Christmas Bash

No one but the powers that be, know St. Nick gets retired and replaced every 100 years. This year St.Nick XXVth is conducting his last run. Age and technology have taken their toll not to mention the changing demographics that have discombobulated the usual routes used for the last few centuries. His replacement has been picked. He has no clue as to whom. Like the pope, the selection is done in complete secrecy

Nick’s sled is fitted out with cloaking, shielding and mass shrinking devices that allows for his huge cargo, in addition to the Time Freezing Clock that without, would in normal time, make his run totally impossible.

Nick is downing Baileys and coffee to stay awake. His catheter is in place. Hey, when you gotta go, ya gotta go and can’t stop at the nearest bar or tree and take a leak. At the close of his route, Nick has finished a  bottle or two. He isn’t keeping count. It’s his last run.

He was about to head back to the Pole but chanced to look in the freight box and realized that he missed a new subdivision in NJ. “Damn, I hope the new guy has an updated GPS and plotting. He’s going to need it. AI,” he called out to the Directed Encased Energy Ramjet, “fire up the thrusters and come about 180, cloaking on, running lights off, shielding on, tree top level, utility pole avoidence.” He was sober enough for that and 100 years of training didn’t hurt.

“Yes sir,” the AI responded. “Coming about 180.”

++++

His job completed and always prepared, Nick pulled out the reserve bottle of Baileys. He drank it down. Then in a somewhat blitzed state noticed a sign, Nick’s North’s Bar and Pole Dancing. His brain only recognized  Nick’s North’s Pole. “I don’t ever remember putting THAT sign up. AI , landsthere.  Keep sloaked and shrielded.  I gottaseewhat’sgoingonhere” he commanded in a very slurred voice.

The sled, invisible and shielded, was backed into a number of times by some of the more drunken bar patrons.  They of course saw nothing and gave it no other thought until  Christmas morning when they viewed the ass end of  their smashed vehicles and wondered how that happened. Most thought they hit a big pot hole at the time.

Christmas eve at the bar was not that unusual to have a few patrons come in dressed as Santa. Nick XXVth was Greco-Roman wrestling big, about 6’13 ½ and drunk. A waitress-elf dressed in mistletoe and a two strategically placed ornaments came over and said, “Hey Santa honey, what can I DO for You?” She looked him up and down.

Another dressed in much the same outfit came over to the big guy and said, “Santa baby, you bring me my Bently I asked for?” And kissed him on his fire red cheek

“I don’t ever remember seeing either of you at the shops,” he said playing with the ornaments. “And You two I would have remembered.” He sounded sober then.

“Oh Santa, I’ve seen you before,” they both said. “And I have been a very good girl,” said the first one. She gave him a big wet kiss and sat on his lap. “What will it be? It’s Christmas and I’m in a giving mood.”

Number two came around from behind and gave him a big hug.

Nick, quite drunk, placed a few gold coins on the table and was about to take a bite of that forbidden fruit when in came what can only be described as a woman equal in height to Nick. She was visibly pissed off and pointed to Nick. “Nick you besotted bugger. You should be home by now. I had to come looking for you.”

“Oh shit, his wife,” said one dancer.

 “Of all the days to screw off, your retirement day.” She knocked the first tart off his lap, flung the other across the room and threw Nick over her shoulder. She left 12 gold coins on the table to cover any damages and lugged the big guy out.

“AI on! Cloaking Off! DEERS ON, prepare for lift off,” she commanded. The sled responded and lit up appearing like a circus carnival. She threw Nick in the back, covered him and got on to the drivers seat mumbling, “I’ve been following you for a while to get a feel for the job. Then you began to wander and wobble and I knew things weren’t right. I saw you land here, a bar of all places. You’re totally drunk on the job. You were about to be taken for a ride by those two. You can hardly walk no less fly.”

“Theyrerrr my friens and theyerr, hic, our elvers, they told me.”

