I told Lori to just write, put down the book, though I know how much they mean to you, hell, you have a blog devoted to such, other worlds with heroines and hero’s and cads and harlots and many assorted’s that build a story, action-like in some cases with cool hats and whips like Indiana, closer to home affectionate things with long lake docks and sitting hand in hand feet in the ripples, even when you shouldn’t, especially when you shouldn’t, even those that end up poorly in a fill in any horror author kind of way, that get to point of awful goodbye, stories that build worlds in your head of romance and action and even that horror and fear.

I told her to put all this behind and just write. Tom and she and I had just had a zoom call after too long a time, though wishing a Mark might have joined us. it’s not really a zoom without Mark, we need him to keep us up on things, the news and the angers but also to just be Mark and his lower lumbar vertebrae college flag football injury that still, to this day brings a smile, not the injury of course, but I told her to just start writing. Tell me, us, of the stories that you remembered so vividly tonight, remind us of you of and of a time that was just magic, or magic enough or maybe not quite magic at all.

Some of your books might have a bit of that magic, might have some moments that you imagine yourself in but none of them are Lori. They might be Chad or Christine in her fines, or Erica who was just playin’ Sid in his lock kneed dumb worship or Jessica who was just a conniving bitch.

But write your own thing. So many stories tonight in our too infrequent zooms of four friends, three on this evening. who learned how to be stupid and not be stupid together and to even grow up … a little at least, still works in progress there after all these years. Your books have nothing on the you, though I guess that’s where books come from, but start Piper.

I am no writer, I don’t have 6 toed cats named after me but I like to recount things in an extra wordly or wordy or Sir Wordalot or whatever exta word kind of way to tell a story or two and keep you going to the next sentence and maybe hold you for some others, at least I hope. .

Maybe that’s how all this starts to end up on someone’s nightstand with a dog and a cat and pillows in a lap and clutches around someone’s telling.

I told her to just write, become your place on a nightstand and let this go full circle. They don’t have any stories any better than yours, real or imagined.

Just change the names for legal purposes and to protect the innocent or even the not so.

Woke Hopes (little dictator song)

Ok, so, a production Friday, a freakin’ bear of a production Friday this one, shit just didn’t want to end, with numerous sprinkled “motherfuckers” for therapy and a headache all the way through it as my “close” PC work glasses and phone glasses are worrying me a little now as they have rather quickly become not so glasses effective and I’m having to stretch and squint. My upcoming yearly appointment with the eye doc can’t come quickly enough in a couple of weeks. But until then I worked beyond squinting headaches and took in my escape from the end of the workday, workweek to just sit imagining I have points to make.

Finished some lyrics during the week and with some revisions along the way while I was workin’ it I came up with something.

I’ve used this tune before, a couple of years ago, Frank Sinatra’s “High Hopes”, but thought a revisit.

“Woke Hopes (little dictator song)”.

Woke Hopes (little dictator song)

Next time you’re told

To be woke isn’t bold

By a Ronnie who scolds

Know he just trolls  

Just what makes little dictator rant

About some things that he says ya just can’t

Eyes open to inclusion now

A weakness you can’t allow

But we’ve got woke hopes

We’ve got woke hopes

Hopes not turning blind eye to the “other” folks

But when you need a bigot’s screed

To tell you what truth’s to heed

Just remember his rant

Ohhhhh …

Ooops, there goes another Ronnie slam

How being hu-man is just another scam

Ooops, there goes the truth a now also ran

Ronnie now calls

To his herd of mind smalls

That they must all stand tall  

Or think to brawls

Now Ronnie says CRT is just crap

Doesn’t fit his supremacist rap

His white kin they were ex-cep-tional

Racism don’t even track

Cause he’s denier of truth

With slaves country didn’t build roof

And if you say otherwise

Laws he’ll pass making rights go poof  

So anytime you hear Ron speak

Know his white’s been tweaked

And he just won’t couch for that

Ohhhhh …

Ooops, there goes some more to demonize

Inclusive compassion that’s a bunch a lies

Ooops, here goes some hate to try on for size    


Ron threatens anyone who don’t agree

With his hist’ry tree

Don’t be of them and not we

Ohhhhh …

Ooops. there goes another truth to turn

Ooops, there goes another book to burn  

Ooops, there goes democracy to be spurned

Mm Mm

Autocratic Dreamin’ (song)

It’s that time of year now here where the weather report gives you advisories of the heat but you know that 90 today is not really a 90 as leaves have already started to fall and colors make change. The heat won’t bother today. You turn a fan up a notch without really needing to, just a last grasp, and pass it often for old man pee breaks noting the velvet of a fan’s air and you work things, at 4 in the morning, and listen and tweak incessantly your latest thing, headphones down so as not to bother anyone other than the anyone’s in your head.

