How Fred Almost Lived Forever

Fred was old

20 years ago.

Now, everybody he knew was dead.

It was like being the last man on earth.

He was waiting for the oxygen to run out. There was little chance of that.

Nurse Tanya, kept turning up his oxygen. “We want you to get plenty of air,” she said.

“How about a smoke?”

“That would burn your lungs. Besides, smoking isn’t good for you.”

“Honey, even with modern medicine, I’m going to outlive you,” Fred said.

“What’s your secret?” Tanya asked.

“I don’t play with myself.”

“What about me?”

Tanya opened up her blouse, and exposed her breasts.

Fred looked away. “What? Are you trying to kill me, or something?”

“My other male patients love it,” she said. “I touch their bodies, so why not let them touch mine?”

“Where did you go to school?” Fred asked.

“In Romania. They teach us the healing power of physical contact.” She wobbled her chest, and her breasts danced like little girls.

“I can’t take this. It’s torture!”

“Well, in that case, why don’t you go outside, and play croquette with the other boys?”

Fred was more than happy to get away from her.

“Would you like a sandwich?” Tanya asked.

“No, god damme it! I just want to play with my mallet.”

When Fred walked outside, he began playing the game. He could get his ball through a wicket from 20 feet. His eyesight was second to none. The other boys had hair growing in unusual places. Fred still had a full head of hair, and the rest of his body was as bare as a Ken doll.

“What’s the deal with you, Fred? Why are you so young?” George asked. He was fat and working on a heart attack.

Fred calmly wacked his ball with one hand. “Moral superiority!” He said. “Don’t you know, that decadence will destroy you?”

“It never hurt me none. I lived and loved under the sun.”

“The sun will always shine on me,” Fred said. “I will never die.”

George promptly had a heart attack, and Nurse Tanya ran out into the emerald lawn, wearing nothing but her polka dotted bikini.

Fred looked away, and another man died.

He knew that women were the root of all evil. They sucked the life out of you and drained the force, because they wanted you to look at them in their underwear.

“Hey handsome!”

Fred looked. She wasn’t wearing anything. He died.

The End

Human Traps

The Great Hunter sets them,

and like a Great Hunter,

he is invisible to his Prey.

His prey walks into them

as if

the hunted

hunt

themselves.

Human Traps are Everywhere. They are baited with desire.

A man must become crazy like a fox, to escape them.

Ordinary people

love to watch celebrities stuck in traps, and they take pleasure in their public humiliation.

Like the Great Hunter, a wise man is invisible, and he watches where he steps.

It’s no good to get stuck in your own traps; most people do.

A wise man doesn’t tell other people that he is wise.

People think wisdom is useless because they can’t see the traps.

The Fool thinks he is wise, so he doesn’t get married, for fear of losing his peace, and he dies without love.

There is always one more lesson to learn.

Writing can trap you.

Wealth can trap you.

Women can trap you.

Wisdom can trap you.

What you think about

can trap you,

so, the Master doesn’t think.

He is content.

Aphorisms on Living

1. A life well spent, is a life well earned.

2. Wherever you go, people want to own you.

3. I look back at my college years with memories of victory; not because I won anything, but because I discovered what I wanted to do.

4. A man who knows what he loves, and does what he loves, can appreciate every moment of his life.

5. I catch myself talking, and not saying anything. Then, I include more facts. Then, I stop talking. Spouting facts, is a sure sign that you have lost the way.

6. My whole life is a search for the great man, and how to become him.

7. Change is easy, when you know what you want to change into. It’s as easy as doing the work.

8. I look forward to each morning when I lay in bed and write. I drink espresso shots. It’s lovely.

9. Making lots of money, will buy lots of things. What can’t be bought? Think about it. Now you know why people aren’t happy.

10. I don’t feel the need to prove myself, but that doesn’t stop people from saying things. What changed? I am the master.

11. I want to live in peace.

12. I am blessed to know many people who are dead. They speak to me through the pages of old books.

13. In Christian circles, there are so many witticisms and sayings to cover up lack of belief. For instance, “God gave you a brain. He expects you to use it, to solve your own problems.” My response, “If I can do everything by myself, where is God, and what significance does He have in my life?” And believe it or not, there are five sayings to counteract that saying, and then they look at you like a blasphemer.

14. You got to love Christian folks, just like Jesus loved the Pharisees. He called them a brood of vipers, so I think it’s fair to say, my biggest comfort is knowing they will all go to hell. Just think how many people listen to them, and don’t want to have anything to do with Jesus. It says in the Bible, it would be better to have a millstone wrapped around your neck and to be drown in the deepest ocean, than to lead others astray. Narrow is the way to salvation; broad, the way to destruction. One must realize that an experience with God, has nothing to do with the modern-day church.

14. I want faith to move mountains. When I tell believers this, they say mountains are metaphorical, or you want to use God for your own purposes. Christians are so predictable. If a man has the faith of a mustard seed, he can move mountains. Mountains are significant because they are enormous. There is nothing metaphorical about them. People just don’t have faith. Jesus constantly said, “ye of little faith.”