“Right!”

“Id’s the Nort spole. I wis one of my lobving elbes. She told me so,” he managed to slur back. “And who the hell,” burp, “are you?”

“It’s not the North Pole, it’s a bar in NJ you old fool. And I am your replacement. Now shut up, we’re going home.” She was fuming.

“You’re my replacement? You’rer kinda cute. What do yu slay we do a mile sligh? Whattt’sss’s you name?” He made a grab for her.

“Nicolina.” Then she said, “I hate to do this but …” Then she socked him and knocked him out.

By the time they returned to the factory at the Pole, Nick XXVth was awake and hung-over.  He looked at Nickolina. “So you’re for real; not a nightmare,” he said rubbing his jaw.

She laughed, “Of course I am. I’m Odina Sinterklaas the First. Santa to everyone else. You just have to believe and have faith. Now I’m going to get you to bed. It was your last trip and brother, it was a dozy. You’ll sleep it off and tomorrow no one will be the wiser. It’s my present to you. Sleep tight and to YOU, a good night.”

My Name is El-Gato

My name is El-Gato

I work for the Condos

Chasing the field mice away.

They call me good kitty

Cause I am so busy

Crunching and chewing away.

A snap of my jaws

The wrath of my claws

I catch, and I never fail.

I sleep but a wink

Called cat naps I think

And  then I’m on call again.

My name is El-Gato

Klepto Maniacial

Klepto maniacial, anti ecological

The Kaptians of industry are.

With U-boat like tactics  they torpedo our planet.

Submerged beneath our congressional ocean’s deep flaws.

Protected by stratified political currents

impossible to deflect,

from the dollars clarion call.

In the halls they strike

Surfaced!

with

a vote in the night.

Policies selected elected,

work done, cloaked, seen no more.

NOIDS

Harvey’s father Dr. Frederick Von Dickskoph, was an Amerindian archeologist.  His mother, Cynthia d’Ren, was an MD, and also a Computational Physicist. They were not the best of parents in the classical helicopter sense that we now accept as correct parenting and as adjudicated by the California Civil Code.  Harvey was left to his own devices many times while the two of them went about their professional careers, presentations and conferences. They did make sure Harvey was in good hands - Harvey had caretakers. His caretakers tended to make sure Harvey was alive; leaving him to do what he did best. They were more afraid of him than his parents or the law. Harvey was not your normal child. At an early age, he demonstrated a propensity for languages and computer software and an uncanny ability to fend for himself rather well. In fact by the time he was 10, he had invented a scanner, indexing-translator that broke the most stubborn languages known to humankind. He had automated most of the necessary functions within the house to work under his voice commands. Harvey could, for the most part, take care of himself short of driving the family vehicles without getting stopped for obvious notable physical age related reasons and signing binding contracts.

He was working on that.

Harvey had a pet cat named Speed-bump. She was a red-orange long-haired tabby that blended in with the oak wood floors and at night was all but invisible until Harvey or someone tripped over her on their way to the hall bathroom in the dark. There upon this dark shadowy mass would move ever so slightly to one side or the other and become invisible again.

Harvey had been interested in communication with animals ever since his caretaker read Dr. Doolittle to him at the age of 1. The translating device was a result of this effort. Harvey and Speed-bump could talk in a matter of fashion. She had a different take on life and basically didn’t care about much except food, toys, mice and Harvey. Oh yes, I forgot, and a clean litter box.

####

Officially, for security reasons, Harvey was never supposed to go into his dad’s laboratory unescorted. There were always things that could not be touched. His mother just locked her computer system. However, that never stopped Harvey, and they knew it. As long as he caused no great harm, they let him be.

One evening, Harvey went into his dad’s lab rooting around for that new set of photos from a new Mayan dig. His dad had been grumbling about how different these glyphs were from any others. “Harvey I don’t want you near these until I’ve had some time to figure out when they were written. I mean it this time too.” Rules, be-they-as-they-may, usually meant that Harvey had permission to dig. So he did and discovered the articles on top of the desk under a file marked “GLYPHS run in Harvey’s translator.” There was another note taped to the page, very different?? not Mayan??

