Saturday, December 27, 2014

the misdirected text in the night

The first text (in bold) was received 1.11.13 12:45am.
(the words in italics were my responses. I have no idea who the sender was)

 I hide the body

can we eat it?

No Nigga I burned it wtf

Whats wrong wit u? Waste a good meat!

I wont it Shit are you on bath salts?

Bath Salts and Pepto...goes down smoooth

No try it with Lyn youll get fucked up. 
It'll help you to dont feel like you wanna eat human meat.

But I LIKES fresh flesh..mmm, tasty. All this zombie shit has made me a believer.  amen!


Go to bed stupid zombie

Aint a shieet you trippin zombie

wasting words texting is  the leading cause of nut and brain shrivel, doncha know Gomer?

damn looks like someone is in a bad mood now

So who was it you ate?

Ill get you some meat so you can chill out stupid zombie

Man how is life?

Life  is long and hard if you dont mend your ways

I need an advice from your smartself


Be honest with me tho. No bs

Best I can

Should I kill myself because I dont like life or should I deal with my shit and live unhappy

Deal. Be bold...all shit is fertilizer for growth

Cool but how about your happiness

Happiness is over rated. Satisfaction with self is the real, lasting best feeling. Happiness is a fart.

I  wanna be like you when I get old. You are a happy person

What do you think old is?

Idk dude. What is it?

Paying close attention to every waking moment. Learning from mistakes.

Cool but that is been mature not old. I think

How old are you

Almost 22 and you

Omg a mere child with your whole life ahead of you

How old are you dude

Timeless, ageless

Do you believe in God?

Oh yes. She's looking after you right now.

She? God is a female?

She is the source of all.

In My whole god dam life I thought it was a dude.

God loves you. Sleep now.

Monday, December 15, 2014


The streetlights and the traffic light over the intersection stuttered once and failed when the truck glanced off the power pole at the crest of Main Street at the top of the quarter mile glide down into town.

Engine dead, headlights blind, inertia carried it forward and gravity gave it wings. The sky’s blue hour pulled the last purple edge behind it and, with the glare of the streetlights gone, Bea looked up at the sweeping arc of stars aligned in the blackness over her head. 

In the moments after the lights went out there was a three count before the fireflies and crickets struck up a round of applause and then fell back to the serious business of finding husbands and wives before dawn.

from "Murders in Monkeytown" c. Deborah Lacativa 2014

Saturday, December 13, 2014

"Stick & Stones" by Joe Henry

Sticks & Stones 

Gather wood against the weather
Pile up stones against the sky
String of lights like pearls between us
And the heavens' blackest eye

Tell the hour
Go take another
Go down Moses
Without a fuss
Taken to the
Lawless water
And send that later boat for us

Sticks and stones
Blood ash and bone
I shake the tree
Swim out alone
Turnin' over the dark Missouri
Now that every new leaf I had
Is gone

Moon's near empty, a swinging saber
Keeping every prayer at bay
At the throat of love for ransom
From the dull approaching day

There's no law
That rides this border
No fences stretch this far
To show
How times will side
Against another
As one arrives and others go


Whores are dressed in fire and feathers
On a beach, sit in a row
Climb the bank through scrub and tinder
Disappear where rabbits go

They had nothing
That I needed
But I gave them
All I had
Just to share
Some dirt between them
As we waited, smoked and laughed

Now that every new leaf I had is gone x3

Friday, December 5, 2014

The Importance of Story

With so much strife going on in the US, not to mention the world, and my own ongoing melancholy, it was a pure pleasure to lose myself to the self I was in December, 1960 when the teleplay, starring Mary Martin first aired in dingy black and white. I tried showing a tape of the show to my sons when they were old enough but they were like fleas on a griddle and didn’t last ten minutes. Me neither.

 I remember laying on the floor in the living room watching it on the big console TV that dominated the room, indeed, our lives. Beyond that I am shy of situational details – who was there, what I was wearing - the kinds of things I usually have plenty of. I was oblivious to the world because I was completely absorbed by the story. As overblown and self-indulgent as it remains, there were elements of the story that really got my eleven year old attention.

Here was a family asunder and yet, the kids were the focus and they were having a hell of an adventure! My parents, who were on the brink of divorce for as long as I could remember, had called the annual December truce, something I had learned to be distrustful of. New Years Eve invariably brought emotional disaster and heralded a long, bitter winter. It's no wonder that I spent much of it outdoors despite the harshness of a New York winter. I learned to dress like an Eskimo early. If I wasn't moving, building, burrowing or throwing snow, I was on skates out on the ice.

Back to the Darlings, the family name alone was gag worthy. So here we have this girly girl Wendy with her tongue hanging out for this rangy boy Peter who was deeply clueless about the whole boy-girl thing. He was retarded after all, my assessment at the time of all boys. Thanks to my parents I had long been aware of the ongoing war between the sexes. I was still unclear on the point of the whole two by two thing, there seemed to be little pay off for either camp.

 Poor Wendy, she seemed to want something from Peter that she couldn't even articulate. I didn't figure it out until I realized that Tinkerbell was a girl and Peters interest in Wendy was making her jealous. It seemed like this boy-girl thing even troubled fairies.

I know my attention wandered back then because last night (in glorious color that we so take for granted) scenes played out and subtleties emerged that I no memory of. Christopher Walken's droll turn as Hook was riddled with snide little asides that made me laugh out loud. And the bit about clapping to save that jealous little tramp Tinkerbell after she saved Peter by taking his poison. You bet I clapped, but back in 1960 it was not because I wanted to save her, I did it because Peter wanted me to. Peters motivated me to do a lot of things in the coming years.

Flashback to 1960. I do remember not being able to identify with any of the players until that magical moment when Wendy, who had allowed herself to be conned into mothering a rabble of dirty teenagers and never got to be anyone's Girl Friend, Bride or Wife, tucked them chastely into their beds and sang them that heartbreakingly sappy lullaby.

That was a crystallizing moment for me. It became clear to me that the point of being a female was to eventually have and love and guard over these babies who might never grow up. Self sacrifice seemed to be the order of the day for girls. It was sobering and galling at the same time.

I remember being overcome with emotion. I was a terrible tomboy, all scabs, dirt and attitude and I think my mother was relieved to see me snuffling and trying to hide embarrassed tears. She had had a daughter after all, and not a troglodyte.

The deal was sealed three years later when I sat in the exact same spot and watched the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. In front of my entire family, I screamed (into a couch pillow) cried and clutched my hair with the best of them, but this time I was totally unembarrassed. This flock of Peters were not looking for a mother. They wanted to hold my hand! Thanks to Wendy's timely warning and my parent's bad example, I was ready to play the game and win.

This may not have been what JM Barrie was gunning for but it's what I took away from it.  I'm sure there are learned thesis out there that have picked the bones of this story, but this eleven year old miner found her own treasure, however unintended.