only a night

"Only a night from old to new," the old hag cackled.
"Sleep tonight and the morning sun will wash over your sins."

"Not a chance in hell," I smiled.  "Some sins are not washable."

A thoughtful frown surrounded her wart.  She lit her corn cob pipe and took a deep suck on some nasty smelling concoction.

"Damn," I winced.  "If anything could wash my sins away the smell of that crap would surely do it.  What the hell are you smoking?"

"Peyote, mixed with some cedar bark," she smiled.  "And, yes it does seem to make my sins disappear.  At least it makes them go someplace that I don't worry about.  Wanna puff?"

"Maybe a slug of whiskey or something.  Something real strong."

"I got a jug made by old Joe about five years ago.  I use it when ever I get the grippe.  I don't know if it helps but after a swig or two I could care less."

I took the jug and a big swallow.  It damned near set my throat on fire and oh sweet Jesus, when it hit the bottom of my gut I was sure I was burning in hell.

When I caught my breath, I gasped, "Hells fire, lady, I should have smoked the pipe."

"No sonny boy," she cackled.  "You chose the right potion.  This peyote and cedar bark ain't for boys.  It would really send you on a trip to hell"

I went to her sink and drank straight from the spigot.

The water slapped me in the face.

"Come on son," the preacher said.  "It's time."

I sat up.  Water was dripping from my face.  My unfinsished meal was staring at me.  I shook my head and decided that they had drugged me to make it easier. 

What the hell, what would I be able to do?  Beg like a coward?

No, let them kill me and get it over.

As I walked to the chanber I thought about the dream.  Or, was it a dream?

Maybe the old hag was my first meeting with the devil.

Maybe the fire in my throat and gut was just a taste of what was coming.

Maybe the smell was my flesh frying in the chair.

One thing was for sure, the old hag had been right when she said,

"Only a night from old to new."

Happy New Year Keith (Carry on Tuesdays)


Chandsho was a mistake but as in all mistakes of creation the creators glory in their ability to create.

Chandsho was created when an over exuberant writer played around with a macho verificator. They were both very happy with the conceiving of Chandsho.

There was absolutely no reason for Chandsho to have been created. The creation could have been avoided with a little fore thought.

The creation of Chandsho was immediately a pain in the creator's over active mind. The creator had no idea what to do with Chandsho and the macho verificator had disappeared immediately after the seed was planted.

Once the creator continued with the folly of her creation she had to feed and nurture it.  However, she did not have the time or the ability to take proper care of her creation.  Chandsho would be left to muddle through life without the proper nourishment and guidance.

The creator did not realize that once an entity like Chandsho was created, it could not be legally destroyed or partially destroyed or even quietly disposed of except by the creator. Also, once created an entity of Chandsho's nature could in theory exist for eternity even if it were destroyed.

After much thought and personal prayer the creator decided to abort Chandsho. She decided that aborting the child would be the best for everyone concerned. She could quietly have the child disappear and no one would be the wiser. After all, only she and the verificator knew that the child existed and the verificator was not available to object. It would be easy. A simple slash and the child would not exist.

That is exactly what she did. She aborted Chandsho.

When the verificator returned to visit their creation, his child was gone. "Who would do such a thing," he asked the powers that governed their world.

"Chandsho's creator," they replied. "She can do anything she wants to with her creations."

The verificator was angry and went to the powers with a Manifesto that he called the "Chandsho Manifesto".

It was a simple manifesto as manifestos go. It read:


Dear Santa

Dear Santa

I feel rather foolish writing to you.  You see I am seventy-one years old.  About the time I turned eight I decided that you were a fat old fake.  I became to old to believe in Santa.  You were just some myth made up to fool stupid little kids.

Then I grew up and raised my kids and you took on a different meaning.  Yes, you were fake but I realised the joy that just the thought of you brought to little children and God knows that we need to create all the joy that we can.

In my Old Grizz years I have had the opportunity to represent you and play your part at different schools and not only did it bring joy to the hearts of kids, it bought joy to my heart.

Now, I am writing to apologize.  Now I know that you are real   You are the joy in millions of children's hearts.

What could more real than that?

written for Carry on Tuesday - Merry Christmas Keith

the window

The train was grunting it's desire to leave the station.  It was mid December and it probably wanted to get home as much as we did.
The worst storm of the winter was blowing across the prairie.  The snow had been falling all day and a  thirty mile an hour wind was rocking the train.  As we watched the empty street, a lone man in an overcoat approached the train.

