I'd like to be a fly on the wall....

              That has always been an interesting expression. Would you like to be a Fly On The Wall? I wouldn't want to be forever but for a few minutes? On a few different walls? Oh Hell Yea...

              The thing about the fly on the wall is that he gets to actually see us like few people do. He gets to see us before we put our face on. We have so many different faces. Life is a stage and we are all actors and actresses.

              If you were a fly on the wall in the office, yesterday about 930 pm this is what you would have seen, looking at the coffee table between the blue ez chair, and the green chair and foot-stool here in the Man Cave. I pride myself on not being a sneaky guy, but I know even as I create this post that the Mrs. would rather have me post photos of myself, as naked as the day I was born, with nipple clamps, and a neon blue pogo stick stuck up my ass, then to post this photo on the web.

             Now I will admit that this photo doesn't scream order, organization, and extreme sanitation, but I'll bet if I were a fly on the wall in your home or office I might see somethings you would rather not be seen.

             Lets assume you don't know me. What does this photo say about me? Lets break it down piece by piece.... It says I have a google TV, a smart phone, I drink coffee, beer, and probably booze, I use honey, probably in the coffee, I have eaten reese's pieces, have keys with a fuel card attached, I am one of the last people in the world with a land line phone, at least once in my life I drank a bottle of water, I use cox cable, and I don't take every single dirty dish, down stairs to the kitchen the second I'm done with it. It also says I have dry skin, an ugly table, and this little table is used as a catch all.

             None of those things are anything to be ashamed of, none of those things are morally incomprehensible. They are all a testament to my Humanity. I am human, I am flawed.

             So now Lets turn to you, shall we? We will say all of you, and for the most part it's true, but I will admit that one of you in particular is on my mind. What would I see if I was a fly on your wall? In your home of many rooms, what room do you live in, and how does it look in there? Not right after you have straightened it up, but right before you turn off the lights and go to bed.

             See this is an intimacy I want to share. I know it's weird, but at my age, I have seen a lot of things, I have seen a lot of faces, and I want to see the face no one else sees because then I will know you like no one else does.

Just some random thoughts on a Sunday Morning.

Strange Gods can be Yours if The Price is Right...

Today the Mrs drug me to what I call a witchery shop. This place sells everything

from exotic herbs and candles to statues of any God you can imagine. It's kind of a 

one stop, separate the sheep from their cash shop, and as you have probably guessed

it's not my thing.

Still no one wants to be the asshole any more then is required, so I went in and looked around

with my cellphone as exotic meditation, sage, charlatans, tea leaves, and boiling cauldrons were discussed. 

No one said anything about kittens, puppy dog tails, or blood sacrifice, but I'm pretty sure the conversation was censored for my benefit. 

It's not that I don't believe in the spiritual world it that I do.

The theory of this old fat guy is that it doesn't matter what your god of choice is, it could be the cat, the budda, the swastika, the cross, or the honest belief that their is no god at all. It doesn't matter what or who you worship, Jim Jones or Opera Whimprey, Montel Williams, or simply a life shaping loyalty for the 58 Chevy Belair.

The Magic doesn't come from the statue, or TV program, the Magic comes from you and all of the other fever-ant believers. 

Imagine that your mind is an energy generator, and when it becomes focused on something it generates a current. This current is minuscule, but it's very real. Kind of like a watch battery. However if you can somehow line up a billion or trillion batteries well then you can get some shit done.

You can build pyramids, you can raise armies, you can spread your faith like a cancer.

You can murder millions, or save thousands. You can accumulate wealth beyond measure, and lands as far as the eye can see. You can have people kill people and marry people, you can bind people, torture people,

split the seas in two and do almost anything you want to.

The sheeple don't know it's them, they can't imagine that it is their energy that creates the atrocities and miracles, it's easier for them to give the credit to the statue, or the King, or the God, or the talk show personality.

The masses provide the energy, it's harvested and directed, by the keeper of the Deity, and then what ever happens was Gods will. How easy is that?

