TELL HIM...

"Hello?"

"Hello... hi Mrs. Dixen. Is Will there?"

"No he is not. Is this- Ian?"

"Yeah"

"Alright. Well, Will is at soccer this morning"

"Oh... is Sam there?"

"Yes he is."

"Can I talk to Sam?"

"Yes you can. I'll go get him."

"Thank you Mrs. Dixen."

"..."

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sam, this is Ian"

"Oh hey. Will's not here-"

"I know. Sam listen, I need you to give Will a message for me"

"Uuuh- okay, sure"

"Tell him I am ready for this afternoon. I am ready for war..."

"Uh- oh you guys are going out the kingdom in the woods? I wanna come!"

"Listen Sam, listen. Tell Will I am ready for him."

"Yes sir! Maybe I can get Candy and Jason to go-"

"Tell Will, the time has come."

"Okay?"

"Tell him that the air of peace grows thin, and the billowing winds of the north bring on them the steady drums of war... the dull luster of the years of industry and false security are dimming in the ever gathering dusk of conflict."

"But Ian, peace was declared just yesterday when we were playing. That's like, not even 24 hours-"

"It was eons Sam."

"Eons? Whats an eons?"

"A very long time. Now will you listen to the message or not? Pete friggin' sakes Sam, how are you going to remember this if you keep interrupting?"

"Sorry..."

"Tell him the hour is neigh. Tell him that even the trees of his kingdom groan in warning of the tides of darkness, which move steadily into his lands! Tell him there is not one thought I have, not one word I speak, no dream I dream, that is not of total and glorious battle. My nostrils are continually filled with the beautiful scent of steel blade on stone grind. My eyes have poured over every map, every battle tapestry-"

"I'm never gunna remember all of this."

"The trump of battle rings out in crystal clarity. There will be no escape, there will be no comprise. War is upon him and he must now take up his royal sword! Tell him I am coming. Tell him that I long always for battle! Tell him the greatest desire of my heart is to one day look into his eyes on the totally awesome field of battle, and know that the engagement of my entire existence has finally arrived! That I may now enter into extreme combat with my eternal foe..."

"Wow."

"Tell Will also to bring my hat, I'm pretty sure I left it in his room the other day."

"Yeah yeah."

"See you later."

"This afternoon?"

But all Sam heard was silence. Ian had hung up.

Roxaboxen

(for while you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3UGZWCQdjM)


I picked my way through the heap of growths that had claimed the road. The towers of the once proud city have fallen to axe, and now lay down as ghosts, leaves long under the dirt.

Oh mighty place, you are desolate. So quick to give to time and all of its characters. Beings coming and going, unknown in my absence.
                                                                     
                                                                The wars that have raged, the dark that has descended; I can only imagine. I was not here to watch over you. Now all I see is a plain and dry lot in the woods. Your walls gone, your paths forgotten, your houses in shambles. The wolves pass through you unchecked, and there is no human to see your wilderness- none with eyes, it seems.

Your once mighty river has fallen beneath me. It is not a worthy stream, just another seam in the earth for the morning dew to slide down. I would blow a closing trump if I had a horn, I would close you with a prayer- but there is no spirit left to farewell. There is no spirit or soul here anymore.

They have cut your hair bald, and ripped your dressings from you. Your teeth have been cracked and pulled, your eyes seared and shot. I do not know you. And I sat there trying.

 You have been had by the hands of adults who did not care, and of children who were not told. We only left our ropes and buckets, our sheets of steel, our footprints that quickly disappeared into the shifting ground of the woods. We should have told the children. We should have carved our story in a tree; left a note…

But the legends are lost and who can tell them? And who am I to say? For those who had kingdoms before ours, and we heard them not? And we did not know them?

5 SECRETS TO HANGING OUT WITH “THE BOYS” (WHEN YOU'RE A GIRL)

1. Cut out all the super cute crap: Guys like girls, and sometimes especially just how cute they are. The little pout y face when you’re angry, the cute talk, i.e. “that sounds soooo fun!”, “ooooh I want pancakes, they're so yummy!”, even the heart melting effect baby animals have on you. But one thing you have to know is, that when the guys ditch you to go hang out with their boys, a big part of that is they need a breather from all the ‘cute’ stuff. Girls seemingly live in a world of fluffy soft things, big watery eyes, and baby animals. Guys need time to escape to their world, which is bloody death movies, our epic glory stories, and video-freaking-games... not ANYthing cute
   
2. Don't talk so high: When you spend time with your girls it may be okay to raise the pitch of your voice when excitement grabs hold of you, but that crap is downright harmful to a mans ears. When he is spending time around girls, he is patiently bearing the pain of “Oh my gosh Jessica, I just LOVE your dress! Its so nice!”. He needs time weekly, or sometimes daily, to hang with the boys and not have to hear the whistle high inflections of womanly excitement. Talk normal when you're hanging out with the guys.    
3. Don't ruin the ‘boys dance party’: This is very important so listen closely. Dudes love to dance. They especially love to dance when they're alone with just the other guys, mostly because they like to dance in the stupidest, goofiest ways possible. Its just a total mess of present mindedness. One of the CRUCIAL reasons most girls can't hang out with the boys is because girls tend to see these silly dance fests and crinkle their eyebrows to it. Maybe its because they feel a bit insecure during it and get mentally defensive, or maybe because they truly do think it's dorky- but it doesn't matter. If you can't get up and join them in their ridiculous dance parade, or at least support it, then you're ruining man time, and you won't be allowed to hangout with them exclusively again.
   