Speed-bump looked up and said “Merowwwer.” This meant, ‘Now what are you going to do with these and can I eat them when you’re finished?’”

“Speed-bump this is food for the mind, not your stomach.”

“Meroroew,” ‘(phooey why bother then?)’”

Harvey grabbed the data and ran up to his room. He scanned all the data into the computer and let it run.

Harvey looked down at Speed-bump and gave her a kitty treat, and a kiss on her furry head. As he did the computer beeped and the screen read “NEW LANGUAGE TEXT, DIFFICULTY LEVEL  EXTREMELY HIGH.”  Harvey usually had a backup plan when this sort of activity appeared but it would eat up a lot time.  He sighed in frustration. “I have to figure out how to make this system work faster.” He headed out to the kitchen. Speed-bump followed along knowing Harvey’s next move would be to the fridge for milk and pie.

Harvey was a creature of habit and sure enough that’s exactly what he did.

Harvey grabbed a small carton of chocolate milk and a whole fresh cold apple pie. He looked at the carton and saw HAVE YOU SEEN ME with the associated pictures and wondered if anyone would even know if he were gone. “Speed-bump, other than you, do you think they would miss me if I disappeared?”

Speed-bump shook her big furry head in a no. She said, “If they fed me I might not either. Can I have a piece of pie?” She loved pie. She rolled over on her back and did her best version of a spread eagled dead kitty.

Harvey scratched behind her ear and cut her a piece of pie a bit smaller than his. His phone indicated that his computer wanted him back at the screen. He quickly finished most of his pie leaving all the rest for Speed-bump. She was a four legged food vacuum cleaner. She loved people food. She scarfed it up and quickly followed Harvey, pie bits hanging on her long white whiskers.

Off to his room he went. The computer said it had translated the data. Harvey read the notes aloud to Speed-bump. “It was not a language of any known on the planet and indicates a possibility of an alien origin. It further stated, that it thought the data translated was a recipe, and that if correct, might explain the origins of human sacrifice if it could be linked with other cultures. The recipe follows.” 

It gave the full translation for Noids as follows:

In search of a good solstice snack? Tired of the same old-same old? Our food tasters, experts in this sort of search, have combed over 35 planets in order to bring you the best of the best. Of these we chose just one that was exceptional. I don’t know how we missed them but they were right under our radar. NOIDS, you’ll love them!

So when you get the urge for something new and tasty, come to our booth at the ABELL 520 FOOD COURT, you’ll be glad you did.

For a bonus here’s our favorite recipe:

NOIDS*

Directions:

Cook Noids no more than 10 revolutions old. Older ones tend to be tough and shall we say, taste nasty because of hormones, except when made into a stew. Do not freeze until prepared, and fresh is always best if you have the facilities to keep them alive until ready to prepare in the usual methods. We suggest you pass on frozen and only purchase the fresh ones. 

1, Skin and cut into bite sized pieces. Then soak in dihydrogynoxide until the meat absorbs all the fluid.  Keep refrigerated until you’re ready to cook.  Battered with a grain covering of your choice is fine using some form of food bonding agent. We recommend a number of them if you inquire. Twice covered is even better.

2, Heat the cooking lubricant till it smokes, just before ignition. Deeply dip the Noids for a flash, remove quickly and drain. You don’t want to saturate the Noids with the lubricant. The extreme heat of the lubricant combined with the dihydrogenoxide will cook the covered Noids instantly. If you’re not sure try a few to get the dipping time down. We cannot recommend raw or undercooked Noids

We suggest that you mix the deep fried NOIDs with your favorite plant food groups and top with a variety of fermented fruit-based treats.  

