Tuesday, September 30, 2014


What restaurant they were advertising?
Sautéed, fried, baked, boiled, or… slow cooked I wondered?

Not to play on the Zone, I pondered further.

War, the ultimate sacrifice, and so the gods must be served.
Appeased? Well they are.
Wars rage throughout the planet,
Opportunities, promising, looking down approvingly,
Inhaling the aroma, smoke yes, cooked flesh.

The old gods, the smell of burnt flesh
mixed with new seasonings and ingredients
cooked up by the scientists and servants,
conducting themselves as they should
obeying the rules and laws.
Sweet the smell, the best, nuclear fire cooked.

Peace, an abomination to our kind.
False prophets, blasphemy…not our kin,
of poisonous taste,
to be struck down again and again.

Glory be to the warrior, the server of the Gods.
First in line, the methods do not have to be sublime.

Peace: the time to replenish the stock
“Wait no more.”

The blood, the aroma, the stain addicted.

“Cook the flock.”

“Tar-Tar, my lords?”

Thursday, September 25, 2014


What we think, to the limits of our imaginations are
the thoughts of the universe,
restricted by
a speck of dust, a speck of a thought.
A speck of dust, yes, but our thoughts
beyond the immediate us, attempts to grasp
grasp the greater, the whole.
We give it different names, reflecting stretching,
our mindset teaching and aware of our physical finite limits.
The truth is and has always been.
It’s a matter of recognition of the
the sign post, as both direction, and limits
some clinging to the sign as the answer.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014


The fog of space debris, accumulated over a millennium, encased the planet. Entry was tricky and dangerous at best, even for armored craft.  That was all well and good since no one of any consequence ever went there willingly. The home of humanity was now a back water, and worse. It was populated by those who would not give up on the idea of earth as it once was. The outdated rule of law, a basis for all that came after, and humanity’s success millennia ago, was still the foundational political principals by which they all lived and died. It was this hardheadedness that drove The Sultan, ruler of the solar system, into mental knots. The last law that passed, allowing humanoids with total sentient abilities full citizenship, was a step too far. He finally held a trump card, a cause célèbre. 

It would be ending soon enough.

The royal court was ensconced on Mars.

The Sultan had ordered her to be brought before him. Before her arrival he had raged to anyone within hearing distance. “The Earth is a garbage pit of a planet and this is just one more example of that filth that needs to be exterminated.” The Sultan had declared war upon the planet Earth. “It’s blasphemy against the natural order. Those degenerates just allowed the S7 class and any newer models, all totally sentient and as indistinct from humans… as we… we as natural born humans… could visually tell, full citizenship rights and privileges. They can even interbreed.” He paused, looked about and observed the affect of his words and then continued, “They must be eliminated. A new species will take over the solar system. We will be exterminated!” 

The beings at court just bowed and murmured their assent. Fear was the driving political force. Earth’s ambassador stood in the rear, his assigned spot, illustrating his ranking in importance, and impotence, his head bowed. His planet was about to be destroyed by the growing fleet of warships and support craft swarming into the staging areas. The entire solar system’s battle fleet was being assembled. He could do nothing. His aide, standing by his side stood closer than usual. The ambassador sighed. The boy cares about me he felt. But what can that do?   And why are we leaving our borders open? This is madness.

She walked in. She was calm.  She was radiant, her pheromones arousing every sexually active being at court. The Sultan could not stand up. S7 may have been a humanoid but she was special and different. She was said to be designed especially for the task of tales and pleasure. 

The Earth’s ambassador looked up and saw S7 advancing toward The Sultan. He was about to have a heart attack as she walked up to The Sultan ignoring his guards. She was inches from his being. “Your majesty, would it please you if I sat next to you?” She murmured in his ear. And she sat next to him. She held his right in her left hand. She smiled at the crowd and waved.  His guards watched unable to move.

“This is an outrage,” he hissed. His face was getting redder than the planet he was officiating from. And as he stood, he sat again, or was pulled down. No one was sure due in part to their own, let’s say discomfort. 