He was hunched down inside his coat trying to keep warm.  It was impossible to tell his age.  He walked slow and careful to avoid slipping on the slick street.

I wondered why he would be walking the street in this storm?  Did he have a purpose?  Was he homeless looking for shelter?

The old man across from me echoed my thoughts.  "Damn, I'm cold just looking at him," he continued.

The young man sitting next to the old man lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke across the open train compartment and into my face..

Damn, I thought.  How did I get stuck with a smoker?  I hate smoke.  I hate smokers.  They are all so god damned inconsiderate. I just knew inside of his mind there was a great big fricking grin as the smoke drifted into my eyes and my lungs.  If I had any guts I would throw him out of here.  But, I didn't have any guts.  I kept my mouth shut.

"Maybe he's the grim reaper," the smoker said

The old lady sitting next to me wasn't afraid to speak her mind .  That's why I love old people.  They have no qualms of saying exactly what was on their minds.

"Do you have to smoke that filthy thing in here?" she said.

"Fuck you," the smoker snarled.  "There is no law against smoking so I'll smoke any god damned place I feel like it.

"Find another compartment," the old lady said.  She was completely calm.  She never raised her voice.  I admired her ability to state her belief in such a calm manner.  I knew that if I were able to summon the courage to say something I would scream at him.

He took another deep drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke directly at the old lady.  This time a grin did appear on his face.  His eyes were cold and I thought that maybe HE was the grim reaper.

With the grin still smeared all over his face he said, "and you are going to do what?"  The smoke curled from his mouth and he actually laughed.

"Nothing," the old man said.  "She is not going to do anything.  But I am"

"Just what do you think you can do old man?" the smoker said.

The old man pulled a small snubbed nose revolver from his pocket.

The smile faded from the smoker's face.  "Hold on old man," he sniveled.  "I'll put the damn smoke out."

The train began to move.

"That won't be necessary," the old man said.  "You can take your cigarette with you."

"OK," the smoker retreated.  "I'll find another compartment."

"No," the old man said.  "You are going to get off the train."

"Jesus," the smoker said.  "The train is moving."

"That's correct," the old man smiled.  "You had better hurry before it gets going any faster."

The old man pointed towards the door with his gun.  The smoker got up and left.  The old man followed.

As they left, the man from the street entered.

"Is this seat taken,? he asked.

"No." the old lady smiled.  "Sit down."

"I almost missed the train." the new face said.  "It's damn cold out there.  I pity anybody stuck outside in this storm."

posted for Thursday Tales and Sunday Scribblings


Limits...we all have them...

I said all but there is one group of people that does not seem to have limits...Politicians.

There seems to be no limit on the stupidity of politicians. Everyone reading this blog will instantly think of some blundering law that their government has passed and enforced.  I do not care what country you are from.  Right now you have one of those boondoggles floating around in your head.

My favorite here in dumb old US of A is the plastic boondoggle.  Many years ago the cry of tree huggers was heard all across the land. 

"Save the trees", they preached. 

The politicians found a cause.

"Save the trees", they stumped.

The trees were saved but only to be burned in greater numbers because laws were passed banning the cleaning of forests.

But the real damage is the plastic that replaced the trees.  Plastic now befouls our planet.
Everything we own is made of plastic.  We all know it.  We all see it and yet it continues.

And now another travesty is about to occur as President Obama prepares to sign into law an act that will ban Jellybeans from the school lunch program .  However the law will approve of skittles.

Now what the hell is that all about.  Wasn't it President Reagan that love Jellybeans?
Is this some kind of political payback?

Do they think the Jellybean people are going to stand still for this?  We could be in for some kind of civil war with everyone throwing Jellybeans and Skittles at each other and then pausing to eat the ammunition.

If you think we have a fat nation now...just wait.

Americans have a history of defying stupid laws.  I can see it now.  A million child march heading for Washington eating Jellybeans for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

How did I get from limits to this?

Maybe there is not limit to my idiocity.

written for Sunday Scribblings

Breath Taking

Her love swept over me like a Tsunami.  The force rolled my heart into my throat but it was not a feeling of rapture.  She was suffocating me, smothering me like a doting mother.  No, it was worse than a mother.  It was, like I said, like a Tsunami.  My mind was rolling and tumbling across a floor of sickening jealousy.
I raised my hands to her in protest.   I begged her.  Hear me.  Hear my plea.  I cannot live like this.  But she refused to listen.  No, not her.  She was still stuck in the puberty of love.  She was glued to me.  She threatened me with death.. my death...her death...our death.