4. The Whisper: now I know girls love to whisper to people about things, but guys can’t stand it. When you're hanging with the boys you just gotta say what your gonna say. If you wanna leave, say “I’m out guys, PEACE”, if you’re hungry “Man, I’m starved!”, if you think the movie someone wants to watch sucks, then say ‘yo this movie sucks’. But please, please, please do not whisper to someone what you think. If your with the pack for the nights, have the common courtesy to just say what you think. But use a little tack, no reason to tell someone their an idiot or that their ugly.
5. Trying too hard: even though all of these things may require a conscience effort for you to do differently, because they are so far from how you would normally act, don’t let yourself get too carried away. You want to hang out with the boys because its fun, goofy, and simple. When guys hangout together there is a lot of ‘in the moment’ going on. But nothing may be worse than a girl who tries TOO hard to be accepted by the boys. You may be going overboard if everything you say is “oh that's sick!”, “yo wazzup!”, “Aw yeeeah that's so tight!”. Don’t do anything that is so out of your character that they feel like their with a complete gomer. Just keep it cool.

The Audrey Stork

 If Briejus lacked any know-how, or fell short of complete closure on any conundrum the wind swept hillscape held, Caitirine* didn't know of it. Cait stood firmly next to her guide, who (though old in age) seemed impervious to the night wind which beat around his body like running rivers past stone. Cait, on the other hand, squeezed old Briejus's hand at times, and worried that she might have almost hurt him with the pressure of her trying to not be blown over. Briejus would smile when he felt the trusting cling of her 6 year old hand in his, leading her through the endless limbo of grass covered hill slopes.
     "Keep going Caitirine," he would say once they rested at the top of each knoll "We are past time, and what does it matter to stay in one place?"
     "Well..." nerves would always pause her here. Cait never understood why so much fear came when passing through the dark from one rise to the next "If you go with me then okay... but it's so dark down there- every time!"
The space between each moon splashed rise was a dark river of shadow, that from a distance made each rounded hill top look like thousands of tiny islands stretching forth into the starry sky. A tender painting that met in a line on the evening horizon. Cait thought to herself, We must have been walking for a dozen hills now. Its been an hour at the least... it feels like weeks! Has it been weeks? The truth was she really didn't know, and thinking about it brought her to frustration.
     "How long have we been walking?" she asked,
     "And what does it matter? Do you have to be somewhere young lady?"
     "Well... yes... I have to-" while Caitirine thought, she came across something that seemed to trouble her even more then the question of time had. She not only came short on if she had anything else to do or place to be, but if there ever had been. She strained her young mind to picture existence outside of the nethering wilderness, the forever evening they walked through, and couldn't. Come to think of it she thought I'm not sure I've ever even been anywhere else.
     "The more dark we pass in between hill tops, Dear, the more you will see that there is nothing to be scared of. The only thing down there in the dark, is you and me. Does that sound bad?"
    "Well I'm not scared of you!" she squeaked excitedly, clinging to this empowering information.
     "And are you scared of you?" Briejus prodded  humorously.
     "Noooo!" Caitirine danced and shouted at her old friend with giggles, "You can't be afraid of yourself- that's funny!"
Briejus raised both eyebrows in wise sympathy and admiration for the innocence she proclaimed.


   

