Where Am I?

It's dark out and cold. I catch a glimpse as I pass a mirror and see a gaunt face that I am surprised to recognize as my own. My body is lost in the zippered black fleece that makes the unreasonably chilly air just this side of bearable.

There's nothing to remember except that I am in the prison of my decisions under a sentence of death.

I don't think I can stand it much longer. Where am I?

9 Lives of The Undead Zombie Superhero

Ya know, i took inventory of how many close calls i've had in the white-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel department and it seems i've just about run out. There was that time i found my father's Manlicher Carcano carabine in the bedroom closet when i was very little and very curious. Then, there was the ravine-tumbling challenge by by school chums. I can scarcely forget the high-speed crash with Howie's Dad's Impala while were we on our way to a midnight show (totally not Howie's fault, just so you know.) Then, there was that unfortunate toxic substance incident on a rather hot day, to boot. Let's see, that makes four, so far. Then, there was the throat cancer scare, the skin cancer scare, the thyroid scare, the crazy ex-wife arrow-flinging event, the near-miss, icy spin-out, the fall, the bee attack, that stupid bar fight with the broken bottle in the neck, that really crazy red-headed chic with the Harley tattoo and only one nipple.

Oops. Seems i'm over. I guess it's actually a mode of superherodom that i've failed to fully engage. Perhaps i am in fact indestructable and can only be finally downed when presented with appropriately weighty toxic jewelry from the deepest part of the methane oceans on my home world.

I am writing this at 36,000 feet. I think this would be an opportune time to test my theory. Well, then . . . I need a catch-phrase, something heroic?  Ah, yes: Salute The Day! Away! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!

Work In Progress

"It couldn't have happened to a better person," his mother's voice rang and rang in his head, repeating this phrase like a penny winding down a mall coin-funnel. To stop the trace of that vortex, he needed only to extend his hand, but he lacked the will. Instead, he watched the coffee cup circle, chasing itself in the microwave, nearly full with water, as it began to vibrate and emit tiny angel's wings of steam.

Two minutes timed down and the water was hot. Two minutes were lost and he still had no answer, no plan, no clear way out. He often thought of himself as the master of the bad scenario, brain-powering his way down endless blind alleys, seeing from the outside in, creating order from disaster. This time, though, he could conjure no plan of rescue. He was frozen in place as his options turned into mirages.

His problem should be simple to solve, really, if he chose good over evil and did the right thing. But this was a situation of his own making and, in the end, was too complicated with far too many grey areas to find its solution in a set of steps to follow out and away. His thighs felt weak and again he realized that reality was the absolute antidote to best wishes and good faith.

He opened the microwave door quietly, though the interlock clunked and clicked, giving him away. He meant to leave his wife in her peaceful sleep, upstairs in the pastel quiet. She was an impossibly light sleeper, easily woken at three or five AM by his tires on the circular gravel drive or by the smell of the bread before it erupted from the toaster, just so. Though he felt duty-bound, he had no solution for her, either. She would surely hear it from the police when they found his body well after his disappearance, or when they found whatever pieces were left. Whatever the Bouras brothers didn't finish, the alligators would certainly indulge.

"Ruben Calderon Identified As Glades Doe," the headline would read. Between the heat and the hungry swamp, he would need only be dead for a few days to be rendered identifiable only through his dental records. If they found his head, that is. Ruben was sure that his hands would be cut off to thwart easy identification, hopefully after he'd been shot, stabbed or garroted into the next world. And for reasons that weren't clear, the brothers had a penchant for depriving male victims of their "archidi." They didn't seem to need the penis - that might be construed as unmanly, but the balls had to go.

He poured the instantly boiled water over instant oatmeal in a bowl glazed with an image of a sunflower such that the yellow petals bordered the Strawberry Cream variety of dried oats. As he dripped the water in and stirred with a matching sunflower spoon, the dessicated strawberries gave up some of their colour and a rivulet of vermilion wound across the surface of the food like Moses' Nile plaque.

Ruben tried tasting the oatmeal. It was very hot. He thought of the story of the three bears and a smile momentarily broke the shell of his face. It would be the last time he would have the occasion or opportunity to smile.

Taking the bowl with him, he made his way to the living room. He put a napkin on the coffee table next to his work laptop and put the bowl in the center of it, where the oatmeal could cool so that it was 'just right.'

He decided to review his options as he had earlier set out in a spreadsheet with desperate care. He could not run away. He could not face the Bouras brothers and lie to them, since they already knew what he knew he wasn't supposed to know. He couldn't play the loyalty card, since he wasn't family, though he was "Uncle Ruben" to little Jimmy. Big Jimmy would kill him anyway. If he ran away . . . where could he run where he wouldn't be found? Nowhere, that's where. The brothers did business everywhere and with everyone as did their father and his father before him The FBI would take him in, would relocate him and his wife, they promised, and Ruben knew the brothers or one of their ilk would find him and then he and his wife would both be dead. He couldn't do that to her. She was far too stupid and he loved her far too much because of it, in the way a boy loves an addled Retriever and he pities it besides. She was still safe, since she had no idea that he was really a criminal in league with other, far worse, criminals rather than a career numbers guy. At least, going to the feds meant he had time to think, to plan. It might be a game changer. He sat staring at the spreadsheet, running down the options, weighing out the potentials. He made a decision and sighed.