I ran this one by my Mikey Six this weekend before posting it here now, Cindy, for one, giving it an “oooohh” and Rick for two an “I love it!” which meant I was on the right track. My English cousin, Liz, as I added her to the six today, a seven now, even remarked “Brilliant” but with an English accent.

Shit, you could tell me to fuck off and die but with an English accent?

And then you get angry, at 4 in the morning as seasons change, not at the changing for the most part but you just get angry.

So my latest anger sung to the Mamas and the Poppas “California Dreamin'”

Autocratic Dreamin’

Democracy’s in straits (Democracy’s in straits)

Getting dire by the day (dire by the day)

New Reich says it’s ok (practically they say)

To let it fade away (let it fade away)

Embracing a big lie’s how (embracing a big lie)

Help usher in a new way (usher in a new way)

Autocratic dreamin’ (autocratic dreamin’)

On such a darkened day

They stepped off of the ledge

All willing still offer pledge

Into abyss of endless lies (and lustful power cries)

They almost seem to pray (almost seem to pray)

To a god of broken things now (god of broken things now)

Broken with real bad intent (and where violence sings)

Autocratic dreamin’ (autocratic dreamin’)

On such a darkened day

… break

All the truth is down (all the truth is down)

To be changed by the day (change it by the day)

Even history (even history)

Won’t stand in the way (won’t stand in the way)

Rewrite it backwards forwards (rewrite it forwards backwards)

To fit just what he might say (fit just what he might say)

Autocratic dreamin’ (autocratic dreamin’)

On such a darkened day (autocratic dreamin’)

On such a fascist day (autocratic dreamin’)

On such a darkened day 

So Then Sunday: A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat

The thought of Shoes the cat popped up this weekend as I realized, again, that I have years and that no one, no fur lives forever. Yes, I already knew this of course, we all know this, but when it confronts you on a Thursday (man for only a Wednesday) stares you in the face with a time’s mock you take notice, again, again. Did I say again?

As I wonder that one of the constants, in the back of my head, distant, is no longer here (have always missed you Jackson, you and the Brades) I couldn’t help but think back to another.

My Shoes (Shoey).

A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat 

There was a boy and his cat in a cone plastic hat

Who found themselves walking this way and way that

In circles round home on a night by night trip

He talkin’ cat list’nin’
At a calm peaceful clip

You see

The boy’s cat in this cone plastic hat was not well

And the boy he had many long stories to tell

To his dearest of friends of 11 grand years

But trying to do so without shedding his tears

So they walked and he talked on these perfect (s) of nights
Allowing this cat in the cone plastic hat
Some flights
Footed outside
For the first time in his life
A gift from the boy to this cat’s great delight

And the cat in the cone plastic hat listened just right
Though now minus one ear from a Doctor’s try stop
The other had might
Enough to catch stories spun high in the air
By his boy who he followed with great love and great care

Along their way they passed people and pets
Both large and both small
To the cat in the cone plastic hat though
They were all tall
But he came to grow big as they petted and gushed
With attention he loved
As they marveled his gifts to walk with no rush
With his boy who just smiled some big hearty hugs

This cat in the cone plastic hat waited by day
For the sound of boy’s car
To home come from what seemed so
So far
Far away
To make
No dilly
No dally
As time for him now was no longer an ally

You see

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew he hadn’t this time
He wanted their friendship to grow and to shine
But for this shortest of moments
In the grandness of things
They would stride steady together with the greatness of kings

It was stories of boy that were of utmost import
In walks round their round he would offer support
While cat sniffing cat checking
Getting caught in the brush
His cone plastic hat it was flush
Filled with tales flung way far
That dearly so meant
So so much

There was even a day
This cat in the cone plastic hat
Got chance just to play
And to lead while, of course, always knowing the way
Minus his hat
Oh glorious day
Then bringing boy back to that place they called home
Where all with the boy it was always the known