     They walked on. The wind came in rolls over the gentle cress's, revealing itself by causing ripples in the tall silver grass. It looked like an earth sea to Cait, and she was sailing it into the night. The stars speckled in eternal endlessness above her and Briejus, and they continued their walk into the amaranthine wilderness, colored silver and blue.
     "What is that?!" gasped Cait. She leapt backwards and scrambled to hide behind her sturdy old guide, who stopped to observe what had distressed her so. A large dark shape moved quickly over the hills to the side of them. It streaked and snaked through the low lines between the moonlit covered tops, where it would stop, and seemingly scan its surroundings before moving on.
     "That my Dear," grinned Briejus "that is why we are here."
     "What is it?" Cait asked in a quiet voice, looking up in the dark, clinging to his pant leg.
     "That is the Audrey Stork. It's quite gentle. In fact it wont notice you at all. Would you like to take a look? Its beautiful, and I think you might like it."
The calming assurance that flowed naturally from Briejus caught up Cait's imagination, and all fear blew away, leaving only curiosity, with grand images of what the shadowed creature might be.
     "Yes I want to see it closer." she said, but with hesitance.
Briejus picked up Caitirine's small, weightless body and slowly began to jog forward with his spindled legs. But incredibly, to Cait, the old man flew faster then a race horse over the hills, his legs never moving close to the speed they were actually going. She was caught up in wonder. The wind did not grow louder as it crashed around their speeding bodies, but instead fell mostly silent, leaving them in a floating and quiet run, the old man carrying her, and heading in the direction they had seen the mysterious Audrey Stork. Finally, as they had run to the top of yet another hill, they spotted the beast perched on the next height nearest to theirs. It was a magnificent thing, as large as a town trolley. It was covered in what appeared to be sleek plumage that reflected like finished alloy, causing a dazzling mirror with every source of light around them. Its neck was long and coiled upon itself, carrying what resembled a massive wolfs head. Its eyes shot out a reflective, and seemingly, neon blue that struck Caitirine to the core with wonder. The creatures breathing could be heard across the way, a deep inhale and exhale that made Cait's skin tingle with awesome power. A strong odor of wild animal reached her nostrils and she tried to put into words what it could be.
     "It smells like a field!" she said up to Briejus, looking towards him for approval. "It also smells like a stone turned over after the rain... It is beautiful! Does it know we are here?"
     "Oh I suppose so." Briejus looked at her with calm amusement. "But he is busy. Too busy for small folk like us."
     "Busy with what?" She asked.
Briejus sighed and smiled, "Well, with his journey into the hills."
     "What is it, Briejus?"
     "It is the wonder of the night. The strength of the wind. It is our intrigue, our restlessness put to rest. He is not lost Caitirine. Every hill top he is on is the place he means to go."
Caitirine stared at the Audrey Stork until she felt her eyes burn with not blinking. Her wonder and fascination settled in her chest, becoming a solid and still burning. A burning that blossomed resolve.
     "...I would like to follow him. He- he seems so free." She managed to mumble out, her body taut with the passion of the moment.
     "And he is. If you follow him though you will have to speed up. And one more thing Caitirine: he never stops. Would you be able to follow him into the night?"
     "Yes." Caitirine said for the first time with complete confidence, "Yes, I will follow the Audrey Stork."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Caitirine is an older Latin form of Katherine. It means 'Pure'.

WHEN GOOD KING BILLY MOVED AWAY

     King Billy is moving? No there has to be some mistake- King Billy has been the King since... well, since most the other kids could remember. If you were at least double digits or older then you might have remembered Queen Alyssa (who now would vehemently deny ever having anything to do with the “little kids”). But nonetheless, so it was, King Billy was moving away. His mom didn’t seem to like his dad anymore and wanted to go somewhere else; King Billy had to go with her... or just Billy now I guess. All the kids in the neighborhood had gathered together in Sam Aikins backyard for his royal farewell. Sam stood there next to Adam Plunkett, his best buddy who always carried the bow. There was Sarr Rollins with Petey McKay and Jeff Woods sitting cross legged together near the side of the woodshed. J Wright stood closest to the town square, looking up towards the King, who sat perched upon their totem. The town square was what they called the area around the old, half rotted dog house- their totem- sitting in the center of the Aikins families backyard. It sat right between the house, the properties rock wall which ran along the garden patches, and the woods to the back. King Billy sat upon its black shingled roof, squinting in the noon sun at them. It was more or less silent. No one really knew what to say. What do you say to a king? How did you say good bye?