"Fine," I said.  "I would rather die now than die a slow suffication.  I need room.  We need room.  We cannot continue to live this way.  I need to work.  You need to have a life.  I need more than just you."

Tears fell on the gun.  She waved it at me. It wavered and then she turned it to her heart.  I"m sorry. she cried.  "I'm drowning in my need to be with you."

I dove for the gun.  It exploded.

written for Carry on Tuesday

It's never been smooooooth

According to Shakespeare and Keith, "the course of true love never did run smooth." And according to Old Grizz, they are right.  I guess Shakespeare said if first but I doubt if he thought it first.  In fact I would bet that Adam was the first or it could have been Eve.  But it's for sure that one or the other thought it or said it or maybe they both turned to each other (after God  had tossed them from the garden) and said, "how do you like them apples?"

"Yesterday we had it made and now look at us."

Eve probably turned to Adam and said, "Now look what you have done.  You had better go find a job."

Adam, with a look of amazement, probably replied with, "Me?  You were the one that that took a bite from the apple."

Eve, "It wasn't my fault, that stupid whitesnake tricked me."

Adam, "There you go, setting a precedent for all of our future generations."

Eve, " What do you mean, setting a precedent?'

Adam,  "Now whitesnakes will be despised for ever."

Eve. "Serves him right, he caused this whole mess."

Adam, "How about making some lunch?"

Eve, "Why me?  Why don't you make it?"

Adam, "I need to make the beer."

Super great granpa Old Grizz while lazing in the sun, "Well the whole world is going to pot now."

Mrs. super great grandma Old Grizz, "Get off your fat butt and go get some berries for dinner."

Super great granpa "Old Grizz. "I'm making beer."

posted for Keith's COT


Guidance is just another word for advice and although we all say we could use a little guidance, no one wants advice.  When we hear the word "advice" something inside of our heads pushes the off button.

We, as in bloggers we, should make an effort to expunge the word "advice" and use only the word "guidance".

Instead of saying, "let me give you a little piece of advice," we should say something like. "let me offer you some guidance."  "Guidance" has a heavenly sound to it but "advice" sounds like it is coming from parents that have no idea what they are talking about.

So here is my advice to you.  Do not give advice, give ah..

I'm sorry..Let me offer you some not give advice.

A walk in the rain

from "My White Sindow"
 I stood on the corner, my shoulders hunched down inside the thin jacket I was wearing. There was a slight breeze coming across the bay and a misty rain clinging to my glasses.

I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my jacket and sneezed. Normally I enjoy a soft cool breeze coming off the bay, especially when it brings a soft rain with it. The rain and the breeze clean the city of its smog and grime.

But today I was miserable and the cool wet air didn’t feel all that great. I was headed for the corner store to get some cold medicine and then I was going to bundle up in front of my fire place and read “War and Peace” “War and Peace’ is my favorite book. I have owned the damned book for fifteen years and I have never finished chapter one. I read it strictly for putting myself to sleep.

I walked into Johnnie’s Grocery and right into the barrel of some kind of hand gun. I am not a person that cares for guns so I had no idea what was pointing at me. All I could see was a big black hole that looked like a cannon to me.

The guy on the other end of the hole was small and nervous. He had a hood that covered all of his head and most of his face. He could have been white, black, Mexican, or Chinese for all I knew. I didn’t want to stare at him. I have no idea why but I guess I thought he would shoot me if I did. He didn’t say anything but pointed to the rear of the store where two other patrons were. I walked back to where they stood.

Johnny was at his open register. The robber made some kind of motion with his gun and Johnny handed him a fist full of cash. He turned and looked at us and motioned to the floor with his gun. Johnny and the other two patrons got on the floor. Like a fool I just stood and looked at him. He pointed his gun at me and then he heard a siren. He looked at the door and then back at me and then turned and ran out into the rain.

About thirty seconds later a police car pulled up in front and two of the cities finest came in. Johnny had triggered his silent alarm.

Instead of a warm blanket and a fire place, I had a cold police station to spend the afternoon in.   I spent two hours explaining that I could not give them anything but a general size discription.

I got back to my apartment at four and poured myself a nice big glass of Bailey’s and snuggled down in front of the fireplace with “War and peace”.

I was asleep by four-thirty.

written for "thursdays tales"  Prompt taken from a post on "My white Window" - ~Don't threaten me with Love, baby. Let's just go walking in the Rain.~