15. Reading Chinese wisdom from 4,000 years ago is the most addicting activity under the sun. I can relate to somebody from a different culture and time.

16. Writing is a gamble. Sometimes, I get lucky. The only way to win, is to keep writing.

New Year, Old Life

Farewell…Farewell… Fare, thee well

to my old life, deep…deep…down in that dark…dark… well.

It has been a revelation, to escape my temptation.

How did I climb out?

That depression

was a mile deep, but it didn’t stop me.

My imaginary legs grew, until I walked out.

My friend told me, “You got to get the body,” so I worked out.

His advice is a vice, but I take it to heart.

“You got to get the money, if you want the girl,” he said.

“Okay, that’s easy, but what about fame?”

“That too.”

By the law of attraction, I whisper incantations in the dead of night.

I read my bible, and God tells me that I have idols.

How do I smash them?

I am possessed

by what I want.

My vision is 12 skinny women, dipping, in my kitty pool.

I show my Christian friend my vision board.

“It’s an abomination!” He yells.

Then, he gets bored

because I drew, all the things I want, rather than cutting them out of magazines.

“I have a theory, that the law of attraction works better, if you draw what you want directly from your subconscious mind,” I said.

“Is that why she has enormous tits?” He asked.

“Of course.”

“And what’s that?”

“That’s Simon and Shuster. They want to publish my book.”

“They look like penises to me.”

“Exactly. They’re profit motivated. Anybody like that, becomes a prick.”

Breathe~ A thought — insight07’s blog

Everyone do a simple exercise with me. *Breathe in* *Breathe out* *Breathe in* *Breathe out* Now, just imagine. While you were doing this exercise, someone took their last breath and someone took their first. I find this entire world mind boggling! • Access this and other poems in my book, “Dreaming in a Fish Bowl”! […]

Breathe~ A thought — insight07’s blog

Bachelor Writer

When I was a senior in high school

my English teacher showed us a documentary on Ray Bradbury.

It was a VHS. Now, you can see this same video on YouTube.

It was obvious that she revered him (most English teachers do).

When I saw this fat old man with long white hair, wearing thick big glasses, and rowing shorts, or were they beach shorts, or sailing shorts (I’m not sure) I thought, that man figured it out.

He walked through his cluttered house, and there were Coors cans everywhere.

He opened his refrigerator, where there was only one giant piece of cheese. Then he carved off a slice, and walked into his living room with a beer.

Ray Bradbury loved to talk about writing, and so did my English teacher.

“Maybe, you should teach English,” she told me. I didn’t tell her that I hated English teachers, and my self-esteem wasn’t that low.

I loved myself, even if, I didn’t know who I was. “I think I’ll join the military,” I said. “Maybe, the Marines.”

She looked at me with horror on her face. I imagined she could see my brains, half blown off.

What a waste.

Then, she recommended that I read The Red Badge of Courage, and I did.

I wrote an essay on it, and got an A.

When we had breaks in English class, I would impress the girls with my one-armed pushups.

They giggled, which was enough motivation for me, to keep going for eternity.

I never joined the Marines (thank God, because I hate authority), and somehow, in the back of my mind, there was always Ray Bradbury, writing on his electric typewriter, in a messy house, with an unused swimming pool, outside.

That’s who I wanted to be,

and that’s more or less who I became.

I haven’t succeeded yet,

but that’s the dream.

Some, want to work on wall street, and go to meetings.

I just want to be left alone with my own genius.

Two Murders

Andy looked at his goldfish. “They say money can’t buy you happiness, but that doesn’t apply to gold coins.”

Each morning, he put his hand inside the fish, and pulled-out four or five.

He learned that the goldfish produced more, if it was basking in the sun, and fed five times a day. The cost of fish food alone, was running up the bill. The lady at the pet store, kept giving him fishy looks.

“You buy a lot of fish food,” she said. “What kind of fish do you have and how many do you have? With the barrels you’re buying, you could feed a whole fish farm.”

Andy just smiled at her, mysteriously, and let her ask her questions. People who worked in pet stores were crazy, anyway, he thought.

When he got home, the fish was waiting.

“Dad, what do we do with these gold coins?”

“Save them up in that leather bag I gave you, and then I’ll melt them down into gold bars. I’ve checked with the Jewish pawn brokers. They let me know that two Japanese brothers will give a fair price for precious metals, smuggled, or not. They don’t care. Secrecy is their middle name.”

“What show are you watching?”

“It’s a murder mystery of some sort. I think there’s a vampire in it.”

“Is it any good?”

“I think so, but I started watching it, in the middle. You should be writing. TV will rot your brain. It’s what old folks do, because there’s nothing left between their ears but wax.”

Andy walked into the TV room and sat in one of his dad’s leather chairs. The stuffing was coming out in several places, where the mice had burrowed in and nested. When he shifted his weight, the chair squeaked. It wasn’t the springs.

When the show hit a commercial, Alan picked-up the National Inquirer and started reading. Andy stared up at the ceiling where the cigarette smoke was staining the white paint.