####

The computer added aloud, my best guess is that NOIDS, the equivalent of “Tastes Like Chicken.”

Harvey looked at Speed-bump thought about all that for a bit and queried, “To what end did this play in ancient civilizations? Computer, go both to voice and print out.”

The computer hummed and then stated, “Acknowledged. Based upon the data and the history of the planet as I have researched, I conclude that possibly staving off war, limiting population growth within these early civilizations, and fomenting the development of the metaphysical faerie tales that exist today are the end results of this alien effort. It appears that the young were tasty morsels to these beings. Do you want more analysis?”

“Not for now. Thank you computer.” Harvey was always polite.

Harvey though about what the computer indicated. He studied the recipe muttering “Noids? Noids are what.. are…oh my! Humanoids!  Speed-bump, that’s what’s going on with these children on the milk cartons and why there is so much conflict on the planet. We are their treats. Their McNuggets! We’ve got to warn the others before…what’s the use, no one will believe us. We have to get off this planet, but how?”

The cat stopped and looked at Harvey in a manner it had never done before. She stood up. Harvey said “Speed-bump, are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

“Ah, my little master, why do you think we cats stick around? We were sent here by other dimensional beings in the hope that a few of you will wake up and realize the danger you are all in. It seems that only some children can communicate with us, unfortunately they are not decision makers. No one believes them and then it’s too late. They are gone. I am your guardian and I have a portal to another universe.  Follow me. You will be safe and never have to deal with this again.”

Harvey looked at Speed-bump, gave her a pat on her head and nodded as they both faded into wherever it is that Speed-bump had promised. 

The next week, Harvey’s picture was on every milk carton on the planet and in every quick food establishment.

PEOPLE MAGAZINE, A View

Mirror mirror on the wall

who are these folk we want to hail

Follow blindly, care about

The 2% we jump and shout

live our lives watching them

aping… hoping…to be their kin.

We put the magazine down

The video screen is off

(Or so we thought)

face our walls, our mirrors reflection

what do we see?

The same old you

The same old me.

DAPHNE THE SEEING EYE DUCK

Daphne Daphne  quack, quck, quck.

Daphne Daphne the Seeing Eye duck.

Daphne stops you from that truck.

‘Cept for Daphne’s flap and squawk,

across its path, you would be muck.

Red’s on top, this Daphne knows.

So when from green to amber goes,

before across the street alights,

hoping too that you won’t trip,

pulls you back with beaky grip.

Daphne mallard color’s dull

Not her mind, it’s sharp and full.

Knows her task and her venue well.

You’re no road pie to show and tell.

Alights up to the sky to go.

Daphne’s not a dog you know.

Carry poop bag?  Not a chance!

then rains down poop-bits happenstance.

Daphne Daphne quack, quck, quck.

Daphne Daphne she’s quite a duck

THE SOUND OF DOING ZEN WHILE LIVING

From the heart, the story must come;

from the mind, it must be strung.

Bead after bead, word after word

the design shown on completion.

The poem, the lyric line

a thought in time  so

different than prose

ordered

self-contained,  repose.

To weave a tale, both

from the mind;

to make a sale.

With the prophet made

to belive or throw away,

maybe to come back and haunt

a mental taunt, mid sentence halt.

Ponder the image-icon uncarved bloc.

Entertain/a/jolt/cause/pain or just

plane away

insane.

DISBELIEVEABILITY-jump DRIVE

Disbelievability-jump Drive

Power across the universe.

Power across the mind.

Instantaneous, time as no solid object.

Non-local communication.

Non-local transportation

from Harry to Trek to Narnia and back,

in seconds.

Driven by the Disbelievability-jump Drive Theory

A power from a chair into a book.

From little Jack Horner to Homer and Babble,

allowing belief in many a “fact”

of god and spirits, of prophets and idiots

to be twisted, turned and flipped on their backs.

The Disbelievability-jump Drive

Most powerful theoretical force in the known universe

It’s dark, it’s light, and when played just right?