Starr looked up from her crossed legs and asked softly, “How far away are you going to live?”
“I dunno...” mumbled Billy.
“And what if you don’t wanna go? Could you just tell em’ you don’t wanna?” asked Adam.
Billy quietly shook his head.
“Well,” he said at long last, “maybe if I’m moving we should change the teams name?”
The children all stiffened.
      “Whaaaat?” J scrunched his eyes up towards Billy’s spot on the dog house, “We took forever coming up with a new name after Alyssa!” The name had been “Alyssites”, and after she left to join the older kids so unceremoniously, they had all decided that the name had to be changed. So when Billy became King they officially changed it to “The Tree Runners”. This had been Adam and Sams idea, which they took from their pride of being able to run through the woods at top speed (a talent others didn’t seem to have). Billy sat in thought “How about the Billy Boys?”
“Oh no!” the kids all cried out together.
“Ok, ok... The Lions?”
“Naw, thats so boring” said Starr.
“Well then, what would you call it Starr? I thought The Lions was a good name!”
Starr stared up at the sky, thinking. “The Sky Birds?”
“Ha-ha, no team of awesome warriors are going to call themselves ‘The Sky Birds’. How lame is that?” Sam intervened, giving her a challenging stare. Sam did not seem often impressed by Starr and what he called ‘her girlieness’.
Billy continued, “Well, maybe we could call ourselves the Moon Clan?”
“Isn’t that what you’re older brothers team use to be named?” quizzed Adam.
The children dropped back into their silence. It sat on them unbroken except for the occasional wave to shoo a fly, and the woo woo of a Morning dove observing them.
The Aikins family bloodhound, Loyd, had romped on into the kids circle to investigate the group sitting on the grass. Though the Aikins family happened to have an old dog house in their backyard, it was left by the previous owners, and was not meant for Loyd (or any other living creature, short of rodents) to find the suitable comforts of a home in, due to its decrepit state. In fact the only time the dog had been inside it was when the kids had captured him as a “woods beast”, and caged him inside of it.
“Blegh! Get away from me, you droopy faced dog!” Star gagged out. Loyd had lumbered up to her and his large flaps of mouth skin danced around her face and his tongue flicked out to lick her. Sam looked at Star with satisfaction. Good boy! he thought, lick her face clean off.
     “Misses Aikiiiiiins!” cried out Star, wrestling to shove bumbling Floyd away, “Heeeelp!” The kids all burst out into sudden laughter at the plea for assistance from Floyd's ugly face she had made. Miss Aikins appeared at the back doorway with her phone held up to one ear.
“Floyd!” she called, “Come inside buddy! Come on- Hey William? Is William back there with you kids?” The laughter and grinning died out as the grown-up zoned in on one of the group, and Loyd trotted toward the house.
“Yes?...” a few of them chorused softly with mild concern.
“William your mother just called me, you need to head home and pack.” The group quickly exchanged a wave of glances and, in conclusion, all turned towards Good King Billy; the backdoor screen slamming was the only sound to follow. Sam snorted, “Star, you smell and look like dog breath.”
“You dodo, how can I look like dog breath?”
Sam looked more happy than ever that she had just asked that question, but before he could answer-
“Shhh!” Adam hushed them suddenly and jumped forward, squinting into the woods at the far end of the backyard, cupping a hand to his ear.
Suddenly all of them stood and a tense silence crept out of the grass, trees, and doghouse, that left them with the roar of blood pounding through their ears. Sam stepped up next so as to be shoulder to shoulder with Adam. They both took a sentinel stance, looking hard into the tree line. “BeeBo’s?” whispered Sam.
“BeeBo’s.” confirmed Adam.
“What is it?” King Billy demanded.
“BeeBo’s my Lord. Permission to scout?”
“Scout” King Billy agreed, then turned to the rest of the kids, who were now taut with the ready, “The rest of you. I only have this last friday left. I have led you for the better part of 3 summers. We are not going to let the BeeBo’s run us off on this day. Today they will be the ones who run. Go now! Grab your weapons and be ready for battle!” The kids began to scramble, grabbing their sticks from the inside of the dog house. Meanwhile, Adam and Sam were already armed with their weapons and braving the sure future conflict, down at the tree line.

Adam walked quietly and slowly into the woods, the hot afternoon washing away with the shadow of the trees. Sam followed steadily behind him. The silence was deafening, but this is what the two worked best in. Both their swords were dually gripped and held at an angle to the ground behind them.
  “RAH RAH!” a shout came from the brush as a flash of skin came bursting out, chained mace whipping in circles as the savage sprinted toward Sam in the rear. Adam spun around and raised his weapon to the ready. Sam dropped to one knee, barely missing the mace head brushing over him. The savage ran waist first into the blade Sam had stuck out to his side, stumbling over it and falling dead, face first onto the forest floor.“RAH!” another savage called from farther off in the woods. Sam turned to Adam and exchanged a glance of urgency, both of them panting from the surprise of the attack.
“What happened” asked the King, when the boys came running back out of the treeline. The both of them took a one knee bow in front of the King before standing to report.
“Savages Sire. Of BeeBo, we’re certain.” Adam turned to Sam and added, “Sam was attacked by surprise.”
“And are you hurt?” said the King turning to Sam.
“No my Lord. I dropped him. Fit for battle”
“Alright!” The King raised his voice, turning around to face the rest of the people, standing fully armed next to totem throne, “Into the woods. Savages are attacking, and they probably want control of the creek beds mill. We cannot let that happen! Tree Runners!”
“Tree Runners!” The army of children chorused back, with their weapons pointed skyward. And into the woods they marched. By the time they reached the creek bed the mill had been destroyed. Shattered wood and tools lay scattered around where the structure once stood.
     “RAH! RAH!” The last cries of the culprits were heard, distant on the far side of the forest.
     “Too far gone. We’d never catch them without chancing having to attack them in their own fields. I don’t think we’d be able to take them there.” Said Jeff, the troops navigator, “They probably have their watch crew still planted to the north of the big rock.”
     “Alright. The mill can be rebuilt in time. Everyone head back to the totem.” The King resolved.
“Coming?” asked J, turning back to the King, who stood there surveying the destroyed mill.
“No” said Billy, “No... perhaps its time I bless our woods. Today being my last- I must ask our trees to be in our favor...” J nodded and the faithful family the King had led over the last 3 summers treaded solemnly back to town square.