A titter of laughter was heard around the dais and throughout the assembled crowd.

The Ambassador to Earth was about to drag the S7 away, but his assistant held him back.  “Watch,” he said. He handed the ambassador a card. “You cannot do a thing. We have immunity,” as he whispered to the ambassador and pointed out the obvious source of discomfort among the male members of the assembled officials.

S7 suddenly grabbed the Sultan and held him in the air. She turned to the crowd that was suddenly hushed. She pulled his turban off only to reveal the body of a GRAY, the most despised of aliens in all the universe, usurpers of thrones, planets and beings for their own sadistic enjoyment.

Her voice was heard throughout the palace. It was broadcast throughout the solar system. “I will tell you all a story,” she declared, “one of deceit and manipulation. Choose to not believe it but look here with your own eyes and decide. You have been lied to all these years. The outrage that he declares against us, is actually what this being has subjected you. More over, it planned to destroy your origins, the planet Earth, its people, and with it any connection to your selves as a people. 

“Yes, we admit our planet is a mess.  And, We are the laughing stock of the system. But we were the only ones not brought under by this creatures spell. And, it knew fare well that we knew. But you would never believe us, us the people of Earth, the home of humanity. This thing knew that too. It trumped up charges and made false accusations, and fabricated truths against our planet, a plan that many tyrants have used throughout history. Only your fear of it was all it needed. It had an army posing as members of his court. He was summoning you to do his dirty work.” She pointed out the windows to the growing armada of ships and weapons being stockpiled. 

She turned back to the hushed court. She grabbed the Gray by the neck and broke it. She pointed to his guards, “Them too!”

S7 threw the lifeless body to the floor. “Here is the cause of all your problems. Deal with it. I am returning to my home planet. We are a free people. We are ready for anything the Grays can throw at us. If you want to remain free, join me, join us.”  She left with the Ambassador and his aide flanking at her sides. The Ambassador walked a bit taller.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

The Soup is Getting Cold

As I scribe and recount my experiences, it was if a dream... to which I cannot return.
He said his name was Colonel Virgil. In a vision, he offered me an opportunity to see
what the future would hold. He was able to converse with me in my native Tuscan dialect
and French. His English was of a dialect I did not speak. He explained much that I had
yet to understand. He said he would be my guide.

Was that fellow Virgil who told me the story, really speaking the truth? I remembered,
he was dressed in a strange military type garb, but wore no armor.

 I opened my eyes to a room I’d never seen. It wasn’t Florence. It wasn’t 1482. I touched
the bed I was on. The material was none I’d ever felt. The room, Spartan in adornment,
was cool. I turned and saw him sitting on a style of furniture I had never viewed; with
machinery flashing and buzzing I understood nothing of. “I’m not dead. When am I?” I
inquired in French.

 “An excellent question. The year, sir, is 2012.You are in a laboratory of a future
government. I mentioned all that to you back in Florence when I was offering you a
chance to view the future, and then some. You had your doubts, hesitations, but you
accepted, and here you are. Be careful getting up. Time travel is a bit rough on the senses
the first few times. Sir, first have some water. It’s safe to drink. You are dehydrated.”

The glass was not glass. It was some type of clear flexible material called plastic. The
water was cool and refreshing, almost without taste.

I stood up and looked at myself in a mirror. Yes it was my face but my tunic was gone.
My garb was of a similar style as his. It was a gray, snug fitting material, with various
shapes and designs that appeared to vary as the light changed. He explained,

“The clothing actually blends in with the surroundings to make one less conspicuous.”

How interesting.

A fortnight later:

GOOGLE, the Internet, how utterly fascinating and frightening. Virgil had his associate
train me to use this amazing technology. I looked myself up as well as other before and
after me. After studying and questioning almost nonstop for all the time I was there, I
had a basic grasp of the situation. I also had an understanding of their English.
I am filled with ideas.

One breakfast, Virgil graciously offered, “What may I show you today? You have carte
blanche, courtesy of the American Government.”