He picked up the bowl and spoon, now very hungry for the filling warmth of the oatmeal. He needed very much to not feel empty. As the spoon rose to his mouth, there was a soft, almost apologetic, knock at the door. Ruben knew at that moment that it was too late. He knew that the time to plan and calculate was over, that they would now take it from here. He eyed the sliding glass doors that led out to the patio and the pool, considered for a tiny slice of the time he had left and knew that he would never make it. That's why they always came to the front door - so the target would realize that his car, the street and the world was out there and that there was simply no way of getting to any of it.

Ruben put the spoon into the bowl and put both back down on the coffee table. He stood, tucked his white shirt back into his slacks and went to greet the knocker.

Time For A Little Art

Entropy

Acrylic, gouache, watercolor and prepared ink on canvas. Limited edition of 10. archival giclée print, $2800.

Love Stinks

Press the button. Make the call. Send the e-mail. Write the letter. Send the text. Save the pictures. Smell the clothes. Feel the warmth, the cold. Forget it. Never forget. Let it go. Try again.

Loving someone that's lost can be a truly awesome experience, but not in the sense of how that word is misused these days. The transcendent power of the chase, of conquest, of loss, whether by choice, luck or misadventure, has no peer. Every emotion is wrung up and tasted like bile. No paranoid corner dark with anxiety is revealed to be less than knowing. And still, the mind seeks and hopes, forlorn and withering against the truth of it.

So much worse when the chemistry is undeniable. That was it - the singularity of oneness collapsed into a black hole of separation. The laws of the universe prevent the rejoining of what man hath put asunder.

But wait: there's more!

If there's a will, there's a way. A stitch in time saves nine. A penny saved is a penny earned. Oh, who is today's fool? Lover, come back to me? Fat chance.

Too many words, too much lost time, too much hurt - all are expedient excuses when the potentials are there to be exercised. It boils down to a decision that it's just too much damned work, too many damned compromises and, by the way, the grass is looking a damn sight greener on the other side of the fence. Today. Right now. Why wait?

Live, love, laugh.

Yeah, whatev.

The adult thing is to let it go, admit the mistake, decide to move forward, decline defeat, embrace the future.

Yeah, whatev. Again. As if. As if the face could escape memory. As if that memory would simply fizzle away in sparkly confetti, reassembly denied by nature. As if the sound of your voice, your bell-like laugh, your ruddy cough, your breathing, heavy and deep with sleep could find its way into those dark corners where demons wait and snuff out your absence. As if.

No walk alone is without you. No meal without a thought of your provision. No feeling without the sense of a ghostly touch from you. No wind without your scent.

There can't be a goodbye. Apparently, it's not allowed. Yet, the die is cast. Shut up!

Lighten Up, Will Ya?

A little humour to brighten your day:

Two cannibals are eating a clown.
One says to the other: "Does this taste funny to you?"
______________
Man with a strawberry stuck up his bum goes to the doctor.
The Doctor says "I'll give you some cream to put on it."
______________
"Doc, I can't stop singing 'The green, green grass of home'."
"That sounds like Tom Jones syndrome."
"Is it common?"
"Well……..It's not unusual………"
______________
A guy walks into the psychiatrist wearing only cling film for shorts.
The shrink says, "Well, I can clearly see you're nuts."
______________
Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar.
One says, "I think I've lost an electron."
The other says, "Are you sure?"
The first replies, "Yes, I'm positive."
______________
Answer phone message:
"If you want to buy marijuana, press the hash key…"
______________
A man takes his Rottweiler to the vet and says, "My dog's cross-eyed, is there anything you can do for him?"
"Well," says the vet, "let's have a look at him." So, he picks the dog up and examines his eyes, then checks his teeth. Finally, he says "I'm going to have to put him down."
"What? Because he's cross-eyed?"
"No, because he's really heavy."
______________
Apparently, 1 in 5 people in the world are Chinese.
And there are 5 people in my family, so it must be one of them.
It's either my mum or my dad.
Or my older brother Colin.
Or my younger brother Ho-Cha-Chu.
But I think it's Colin.
______________
I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day but I couldn't find any.
______________
My friend drowned in a bowl of muesli. He was pulled in by a strong currant.
______________
A man came round in hospital after a serious accident.
He shouted,"Doctor, doctor, I can't feel my legs!"
The doctor replied,"I know you can't. I had to amputate your arms"
______________
I went to a really energetic "Seafood Disco" last week and pulled a mussel.
______________
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, but when they lit a fire in the craft, it sank, proving once and for all that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.
______________
A man walks into doctor's office.
"What seems to be the problem?" asks the doc.
"It's … um … well … I have five penises," replies the man.
"Blimey!" says the doctor, "How do your trousers fit?"
"Like a glove."

Logs

"Lair" is a blog that exists to express random thoughts and often, things that Lincoln would have put in his desk overnight only to be ripped up in the morning. Lincoln was a smart man. I'm not Lincoln.