The King walked reverently among the cool and hushed forest. His eyes running up and down the towering trunks of every well known spruce, fir, birch, and oak. These woods were mine thought the King to himself. Please, please protect my people... please protect my friends... Billy didn’t know exactly why he was leaving. He didn’t really want to. But leave he would, and his reign would only fall to the memories of those who once lived and fought under him. Billy bit his bottom lip and almost cried, a moment that was put away with a gut wrenching sound.
  “Rah, rah” it came calling out of the brush, “The King is alone. Are you blessing your woods?” a savage from the BeeBo’s sauntered out from behind a tree, a long sword slipping out from his back sheth. The King opened his mouth to call out. “And you don’t have enough bravery to challenge me on your own?” taunted the savage. The Kings mouth clamped shut with royal pride. Another rustle, and a second savage joined the first, weapon raised into attack stance.
“This- this isn’t fair!” protested the King.
“Surely the mighty King of The Tree Runners could take two savages? Ready to make your last day a day you fell? When’s the last time you fell?”
“Two weeks ago- in glorious battle! Just like your about to.”
The King lashed out with his sword, missing the first savage as he lept to the side. The second savage ran forward bringing his sword down over his head, catching the King by his heel. The King quickly hopped back on one foot, now impaired by his wound, but lost balance and toppled backwards. The savages expertly rushed to tap all of his limbs, rendering him useless by rules of “The Game”. The King laid on his back, staring up at the two enemy faces that now looked down on him. The first savage grinned, “Gotchya. You were always slow William, they’ll be happy to get rid of you.” The second of them piqued with attention, and turned towards his partner.
     “Their coming- lets go!” The other boy bent down towards Billy and sliced the Kings throat without  hesitation and fled with speed back into the deep of the woods from whence they came.
“KING!” called out Adam, who- hearing the ruckus- had come running back to check on the safety of his Majesty.
“Adam, here.” Said King Billy, still laying on the spot of his death.
“King... What happened?” Adam came running, and knelt next to him.
“The Savages- they knew I would be alone. They knew I would bless the woods... someone must have told them I was leaving. I think it was a trap...”
“Are they still here?” Adam tensed and began to raise his sword.
“No they've run off...”
“Are you okay King Billy? Did they hurt you?” Adam asked with concern as big tears began to stream down Billy’s face, while he squinted up towards the tree tops.
“I don’t wanna go.” He choked.
Adam reverently looked down at his hands, which he tried to focused on not twiddling.
“We don’t want you to either...”
“Will you guys miss me?"
“Of course... did you think we wouldn't?” Adam mumbled.
“No... honor me please. I'm still your king today, aint I?"
“Yes.” Adam scrunched his eyebrows, “Yes, today you're still our king. You can always be our king. You don't have to go you can stay with me in my room! I'll ask my mom! We can-”
      "Adam, I think I'll miss you the most." Adam's half spoken sentence caught in his throat as Billy's gently brought him into reality.  

That afternoon, according to the rules of ‘The Game’, Billy died. And the next morning in real life, to the children of Blue Creek Dead End Dr., so did his existence.

Snow

I think there's something very sacred and intimate about the silent drift of a dark night snowfall. I remember being young and easily tranced. The shouts from the first sibling who discovered the happening by realizing it was quiet... too quiet. They would eventual part the curtains or jump up on the back of the couch to take a peek out the window. “Sound the alarm!” their 8 year old instincts would bellow at them. “IT’S SNOWING! IT’S SNOOOOWING OUTSIDE!”. Even mother, as sage as she was, would walk over to the large, square dining room window, wiping her floured hands off on her apron as she went, to take a glance and sweetly say “Oh my goodness, isn’t that beautiful!?”

A snowy night. Those three words sound mystic in their own right, not needing to put anymore to it than that. It truly has an alien beauty and wonder to it. The dark becomes especially dark, The light no longer comes from the heavens but the white earth itself. The skies being billowed and sheeted by the dark and rolling clouds.
Yup. Thats the frosty white reverence of the snow day. I don’t think it can, or should, be matched. Physically it forces you and your loved ones to borrow up together at home.

Thick quilted blankets and funny cartoons, hot, marhsmellowed cocoa and holiday coloring books. These were the things that painted my families home with our very own winter culture growing up. I remember how out of the front and back yard rose empires and sovereign nations. How the roads and dens, the city walls and gates, the town squares and the farms, would eventually trickle out to the edge where the Maine woods began behind our house. And beyond that, nothing but the wild, dark, and deep woods, ringing with their silence. It was at the edge of this icy nether that you could hear the blood pounding in your ears. Where the dangerous beauty of the long and gleaming icicles creaked in the cold.


And the snowball wars that erupted. How incredible! Sooner or later during the building of snowy kingdoms, someone would grow restless and throw a snowball. You heard the sound of the 'THOOFF' when it made contact with its unsuspecting target. The culprit would then dive quickly into his nearest cover as the return-fire commenced, digging his fort around him and he kept up the offense. The art of snowball war was a balance of structural defense and firepower, which meant the more arms, the better. We would split into our sibling factions and head off around the neighborhood to find help for our cause (destroy the enemy by snow). More often then not, we would find another battle going on and join it. Once the heat of the war was really on, you had to seriously get organized if you expected to have any REAL fun. So a leader would be voted and they would be the ones to assigned everyone their duties.
“YOU! Dig holes! YOU! Make snow balls! YOU! Go scout!”
Hurray! A purpose! A reason to be! And a contribution towards the war effort... towards victory!
On our street was one, more formidable than the others. His name was Floyd. Aside from being a decade older than any of us, and rather large compared to other adults (if I remember correctly), had a talent all snowball warriors fear; Floyd caught snowballs. Caught them with his hands. You either had to be a ninja on the wiliest of sneak attacks from behind, or the hardest pitcher on the block, or Floyd would catch them, and make you wish you never threw them.