“Your military, your armed forces. I read about them on this machine,” pointing to
a computer. “That would be most interesting. There might be something here I could

“Yes sir, this way.” After some hesitation Colonel Virgil asked, “May I call you
Leonardo? You may call me Virgil, if you choose.”

“If it makes you more comfortable, Colonel,” I replied.

I walked out into the bright sun for the first time in weeks. Virgil handed me tinted
optics. They are a wonderful product. They are made of plastic. I looked up the nature of
that product on the computer.

Before me was a machine with long appendages sprouting from the top. Virgil explained
rotary winged craft to me. He added, “some are flying weapon systems; others, strictly
for transport.” We got in and to my surprise, it rose into the sky.

As soon as we were in the heavens three different type of air machines flanked us. He
explained they were escort craft designed to protect the vehicle we were in. “Protect
from whom,” I asked. I received no answer. It’s no different now, than it is at home. I
scanned the heavens. I noticed no angels.

We landed in a field. There upon I saw a large cannon mounted on some type of vehicle.
This cannon and whole vehicle was sheathed in armor.

“It’s called a tank. It weighs over 60 tons,” a soldier explained, “can travel over 70 miles
per hour and fire on the fly.”

“The fly?”

“Sorry sir, shoot as we move. Would you like a demonstration?”

Again, I was a bit hesitant. “Yes,” I replied. They gave me a helmet and told me I could
communicate with all the people in the tank. I sat next to the loader as she was called.
I couldn’t believe it, a female warrior. I noticed females here and there; I assumed for
pleasure, not warriors.

They gave me a demonstration of its cannon power. I got to fire the machine’s weapons.
The vehicle is highly destructive and impressive. They said I had invented a wheeled tank
and a helicopter. I think I know why I will. I have not done so yet.

“I must return home,” I exclaimed.


Virgil hugged him good-by and gave a kiss on the cheeks, in the European fashion of

Back in Florence, Leonardo wrote to the Duke of Milan explaining that he has “seen
and examined the inventions of all those who count themselves makers and masters of
instruments of war...I will therefore demonstrate all these things...”*

He continued, “I will make armored cars, totally unassailable, which will penetrate the
ranks of the enemy with their artillery, and there is no company of soldiers so great that
can withstand them.”*

Leonardo looked at the card made of a material not yet invented. He remembered what
Virgil said. “Any time you want to return to our time for any reason, place your thumbs
on both these metalized spots on this card. You will be transported here. You are always

Leonardo thought for a while. He looked at a few of his military weapons drawings, his
sketches, and then, Leonardo Da Vinci put a candle flame to the card and wrote “perche
la mianesstra si fredda.”*

Dinner called.
* Nicholl, Charles, in Leonardo Da Vinci, Flights of the Mind, and open sources.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

That's What Food Eats

“Veggie, vegan, it’s all in a plan!”
On a soap box his words were flame.

I ignored his diatribe, and
to the book on good health I subscribed.
“You’ll eat better and better my good man.
Grains, legumes, tubers, non-gluten
(gluten grain, in the stomach a possible pain)
but over all, it’s good for you.
By-the-way don’t forget the goldn rule:
don’t just gulp and swallow,
you must tho-roughly chew chew.

“That’s what food eats!” again he exclaimed.
(Hair pulling out, red face, oh such pain)
“Veggies, it’s what cows and pigs and horses consume.
It’s the alien takeover plan, we’re cattle I know it’s true.
Don’t you see it old man, right in front of you?”

I thought him nuts, as I munched a few
Said I to him, “It’s a better way to eat
A better way to live, animals, don’t consume
love the animals don’t eat them.”

“No doubt, a slogan propagated
we know by what and whom,
alien beings just fooling you.”
Exasperated he shook his head,
“the truth, to you, and obvious no show.”

“How do you think we got here? He continued his rant.
We ate meat, our brains grew, we became bigger than ants.
What we are, what should be
and not the losers in the race.
In the mirror look, your brain, your face.