It makes it easier for us all to sleep. Then we don't have to ever admit that sometimes, horrible things just happen. Sometimes the good simply die young, sometimes babies die in their sleep, sometimes the bad guy wins, some days it rains on parades. 

Every day is a roll of the dice, and we all just have to try to be the best we can be.

It is my opinion that the keeper of the deities are the most powerful people on the planet.

They define good and evil, they demand sacrifice be it blood, money, or blind faith and obedience. And all three of these things are really the same thing and that's power.

Have a great Day and say your prayers.

Santee Sports Bar

Is it wisdom or bullshit, when your old and half in the bag at 1245 pm on a Thursday what's the difference anyway.  This is what I'm wondering as I listen to these buzzards crow back and forth to one another. The thing is each of these old men had, and have a life. From the one bragging about his tours in Vietnam to the other drunkenly half hugging his shoulder as he tries for the fourth time to explain how he built aircraft.

The waitress, who has the ass of a 10 year old boy, is now wiping the bar and will soon be drawing more beer. It's 12 oz, draft or domestic bottle for 2.25 day and she is busy. I admire the cleanliness of this joint and the way the colored LED ropes above the bar change colors, they seem to be on a 5 minute timer. One more room is available in front of the bar and it has a couple of pool tables and a dart board. I can't help it, but the mood, ambiance, and color scheme of the place, are all mentally noted and may end up in a story somewhere some time.

My ear-plugs are in although I'm not listening to anything and several of the patrons are looking at me out of the sides of their eyes as if I am a curiosity. I know they would be trying to make conversation if not for the headphones, and honestly that's why they are in.

My spidey sense tells me I could do the bartender if I put in the effort, but I won't. She reeks of single-motherhood, grief, drama, and the latest fragrance by Avon. I don't need any of these things. I am already married and in *love* and it only gets more complicated after that, so I'll leave it be.

I like this bar and will be back. I stay for one beer, and one beer only. I don't need the hassle of drinking and driving, or the risk of banging up Melvin the scooter. Plus I only brought a single five dollar bill, and would feel very silly pulling out the debit card for beer.

I finish my beer, and drop two singles, in the tip Jar. "Thanks Miss." I say as I walk out the door and she is saying something else but I pretend I don't hear.. it's EZ with the ear-phones.

I notice the outside tables where you can smoke and drink beer at the same time and I have to give them credit for that here in the, smoking dope is cool, but cigarettes are of the devil, liberated State Of California.

I also notice the parking lot is right next to the beer drinking and cigarette smoking section and I can only imagine the ass-kickings that have been handed out and received, and the amount of blood that has been spilled on the gritty asphalt. I don't know for sure but I'll bet a dollar dollar more blood has been spilled then beer.

This concludes.. This.

Cookies

The honor lies in the Service if not the services..

My hand is a loyal soldier. 

Now a little older and having lost the smoothness, and glow of youth, he will become reminiscent if allowed and tell you about the old wars. 

He will tell you of the angry slaps and the violence. He will go on and on about the joys of touching the face of a new born baby, and the excitement of creeping up the thigh of a lovely maiden. He will tell you of the countless hours spent holding a cigarette or drink. He will tell you how he tossed dirt onto the casket of my brother, and explain to you that no matter how often you do that you really won't grow hair on your palms.

He will tell you about threats and grabbing someone by the throat and pushing them against the wall. He will go on and on about how his decedents carved stone and how he worked as an electrician. He will show you scar after scar and bore you with every single one.

If you listen long enough he will tell you how he has been ordered to steal, and heal, he may even tell you how sometimes he twitches in his sleep as if he has left a task uncompleted. About the only thing he won't comment on are the liver spots or moles? After all whats to say, they weren't there and then they were. 

He has dreams that always have gone unfulfilled, he will never paint or sculpt, but he can drive about anything that has wheels.

Somethings make him proud and some things bring him shame.. but his honor lies in his unflinching obedience and unquestionable loyalty.

So, this is me, the sunshine of the fricking world listening to rich girl by Hall and Oats, and waiting for Mrs. Swaney.

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