I can see what I need to see.”

He tipped his fedora to the two on the bench and walked away. His cane tapping in front of each step.


The Family Tree Assignment

Click….click…BOOM. I don’t know how search engines work but this story comes up in my stats almost daily…So…I raided the archive vault and am sharing it again.


“Ok class. We are beginning a new semester and much to y’all’s amazement…I came up with a great idea for a fun and new project.” The creative writing teacher announced.

A collective discouraging moan was heard in unison from the throats of the students.

“Wow….hold all your excitement to yourselves please.” She replied as a single hand went up.

“Yes, Jimmy…”

“We just got back from Christmas break. Can’t we just ease into the new semester by writing about our holiday?” He asked.

“Ummm….no. You all have been doing that particular writing assignment every year in since you were able to go school. For lack of a better term…it’s boring. Nice try, though. Here is the assignment….”

She opened up her laptop, which is connected to the video monitor on the wall, and started it up. While awaiting for the startup to finish she explained her project to them.


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Enemy Gone….Truth Gained

I wrote this last year in October. Being Memorial Day and all, I thought I would repost it. Enjoy my past writing….



I used to cherish this picture of you. I even had it blown up to poster size and hung it above my fireplace, so I could stare at it and smile for hours. I took it while you stood there, in your usual pissed off stance, from the comfort of my living room, mere hours after I finished my masterpiece hedge trimming, and minutes before you took your chainsaw to it. It made me glow to watch you get your dander all muffled and in a tizzy while you cremated my yard art.

We were neighbors. But by no means friendly. You moved into the house next door to me just as I got used to NOT having a neighbor. I hated you for that. We never even attempted to make nice…..just continued to try to 1 up each other on nastiness.

Instead of calling the proper authorities to intervene…we…

View original post 375 more words

The Spotting Of Neeko

This post represents Part 4 of the story of Neeko and Trotter. For the previous 3 click the links below.
Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Finding a place to rest in a city that never sleeps is no easy task.

Police sirens are always blaring. The streets are full of tourists, business folk, pickpockets, drug addicts, and all other shades of society.

The homeless stick out like sore thumbs in a society where style and appearances are more important
than lending a hand to the less fortunate.

Neeko walks down the crowded streets looking for a place to rest before he has to meet Trotter later in the evening.

Being deaf has its advantages.

He can’t hear-

-the people who look down on him, and talk about him as they pass by.

-the angry arguments about fender benders, or taken parking spaces

-the people talking to police about being mugged by some dirty homeless kid

-the sex offenders offering money for a trick.

All he hears is silence….but he feels the pain all around him.

He tries to walk through it and complete his goal of finding a safe place to sleep.

His norm is to stay close to the main traffic of the people, the neon signs, and the noise that makes the city attractive to all the tourists. There is usually a high concentration of police presence and they tend to help when any sort of ruckus breaks out.

He just needs to find a spot…that is not another homeless person’s spot.

He made that mistake before and has 4 knife wound scars to prove it.

The homeless “society” is very protective of the spaces that they believe are theirs.

Neeko has no space of his own. He has survived by taking chances.

He walks down 3 different alleys between blocks before he finds one that might work.

He checks it out and it has no visible signs of habitation. It’s just another alley off the busy street between a bar and a flea bag, by the hour motel.

Next to the fire escape there is a big enough box to use for shelter. It used to hold a electric stove. It blends in with the thrown away scenery well. He should be able to rest here until his meet up with his friend.

He opens up the flaps to be sure it’s empty.



An alley cat jumps out and scratches him on the face, startling him.

He watches the cat scamper down the alley. checks his face with his palm for bleeding and then gets in and closes the flaps above him and begins to drift off…..

He is dreaming. He is walking through a desert….alone…withstanding a silence that, even for him, is deafeningly loud. He feels a rumble and sees the earth is splitting open underneath his feet….but he can’t move.

He is startled awake by his box being shaken and opened.

A large, old homeless woman begins to poke him with a broken off broom handle and yelling at him-


Neeko is trying to understand what she is saying by watching her mouth but it is dark and the light from the street isn’t sufficient enough to help.

He tries to get up and she pushes him back in and holds the handle to his throat.


Neeko shakes his head and points to his ears. Trying to tell her he can’t hear.


She pulls the broom handle off his throat and whacks him across the head with it. Then with speed he has never experienced, she yanks him out of the box and hurls him into the side of the dumpster.


She then takes off what is left of her right shoe and begins to hit him with it.

He tries to scream but only muffled squeak comes out.

Between the lashes, he manages to reach into his jacket and pull out the chicken pieces wrapped in old foil and hold them out in front of himself.

The old homeless woman stops the beating and looks at the foil and sniffs it with her nostrils. The neon lights across the street from the alley catch her wrinkled, street life living worn face enough now where he can see her clearly.

She puts what is left of her right shoe back on, relaxes and smiles as she takes the foil package out of his hands and speaks.

“Sweet boy…you cooked the kitty for me as a present. I don’t know how you did it but I thank you….I kept trying to trick the kitty into being dinner but each time I tried to take a bite of him, he scratched me something fierce….sweet boy..”
She said as she took a bite then continued, “mmmm…tastes like chicken…..NOW GET OUT OF MY SPOT BEFORE I CALL THE FBI!!”

He scoots himself up the side of the dumpster while holding his head, as it was beginning to throb, and carefully walked around the old woman and back out into the chaos of the city streets.

She had already forgotten his presence and was carefully dissecting each small sliver of meat that hung to the bones of the small piece of chicken.

He looked into the window of the 24 hour check cashing business across the street from his encounter and noticed the clock inside read 11:14.

He walks up the street to a block where the foot traffic is not as heavy, leans up against a dark wall to gather his composure and calm down a bit and thinks,

“I hope Trotter is having a better night than this.”



The Pickpocket Putback Principle

The pickpocket pilfers the pockets of the plenty,
placing packages onto his person to please his perverted pleasure.

Podering perhaps that his pathway to pain is predestined,
He proceeds to place packages pointlessly INTO the pockets of pedesrtrians and passersby.

Thereby pouncing the predicament of prison….

Say all that 10 times fast…but just watch the video once.

I know I am not much of a poetry person, but please be polite….

For some reason I gotta go “P”.