I to him, in firm defense I stood proud and free
“You blaspheme my good man. The gods decree
that we all be meat free.
It is written in the book of health
On a show of okra and others like herself.
It’s a decree, a decree say I to thee.
Be gone you fool let me eat
Veggies and nuts and all that stuff.
Let me be free.
But meat to eat?
No, no, certainly Not me.”

Said he, “You’re a fool, a tool,
All you vegan veggie toufu eaten, food for fooo...”

Lightening from the gods above
a crispy critter, burnt, eyes all agog.
A smile crossed my face, correct
The gods approve my aprobate, I still stand erect.
And from the sky they struck him dead, with
The green blue red sizzle, then
to my salad I looked and thought,
wouldn’t it just be funny, looking
looking at the smoldering simmering pit
where he once stood, now cooked
an idiot
claiming on his falsehood hooked
eating animals for food.
What a fool.
But yes, cooked, he did smell good.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

A Love Manufactured in Heaven

 He had seen her from afar. He was in love with this mortal. His wife, the queen-goddess was not pleased about his peccadillos, as she called them. He had to uncover a way he could be with her.

His aide-de-camp came up with this idea. “You’ll not be of a living thing. Your wife will never think to look there. The object of your love will love you for you as you are. What can be truer?”


Francine Debranua was a top seeded road-racer. She preferred “rice burners” as the boys derogatorily called them. No matter what they said, the straight 4’s never let her down and finished the job.

The head mechanic pushed the bike from an immaculate black and gold swan emblazoned trailer to Francine’s pit area. He wore gloves of fine cotton so as not to scratch the paint or mar the finish. He too was spotless.

“Francine doesn’t ride Twins,” her mechanic stated as he carried a fresh set of slicks.

The man in black nodded. He knew all that. A grin broke out on his face when she finally came out of her motor home. He pushed the bike toward her.

Francine, petite, and especially cute in her racing leathers, stopped to take a closer look. “That your trailer?” She asked pointing to the immaculate monster rig.

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied. “This is a gift for you if you would do HIM the honor.” He pointed to the bike.

“Him? Him who?” What did she care about this black V-twin?

“I cannot say at this point, but it is legal. Here are the papers. Look them over. Take it for a test ride, please.” He handed her an envelope. The lettering was done in gold.

She reviewed the documents. It was in order as far as she could tell. The signature of the seller was only a gold swan stamp, but notarized. She looked at the man in black. “Okay, what’s the game?”

“No game. He wants you to have it. He’s watched you come up through the years and he wants this for you. Look him over. Ride him. You can have him if you like him.”

Francine started her walk-around. “Him?” But she was getting lost in the machine and didn’t hear the answer if there was one. “This a beautiful piece of workmanship,” she said in awe.

“Use only 105 to120 octane fuels.  It’s full.”

She straddled the bike. It was perfect. Her tush slipped right into the seat pocket. It seemed to envelop her. She giggled. She flat footed the asphalt. The clip-ons were at the exact length for her petite body. She put her earplugs in.

He threw her the key. He bowed and made a motion, clearly stating without words, please go ahead, pointing to the track.

Francine hit the starter. The bike fired up. It was like nothing she ever heard or felt. Something filled her being, adrenalin? She pulled her helmet on, slipped her gauntlets over her hands, and pulled the clutch lever. “Butter,” she said to herself. The bike throbbed as if in response. With her booted foot, she clicked it into gear and slowly let the clutch out.

Heading onto the track, she raised her arm to indicate a “slow bike entering.”  She began her warm up laps, heating the tires, and becoming familiar with the bike. After two laps Francine felt comfortable. She pushed her pelvis into the seat bump, pressed herself onto the tank, twisted the throttle and opened him up.

“Oh my god,” she screamed. Turn 1 was coming up faster than she had ever taken it. A slight touch of the clutch, a blip of the throttle, a shifter click, a tap of the brake, and the bike took the turn as if it could read her mind. She lay across the tank, her head tucked down behind the steering head, with her left thigh grabbing the tank/frame, her right leg spread out and wide as she hung-off.