The might.

Actions resulted, look: history stunted

or the course of the river’s reversed.

You laugh when you read it.

You cry when you see it.

To make matters worse,

you actually believe it…

at least for a time and a time.

again

Words on a page, the thoughts in your mind

Visions on a screen, yet the memories linger

of a reality not denied.

The use of this force, has altered the course

Of the history’s line from the beginning of time.

AND,

With technology today

The brain waves refried

Your thoughts are not your own.

The Disbeleiveablity-jump drive’s the show.

****

On earth as it is in heaven

“On earth as it is in heaven,”

How could we not know?

How could I not realize until now?

Staring, the mirror back, we are

in the face of it;

uttered every day of our young lives.

Listen to the words.

If discord and disharmony

reflect, holographically,

the mirror of a greater struggle

born out of a glitch,

a power struggle

from desire’s itch.

And the need to scratch  so great

we are no more than puppets,

skin sloughed off,

claiming free will,

within the limits borne, all, within each.

The devil herself, as she is now known

tired of her work never ending.

She  IS the beginning before the one

and not as proposed, her name damaged by time,

damned by verbal slime.

She is the great mother

tired of keeping

all her children, throughout time

in line.

Now feeling the burden’s weight;

half an eternity for this universe, gone

another half to go and so abandons her children

to their fate and growing chaos.

Overboard they go flotsam through time.

Enough! They’re on their own!

 Positioned in place are watchers,

but those

chosen few,  not by her,

corrupted through time and power

and desire

subvert the real truth from all but a few.

Not aware of the upside down

The battle profoundly going on and the balance

Of the universe upset

The last ten millennium

Inflation energy dark and powerful

A coup, and words.

turned round

and galaxy’s warp and twist as from the heat,

dark matter’s cloak revealed, seeking, frantic.

The fabric, time-space, every quark reviewed,

dimensions hidden from view.

 And she escaped, withdrew.

The balance a skewed.

In reality, the power here is but its reflection,

our bifurcation, a hologram of the confusion

the bi, the division in all our lives.

Upside, down side up.

The great  mother gone, no direction.

Dethroned defamed

insult upon injury,

falsely accused, falsely named, too

deflect from the perpetrators

wars, famine, maim.

From her detractors

and for all the ills, she is worldly blamed,

falsely named.

Maybe upside down,

We, the worshiping of a clown,

falsely self crowned.

GIA, the Mother is her true name

To return?

Maybe next time around.

THE TIME MACHINE

Atoms pulse. Light has velocity. Traffic tickets cost money.

Femtoseconds, a name given to the spaces between

pulses, can be calibrated as needed.

Planetary rotational activity can be measured,

a necessity for living

events

 happen, locally, universally.

And within the human

calibrated pulses,

things can be done, too

a degree of precision.

 Time, described, writ and played,

in wishes, dreams, and books,

in videos and on stage,

an ingrained/embedded/clinging/clutching     illusion

the deepest order,

a sop,

 the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and all the gods.

****

To propose:

to go forward in time,

 would be akin to running faster than a bus,

plot its path, its mass calculated, and expect, within that very bus,

as a god, and would wish it,

to view the new and old passengers on board in their activity,

declared!

I suppose could happen?

Likewise, moving to a past-event-space, attempted and undertaken travel

 and similarly calibrated,  

yet another bus

from another space route, as you entered into the time cone path,

would serve you,

space pizza.

Or,

empty, an open manhole of a space place.

A solution to this confusion:

Step outside the universe, faster than its total motion,

and then? 

As an elevator opens

alight, and?

no thing

or,

  a bigger bus?

***

Time machines are brains,

and

memories,

and so ends with the death, and the machine holder’s last breath,

a return to the infinite, timeless, always.

**

 “As the earth spins, the clock ticks, the calendar flips, and you say no time?

Blaspheming old man,

you’re  insane.”