Monday, October 24, 2005


There's a man you meet before you die. He talks to you about all the things upcoming. He points out all the benefits of dying—and there are many. He tells about all the drawbacks of being a dead person—and, yes, there are many of those, too.

This man you meet just before you die is large and friendly, and he is also black. His hair is a little bit black, and a little bit white, and a whole lot gray. There are bumps all over his face, and he says that his name is Gumdrops. And he tells you from this moment on (!) you my friend will be called the SugarBoy.

And Heaven is a pile of sweets. And Hell is gingerbread everywhere you see. And you can choose to go wherever you want. And you can skip from one to the other, and it doesn't matter at all because God and the Devil have long since buried the hatchet in an old tree stump. No one's punished and no one's favored. It was hard enough just living. It was hard enough just waking up every single day.

We all deserve to take our ease.

There's a man you meet before you die. There's a set of rules this man lays out for you. And, there's no time to blog.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005


I was on the street. I was walking down the sidewalk. Walking home. And I was at the corner of 80th and something. The corner with the light. You know the one.

At the corner of 80th and something, I was waiting for the chance to cross. I was waiting for the ambling white light guy. I looked at the cars who were waiting, too.

And you know who I saw? Ciscoe Morris! From TV. The guy who appears on all those Gardening with Ciscoe bits on the evening and weekend news broadcasts. That guy. I saw him in a car. I saw him waiting at the light. Just like me, only he was driving and I was walking.

And there he was. And do you know what he did? He reached up and dug into his mouth with a finger. He dug something out of his back teeth with a finger. Just reached up and went in. Where I could see him. I the semi-privacy of his car. I saw him do it. I saw him dig some sort of food thing out of his teeth.

I saw him.

And I forgive him. Ciscoe, I forgive you. I think it's okay for you to have that very human moment where I could see it. I think it's right on. I'm behind you. Dig away, if that's what you need. Be yourself, even though you're a guy on TV. That doesn't mean you shouldn't be allowed to be you, Ciscoe. So I say.

I forgive Ciscoe.

I can't seem to find the time to blog. You should forgive me, too.

Monday, October 17, 2005


On a bit of a hiatus here. On vacation. Dry of ideas at this time. Probably more later.

Until then, some things might be written here.

Friday, October 07, 2005


So, that's the way that went down. I mean, I possibly could've handled the whole thing a lot better, but at the time, it just never occurred to do so. And there it was.

But, we were talking about you before I started that story, so why don't we get back to it, eh? You were saying that in all the years you've lived here you've never once gone on the underground tour of Denton, yes? I have. Many times, in fact. It's one of my favorite things to do when relatives visit. I get them in their warmest jackets, because the ambient temperature in the underground is at least 20 degrees colder than it is on the surface, and we go to the entrance, usually in their car. I don't have a car. I've never really been able to handle the upkeep of a car, you see. It's always a leak here, a seal broken there, etc.

I suppose when a seal breaks you get a leak and that was redundant. But, maybe not. Not car savvy, me. Said that.

But, yes, we like to go on the Denton underground tour. Or, I do. So, I often get my family together, in their warmest jackets because it's so cold.

I've said that, haven't I? I repeat myself sometimes.

And, the tour always makes them interested in the history of Denton, you know? It's a nice town, Denton, and has a very curious history. How many other small towns do you know with such an extensive series of tunnels beneath them, eh? Not many. Almost none. This one and probably no others. I'll bet. I'll bet there are no others. Not one.

This town is unique in that way.

I hate it when people talk about things being very unique, because there are no degrees of uniqueness, you know? Unique or not. That's it. One or the other. Some people don't think before they speak. They just say things and they come out all wrong like that. Frustrates me sometimes, that does.

But, then, I guess it's not for me to say. It's not for me to criticize. People sometimes can't help it when they say things like they do because—I think—some phrases are like viruses that you catch. And it's hard to turn them loose. We speak in these familiar little turns of phrase because it's the easiest way to communicate or something. That's what I think.

Bacteria? Is it more like a virus or a bacteria? That junkie writer, whatever his name was, he called language a virus. But I think he may have meant it literally.

I heard some singer once say he caught phrases like people catch colds.

That happens. It happens to me all the time. I can't help it. Something gets stuck and I think it over and over and over. Sort of like telling someone to not think about elephants and that's the first thing they think of. Right? Try it. Don't, whatever you do, think about an elephant.

See? Did you?

Huh. You know, maybe you didn't, though. I guess I've always just taken it for granted that people do that. They think of elephants when you tell them not to, but how do you prove a thing like that? You don't. You can't.


I like the part of the tour when you're under the mayor's house and they tell you that story about the way every mayor in the history of Denton has, three years into his term, been thrown from his office window. All of them! Can you believe that? Can you? Defenestration, they call that. Being thrown out a window is called defenestration. They always start by telling you the thing that's exactly the same about Denton and Prague is that in both cities defenestration is the preferred method of political assassination. And they point to the spots where, on the opposite side of the concrete, each mayor hit. They have them outlined in chalk. Like they'd have them on the sidewalk if you were up top instead of down below. Right?

That's he part of the tour I like best. And the part of Denton's history I like best.

Blog? No, I don't really think I could. I don't think I have enough to say.