But there were things this cat in the cone plastic hat knew needed be said
Of what would become in his absence of stead
Of what boy would do after the gone
Where time it would shorten but still feel so

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew just what
What knew of just such
What knew sure of be that too long
A day
To help him stay strong
To make it not much
He’d say

He thought
In life’s wonder of walks
This cat who was now at in his cone plastic hat
But remembering time where this wasn’t just that
When play was a shoelace tossed long and just right
For wondrous of times and of silly fun fights
Of a mouse down to chase
Or a titter hand tat
And all while wearing no such special hat

But paw forward he would
This way and way that
His best boy in the world as well as he could
To friends who he knew he should
Surely point true
To others in fur and some so in skin
But still remind them that his name was Shoes

Always Shoes

You see

He resides now in heart held so very so strong
Of a nightstand’s still perch
Sensing short winded nightmares long
So sudden jerks
To come down and so sweetly lay to boy’s left
To calm him to know that all was still well
That there would still be so many more stories to tell
That there will always be some more to be said

Now sleep just go back
“We’re hittin’ the rack”
As you always would say
Ahead of tomorrow’s a brand new grand day
Rest your boy head
The begin has its end but ends beg begin … always
Get some sleep for right now
At least
My dearest of friends


I saw a facebook post a few days ago from Maria, my always will be friend, no matter, an ex from a time that seems almost so far past that you wonder of the reality of it even though you know it was, asking that folks send a little bit of love Jackson’s way, Jackson the dog, of the wonderful Jackson and Brady dogs at the FrankenGreco Ranch at a time, for his trip to the vet the next morning.

Now I didn’t know that he wasn’t doing well, was in a bad way and then I got a breaking down phone call from her that he had passed, a quick bastard cancer passed, a lung filled passed, a had to say goodbye passed, a shared time break down 12 years later for both of us. Though it’s been eight years since our time I would still often think back to puppy days and growing dog days and the crazy coexistence of all the fur we harbored. An old dog, an old cat and a not so old one and a kitten and two puppies who would eventually turn shit upside down in the best of possible ways.

Jackson was Maria’s guardian, Brady his wingman in the guarding “watch our backs Brades” he would say I thought and he owned her. He would occasionally take a break from this though and marvel at a kitten, a little Bella who joined us about a year in then, following her around, like, well, a puppy dog, doting, fascinating, cleaning her ears while she took little kitten nose swipes, “You know I could eat you right?” Man, he loved that little Bella and she loved him in kind.

But Jackson was a Maria and Maria was a Jackson and the rest of us were just a rest of us, you knew where you stood.

Well time, you fucker, you march and Jackson is gone now, as is that old dog, Shana, and that old cat Benny and that not so old one, Shoes, who would bring me so much heartbreaking joy, but what is left still marches as well, fur footed, Bella and the Brades. Now there’s a band name huh?

You were a good boy Jackson.

The best of boys.

(from May of 2010 and how Jackson and Brady came to be)

Spring Sprung Puppies

Yearly Physicals And Going For A Walk

Went to the Doc this past week for my yearly physical. It’s something that usually comes with a bit of trepidation, and not just of the open backed hospital gown you’re told to put on by the nurse to make it easier for the “drop your shorts and bend over” rubber glove moment. No, there is always that little bit of trepidation as to the results of the blood test, the piss cup, the listening to the chest and the blood pressure take.

How have I fared in this last year … has shit finally caught up with me?

But this Doc is a good one, comfortable, so friendly and so smart and always seems to genuinely enjoy catching up with me, see how I’ve been doing. I look forward to this part of easing my said trepidation as I’ll eventually find out about how her kids are and how they’re not really “kids” any longer, College days and High School seniors now (damn, I guess I’ve been seeing this doc for quite a while). I’ll hear of her cats today, including the young one with some food allergies who breaks her heart with tap taps on her leg beggings at dinner time. I’ll tell her of mine and how there are just two now as my Memes has passed since the last time we did this hospital gown and conversation thing. I’ll tell her the story of how Mimi the Quirky was my fragile weird old girl who adopted me when she snuck up the stairs and just latched onto and owned me in her last two years, finally a human to call her own in her old with no distractions of too many others as can be the case downstairs.