The cold, snowy weather of the winter months will always hold a special place in my heart. Nothings quite like a walk through a snow covered scape. The Snow heaped up like blobs of smooth white cream on the eaves of houses, street lamps, and tree branches. All water, frozen and glitteringly caught in time. There is nothing with this same type of trancing magic I don’t think. And by the time it comes to a close I think most of us are glad. Seasons are timed perfectly, and at the end of winter we are done and ready for spring. But the deep thoughts and fantasies of those chilled and quite months isn’t forgotten. And they wait for us at the door when winter comes again.

“Silver white winters that melt into spring”~ The Sound Of Music

A poem from a young and restless Jake.

The road less taken is the one I want to travel by.

I want to get lost and I don't know why...

Mine Enemy

Where is mine enemy?
Where is this "man"?
Where is my challenge?
Where I may stand,
As Protagonists to my books Enemy,
My enemy mine.
Where is my Prides manifest?
Where is my line?

Let me have that bit of Honor,
To challenge and duel my foe!
Let me not lose,
To a man I'll never know.

Somewhere he sits, and enjoys happy life.
He does not know of the wounds he's dealt me, the blood I've lost in our fight.

God give me patience. And one day may it Shine,
On Me...
As I face my enemy, my Enemy Mine.

Poems By Sam

Here are some short poems my brother made when we were just little kids. Still get giggling when I say them out loud.


There Once Was A Goblin- By Samuel Conner
...........................................
There once was a goblin,
who hopped all around.
He tripped on a log,
and splatted on the ground.
...........................................

Julius- By Samuel Conner
...........................................
Julius, Julius, who art so fair.
Julius, Julius, with long, golden hair.
Julius, Julius, you make my heart fly.
Julius, Julius- wait... your a guy?!
...........................................

A Poem For Wanderers

And walking so through the land,
Pass trail, pass river, we understand,
That life is such with love is made,
And God to us from space has bade,
To Live and Wander through the land,
Pass trail, pass river, and understand.

Why Americas Food Wins II: Grilled Cheese Sandwiches.

On a rainy night when the lightning flashes and the time is ripe, also being that the correct ingredients are available... Between Paul Bocuse and me there really isn't much a difference, because its not that hard to make a grilled cheese sandwich. But no matter what you do to it or how you make, it somehow manages to survive the battle of novice kitchen abilities and taste- hmmm, whats that word again?- WICKED GOOD BUB!

The grilled cheese sandwich has been buttered on both sides and thrown together with some sliced cheese by just about every American kid between the ages of 5 and 18. I've had great ones! Melted cheese dripping over the half  inch cliff face of its crusted mid-section and a crisp golden brown screaming "oh baby babe!" from each outer side of the bread. Iv also seen them with black burnt stove rack lines on the bread, and spaces in between white as the morning with that cheap artificial cheese inside in maybe what could be a liquid state that I GUESS you could qualify for "melting". But you know what? Never had too much of a problem wolfing through those either. Like I said, hard to go wrong with GCS, point taken?

But lets keep things relevant to me here if we can, I mean I don't think I've ever even qualified with the fates to have what could have even been construed to be less then a perfect grilled cheese. And I don't mean to brag but sometimes my grilled cheese's don't even belong in this imperfect world once they slip out of the wonderful steam-smokey fry pan and onto my snack plate. So sometimes I go all out when these perfect ones are made. Sometimes you need to take the big guns to your sandwich making skills and throw some meat on there, like Bologna, chicken, or beef strips. Sometimes you want to throw on some egg salad, some tuna-sandwich mix. Sometimes you want to bring something out of the pan and ask yourself, "In the name of the big WhimWham! What hath I done!?"

Go get knee deep in your cheese folks. Go show yourself that there is at least ONE thing you can do kitchen savvy. You can make a grilled cheese. It may suck. But even Bordain would be wiping its last buttery crumbs off from around his mouth before he told you that. Go ahead and eat it with some tomato soup for dip. Go ahead and touch roots for pete's sake! It's amazing because we can all make it, and it still taste rockin'! And its yet ANOTHER reason... why America's food wins.

The Days Of Pine.

The misty rain seeped through the hills, seeking children who are seeking thrills.
And the thrills they seek, are the memories you keep.

The Days Of Pine.
The Days Of Pine.

Follow the path off through the trees, warriors with sharp sticks and dirty tee's.
And the things they be, are the things you cannot see.

The Days Of Pine.
The Days Of Pine.