Technically, there was no smoking allowed, but practically, nobody followed that rule. It was like that question on the insurance adjustment form, “Are you a smoker?”

“No.”

The whole world is biased against addicts, but first, they make you addicted.

There was a scrambling sound in the living room, and then, breaking glass.

Andy rushed in to see Beaker the cat, standing over the fish bowl with a golden tail, like a forked tongue, sticking out of its mouth.

“Beaker, you just ate a million dollars. Cough it up. That was dad’s retirement, and my collage fund,” but Beaker swallowed in response.

Andy reached for his pocket knife.

“No. Don’t do that,” Alan said. Squeeze him.

But no matter how much pressure they applied to the cat, Andy and Alan couldn’t get the fish to swim out.

In fact, Beaker’s breath smelled like he had already digested his lunch.

“That’s the fickle nature of fortune,” Alan said. “Oh well, we probably have enough gold to get us through the next decade.”

Alan went back to reading the National Inquirer, as if nothing had happened.

Andy was devasted. I guess old age puts wealth in perspective. It’s not a big deal, when death might steal your life.

“I know what I’ll do, I’ll schedule another therapy appointment. It’ll only cost 100 dollars.”

“I think you’re out of luck,” Alan said from the other room. “Your psychoanalyst lives two blocks down in 209, am I right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, it says here, that he was murdered, or at least, the police think he was murdered. They found a lot of blood and a broken mirror. They suspect it was a disgruntled patient. Alister was eccentric in his methods of mental health treatment. His memorial is scheduled for next week. In the meantime, his office is a crime scene.”

“I wonder if they cleaned up the broken mirror?” Andy asked. He was looking at the living room wall, when he said this. “I’m going for a walk.”

It was a sunny day, and Andy’s shadow was following him on the sidewalk. When he got two blocks down, there was the yellow tape, and a notice from the police, not to trespass. Andy walked into the waiting room, and through the door of Alister’s office.

It was barren, with the exception of blood stains on the floor, a chalked outline of a little man, and smashed mirror fragments that had fractured everywhere.

Andy reached for the drawer, for one of those big plastic bags, Alister put the fish in. Then he scooped up the shards until the whole mirror was in the bag. He walked out of there, like Santa Clause. And when he got to the apartment, he began to unpack the mirror.

“What did you get?” Alan asked.

“Do you remember that mirror, I told you about, that I looked into?”

“Yes.”

“Well, here it is.”

“That’s evidence.”

“Trust me, the killer won’t be looking into this mirror.” Andy stared at his fractured reflection for a moment. “All I need to do, is fuse it together.”

To be continued…

Cinderella Man

My ambition is the summer sun

and the luck of the leprechauns.

My ambition is a gothic house

full of books.

One,

opens a door.

My ambition is a beautiful woman

with a laugh, like silver and gold.

My ambition

is to do

what I never thought I could do

Mountains, Memories, and Miracles

that make me a man.

My ambition

is to achieve my destiny.

Many, don’t believe they have one.

My ambition is to find the magic in music

the color of spring

the reality

right beneath the surface

of our grim grey monochrome existence.

My ambition is to find the land of the fairies

and not the one on capitol hill.

There are worlds we don’t know about

and

I want to discover them.

My ambition is to transform into an artist

from that slow spongy caterpillar

that eats leaves, gets fat, and goes into his cocoon.

My ambition is to break out

and fly.

When there was nothing in my life, but flowers and time and sun

I felt warm, because

each new day held my ambition

like morning dew

on lucky leaves

and I watched the sun, descending slowly into the sky

through the deep green woods.

I wouldn’t trade that time

for city buildings

meetings, suits, or clocks.

Those kinds of things

make me appreciate my ambition:

a quiet room

where I can type

and listen

to the street sounds, outside

to the people

to the world, full of ambition

and so am I,

but

I just hope

I make it home

before midnight.

You find them

where

society bleeds.

Politics, Protests, Police.

Sharks aren’t beautiful, but they get the job done. They are efficient killing machines.

“Who wants to go swim in the ocean?”

All the beautiful fish go to school

to learn

how to play fair.

Then, they get eaten.

People are so Predictable

You can always tell a government bureaucrat

by the shit coming out of their ass.

They have a brown stain there, where their brain is

and they sit on it

day after day.

To get promoted, they consult with the other asses

that they kiss

to get ahead. You can spot them, by their self-important double chins

that waggle

to the orders of higher-ups. They are proud of doing what they are told.

“I just got my booster shot!” He said.

He thinks he’s an example to us all, and he is.

He’s an example of an idiot, a fool, and a nincompoop.

I never understood history, until I got a job working in a bureaucracy.

Now, The Eichmann Defense, makes sense.

I can see the banality of evil there, behind their masks.

When they take them off, their faces are nondescript

because

they follow the script they are given,

and when it says, “to kill”

they kill,

and when it says, “to sterilize”

they sterilize

and when it says “to tell on their neighbors”

they tell on their neighbors.

People are so Predictable.