The numbers start getting rattled off in Doc speak and with each my trepidation lessens, in her confident sounding ease, well with most I should say, some of them need attention but nothing over the top (maybe a light mayo for the cholesterol of my sandwiches moving forward I think, stop mainlining lard and fried things) and of the blood pressure which has been a little high for the last couple of years and now requires me be an old guy at the pharmacy. Whodathunk I might eventually need a blood pressure medication? Twice now. Hopefully this one won’t make my face blow up like the last with Angelina Jolie lips. According to my Endo Doc though, that kind of allergic reaction only happens to 5% of people who are prescribed it. Guess I’m kinda special that way.

But that was certainly something, pretty, but something.     


Celie notes I’m home early when I get to the house and I tell her of my appointment at the Doc, appointments I try to set for just that reason, to get me home just a little bit earlier, even for just one day, but with a reasonable excuse and of how everything went pretty well and how I’ve somehow been able to fake a semblance of healthy for yet another year (though still looking over my shoulder) minus the blood pressure of course.

She suggests I start going to the gym to which I probably shouldn’t have blurted out so harshly “Oh, Hell No girlfriend! That would require me hanging out in waaaay too close quarters with a bunch of folks that I can tell you right now that I probably don’t like and would like even less with them being all sweaty and stinky and too gym cool” as she was just offering up a kind suggestion.

Well, how about starting to go walking again like you used to she says? When shit got bad.

That I could do (again regretting my knee jerk).

I did like those walks, walks around the big nice house neighborhood up the hill with big nice cars and perfect lawns lined with short standing bricks and sprinkled with small porcelain pagan things it could be said, just with trademarked smiles or funny hats, things up the hill here at the COVID begin. It was a good way to escape from the overriding fear then and feel as if you were being productively healthy in any way you could to help fend off the monster. Plus, if COVID gave us anything else other than anger and loss and loss and anger it at least started when the weather was finally beginning to break, making the walks a little easier to take.

I took in the big nice house big nice car neighborhood in my slow footing then, only wishing I had one of the dogs from the house for company, for the normal, for a view through kitchen windows that said I was Ok, he’s just walking a dog, and I fascinated at such a neighborhood that some might aspire to, that I might have aspired to once, but as I walked my walks I could only think that they still have ghosts, things behind those walls, big nice house big nice car walls that are no different from anyone else’s. They love and hate each other and hide things just like the rest of us only a bit more upscale.

I think it might be time to take some new walks. You’re right Celie, as you always are, and even when you’re not I defer, just minus a dog and the wonderings through kitchen windows of who is this stranger walking alone in our perfect, not so perfect of spots.


I parked BB the car and grabbed a water bottle. It’s been hot lately, been really hot lately, really hot everywhere, really hot in the yeah there is nothing to be concerned of in back pockets paid hot, water bottles the best and only defense you have and decided to get back to walking again damning the looks. I just need one of the dogs to walk with me to make me seem less of a concern in a big nice house big nice car neighborhood with secrets, seem more normal.

C’mon Georgia, let’s find you a collar. I got water. It’s hot girlfriend.

A Re-Discovered Rainmakers Tune

So a few night’s ago I posted at Facebook of listening to The Rainmakers “The Good News and the Bad News” from ’89 in BB the car recently (what? I name things). I pulled it out after month’s long constant listens, as I’ve already told, of the new album from the Rave-Ups, 32 years after the last, and when looking to grab a couple of older Rave-Ups for a revisit it sat right there, just waiting on a tangent (yes, my CD’s are in alphabetical order, roughly, so thus).

On a tangent then took me to The Rainmaker’s second album “Tornado”. Now, I haven’t listened to this one in years, it was ranked #3 for me of their initial three albums that I remember so fondly, not that #3 is bad mind you, but in this new listen I immediately harked back to this tune and sang along waaaay too loudly in early morning traffic windows down with every word suddenly coming back to me like it was yesterday … and also with a few curious commuting looks.

“The Wages of Sin”.

Man the wonderful irreverence.

“I was ignoring the thief who was lashed to the cross
He cried “Help me get this son-of-a-bitch off”
I said “I would if I could, I can’t so I won’t
Well I wouldn’t want you messing your hair up, so don’t”
And I realized then that the wages of sin
Was all the lumber you can carry, all the nails you can bend”

Rock on someone said once.