Well you don't know what livin' is till you've lived in the land, of darker woods, of radder tales, of the bravery of men. If I could quest to the clock of life and turn it back and then, maybe I- oh maybe I could learn to live again.

Line upon line, we all will find...
The Days Of Pine.
Those Days Of Pine.

The misty grove deep in the wood, taught you the things that none other could.
...In Otter Creek you'll find...

Those Days Of Pine.
The Days Of Pine.
The Days Of Pine.
The Days Of Pine.

The Days Of Pine.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3aKSPaA1Pk&feature=related

The Fires Of Enstrangment.

Where oh where to begin? Well it's getting hot now. Winter seems like a dream compared to the lucid sweat box I come home to after work. I'd rather bury my head in the open cavity of a pig carcass then sit around and melt on my livingroom couch. At least the cat would have something to lick up throughout the afternoon, if most of me dosnt drip down through the floorboard cracks. It's 7 pm and bright as Hells Hollywood outside. I spent at least an hour in the shower trying to freeze myself back to life...

Do you remember when you were young and sunday evenings seemed like "I Am Legend"? Or at least they did to me. The day was busy enough. Church in the morning, long social afternoons going to dinner parties, dinners at friends of the family, games with my sibilings. But once the dusk had really setteled in, The Twilight Zone began. A heavy, boring dim seemed to fall on all my loved ones as my parents pulled out big church books or went to take a "nap". My older brothers and sisters would scatter off to their rooms and lock themselves into their dens. Anyone my age or younger was still trying to stay active, but by the most horrible means possible. Puzzles on the livingroom rug, coloring books on the couch... generic church cartoons. So I had to choose two very hard things. To stay in the one room of the house with any sings of life and light, but bare the grueling choice of pastimes available... or face the wild and dangerous world of anywhere else. The house was dead and dark. Long shadows were the only sign of light left as the sun dripped down behind the tree line (which, in Otter Creek Maine, was REAL fast). The outside was even more so. Eerily too quite, and windy dark. Of course I chose the rest of the house and the world beyond, a love for adventure had been instilled in me from an early age through watching my brothers play computer games.... duh. The hallways became dark foreboding passages, and the rooms caverns lost to time. The outside held the greatest excitment. It seemd you didnt need to be more then a dozen yards from the front door to feel like you had gone MUCH to far from the house. It felt like even in suburbia there were lions, goblins, and all sorts of legendary evil lurking even as close as the driveway. Those were the times when I felt like my house, my neighborhood, my family, my LIFE had fallen into obscurity. And now sitting here in the bleached heat of my apartment, I feel like I did then when I was 6. Sitting around and staring into the lonely, dead, still water world around me. This difference is the heat. The similarity? My entire being at the moment seems to have desenced into obscurity. This time though, my father wont wake up from his nap at 10 in the evening and offer to make cookies or biscuits. My mother isn't going to finally get up and read a book to me and my brother. I'll just sit here and find cool parts of my bedroom wall to smash my bare body against (my desperado method for trying to cool down without getting into the shower again or waste the cool in my refrigerator). Maybe the people I hear talking to me are simply part of the trip your sure to get from sitting in a sweat box all afternoon. Maybe their the beginnings of my middle aged, white, American, male psychopathic symptoms? Maybe its just the TV?... maybe.

Well I'll sweep up a piece of kitchen tile real nice, try to see if I can broil some bacon on it. Feed it to the cat, and keep her tongue out of my innards when I drip down to a puddle on the sofa cushion.

Alpha-Omega and The Blueberry Gang.

That power so total and full of greed,
had finally commenced the awful deed.
And in his hands he had twirled,
the harrowing fate of my dear world.
And He, (being the start and end),
did doom to my brethren send.

And after my race had he made sod,
through their ashes he did trod.
And sat, triumphant, on his throne.
Two beds, high stacked, and white as bone.
And looking over my world he bade,
     "This light so bright. Be darkness made!"

So light did vanish, earth did wither,
no chirp of life, not even a slither.
Through every street, in every home,
dark did creep, and death was sown.
The only survivors did sit and weep,
for they had only their dead to keep.

But one was silent, and did not cry.
The last hope of man, stirred in his eye.
And in the dark he thought of when,
we would take our world again.
He called on brothers, and sisters to rise,
and battle the foe who brought our demise.

And from the caves of earth did creep,
a rebellion force, within the deep.
And out onto the field of battle,
with club, sword, stick, and paddle.
Fighting back for what they lost.
Saving the world at any cost.

The Omnipotent laughed at the force,
to be crushed with ease of course.
And from his throne he began,
to strike down with fire across the land.
Feeding his beast with strong a gale,
Engulfing the rebels in fiery veil.

But this did not yet stop their heart,
for they had not yet played their part.
Their leader pushed onward for his dream.
His might unmatched, his sword a'gleam.
But this tale has more dismay,
for one of the light did betray.

She crawled on off to join the power,
She fought against, that very hour.
For in her hopes she held a dream,
of being the darkest, highest queen.
And so the Master took her in,
and the end of the war did begin.