Throttle twist, up, and the front wheel came off a bit as the bike leaped forward to and through turns 2, 3 to the top of the hill and 4. The down hill was one of the fasted parts to the slowest, 5, a dog-leg left. Not even a slip. The machine just went around as if it were on rails. 6, through 8 to the uphill 9, were no different. Turn 10 to the back straight was approaching at lightening speed.  Something or someone told her not to brake. The voice said, “It will be just fine. Trust me.”  She did. She laid over, sliders scraping the asphalt, then up, straight, front wheel off the ground, moving faster than she had ever driven before in her entire life.

The pits were quiet except for the growl and the roar of this beast. People were at the rails waiting for her next pass. Timing machines were turned on.

She felt that this machine was alive, as alive as another living being. It responded to the slightest shove of her knees and the lightest touch of her fingers around the throttle. It seemed to read her mind. She squeezed the bike with both her legs, pushed herself as tightly against every part of it as she could, tucking in. Her fingers pulled on the clip-ons. The bike responded by going even faster. She never feared for her life.

She came into the pits hot, slamming to a stop in front of the man in black who had not moved.  Her helmet off, she demanded, “This is no normal machine, is it? What’s the story?”

He smiled and said, “Look closely. The answers are there.”
The Black Bike was created for Francine Debranua. She rode it till the end of her days, loving it with her whole being.
Engraved in the valve covers was  Deus ex Machina, For My Goddess of Speed.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

A Mid Summer Nights Dinner Delight

Dramatis Personae:
Granny Smith
Tomato Tommy
Ci Anti

Act I
Below recount I, eye to you,

about a dream ‘peers more than true.
My dinner drink’s sweet concoction
caused a slumber here I’ve fashioned.
Caring not about your vote, I
the truth herein, do invoke.

Witnessed the court yard, moon hung low

Sultry mists a webs blocked glow.
In herein I repeat my site
For all your enjoyments’ delight:


Holding hands, arms thin as twigs
Dance they both to the gods and begged,
“Keeps us free from bugs and like
while we enjoy our life’s delights.”

And all around does Granny Smith

Entwined in love Tomato Tom
And watching closely Ci Anti John
Who has a crush as any a grape and
Can fermented love in a bottle stand.

Granny and Tommy pies they make

Their love’s an oven both they bake
One for main with bread and cheese;
the other, an after dinner please.

Ci Anti John should play apart.

Fermented love just needs a start.
While those two dance abouttheir fires pyre, bubble, boil and shout.

So he to glass their lips provide

what the nose and tongue let slide
down the throat and in the mind
the dull affect of his drugged wine.

Granny Smith a solid core

and Tom Tomato a slushy bore,
to Ci Anti asked and cried
“Please leave us be, we cause no harm
We dance around the fire warm.
Cooked just right, a true delight,
sprinkle cheese on both of us
What could be wrong? We’re just desserts.”

Up on a plate they pirouette

Spin the dough and let it set.
And to Tommy’s sliced red sweet guts
a blanket of cheese this body thus.

And Granny, sliced in the pan she bakes

no longer dancing feet she makes.
And here too, a crust so fine and thin
above and below her sugared skin.

Ci Anti hearing none of this,

his drug-made-brain a harden’d mess,
into the oven both he threw
and slur said he “good dinner’s food.
He promptly gobbled up the two.

A fart forced from Ci Anti’s hips.

A smile crossed his wine soaked lips
And another bite he did par take.
“In my belly they dance and shake,”

Awoke I in a salty sweat,
from my dream’s dream I did forsake
not believing that awe full take
I searched realities welcome bite,
and to my left and my relief
was my sweet hotty totty wife.
A smile wide with apple spice:
“I know you like the Granny Smith
cooked just tart and barely sliced.”

My totty wife, her bosom tight

her hips were bare ‘cept for light,
and upon whose body I did lay
all that evening danced this way.

Horizontal bopping is all I’ll state.

A gentleman should not relate
intimate details of pies and cake.
And with her love, I don’t forsake.

To end this tale of fruit and dance,

of dancing partners cooked, depanced,
taking bites of love pie here
and sliced bare apple over there,
while in between the best did lay,
dessert my friends? I will not say.