Now his eyes were everywhere,
had now a spy to do his stare.
Many a good soul was taken,
Ones left fought harder, and held unshaken.
And then it happened then and there!
The rebel leader jumped forth in air.

Raising up his sword he bade,
      "Dark thrown back, and brightness made!"
Enemy thrashed out to counter the blow,
and our hero, his blade did throw.
And the war grew pinnacle in that time.
And the sky slowly, let forth its shine.

In past the arm, that meant to block.
In through his heart it sent a shock.
The metal tip it did pierce,
the very heart of Him so fierce.
And the Dark then fell from his seat.
His strength so great!
Now was beat...

And so goes the tale, as they say.
And even now in this modern day,
I still remember way back when,
the earth was wild and dark back then.
And you people today, so carefree,
Living in a world given to thee.

Yes its true, I was actually there.
You couldn't tell, me here in this chair.
Old and wrinkled and full of dust.
My life most spent, my skin a crust.
But I remember, when the heavens sang,
of "Alpha-Omega and The Blueberry Gang"

I Took A Ride On The Polar Express.

Waking up in the cold is the worst. No, starting over. Waking up in the cold with an obligation to leave your warm and toasty bed is the worst. So I did. Work at 11. Tip toe to the bathroom, steam it up, ruba-dub-dub. Dive cold and shivering into my work clothes and then take one last look at my freezing apartment knowing that before I open the front door this will be the warmest place I'm in for the next 2 hours  (my commute to work).
 Down the stairs and into the street. Everyone bundled up to the point of only being able to manage an Oompa-loompa waddle. Meanwhile I'm in a fall jacket with bare hands, thin slacks, and sneakers. My eyelashes click when I blink.
The Subway stairs gleam with sanctuary, the only way out of the wind. Then my 12 second wait in line through the turnstile and there I wait for my train in the terminal. The first of 4. Commutes to work in the morning in NYC are downright sad. Millions of people waiting for their trains down in the terminals. You can see those who have lost themselves to their work, buzzing away on the cell-phone and reading over clip boards, completely stressed and unhappy with the job they do so well. Then there are those who you can plainly see do the scum of the earth work. The wear and tear is easy enough to spot. Laundry women, construction workers, dock workers, garbage men. Then theres MY class of the workforce. Bussers, doormen, cab-drivers, store clerks. Restaurant host... All of us thinking of the same thing though. Is this it? Is this life for me? Will I be staring at the clean shiny rails rise out of the wet, grimy, sludge filled subway tracks for 5 minutes waiting for the G train to drag me to my job every morning for the rest of my life? Those thoughts interrupted by the brakes throwing you and everyone else off balance. Then the battle to get upstairs to the connection hall from the G to the E & M first so you can be able to use the escalator walk before anyone else. Which everyone participates strongly in, whether they would admit it or not. The terminal waiting for the E or M at Ely Ave in the morning rush hours is possibly the most stereotypically depressing "working poor" vista anyone could peer out over. Thousands of people crammed up against each other waiting for their train. Its sad. Quiet. Those thoughts coming back stronger then ever. Is this it?
But today as I waited with my working brothers and sisters, something very unexpected happened. A train pulled up. But it wasn't the M. Or the E. It was a pitch black train, with a flat top. Not cold and stony with sleek dips and curves. But sharp edges with fat bolts lining the corners. And it pulled to a loud screechy halt in front of the quiet and now very puzzled crowd. Is it a work train? Is it one of those trash trains that go by during the late night hours? But its rush hour. And it stopped? Are those people inside behind the windows? Yes there were. And when the doors opened and to let us in we still didn't make the slightest move. A conductor dressed in a vintage 1950's train employees uniform leaned out of the last car and yelled "SAAAAME AS THE M TRAIN! NEXT STOP--- LEXINGTON AVENUE!!". 3 thousand people with dropped mouths held onto their brief cases and coffee cups while they stood and stared at him. Still motionless. He only looked slightly amused before adding "ALL ABOOOOOOOORED!" You've got to be kidding me? We all broke out of our trance and made like little kids entering the play ground at McDonald's. The interior wasn't white and cold, lit by long blurred panels, like a normal train. But lit by actual light bulbs lining the ceiling, filling each car with a warm orange glow. Ceiling fans hung up in the center of the cars ceiling. Springy fat couches with red leather upholstery lined the walls in place of the cold plastic benches that normal sat in their place waiting to flatten out our rears.  In place of the Viagra and HBO adds that cover the high parts of the walls were Cola and Dapper Dan. These and just about about everything else on the train was different. Inside a man stood in each car explaining how things worked with the subways in the 50s and 60s and pointed out funny or quirky details. But hardly anyone sat around to listen. Everyone's face literally was lit up with a grin, even the old, bent businessmen ran with the others from car to car whipping out their cameras with everyone else. People calling friends about it, everyone taking pictures or video, bouncing on the springy couches, reading the adds, asking the older people on the train about how it was when they were a kid. And the old people in return excitedly retelling memories about how things use to be, flashes of nostalgia across their expressions as they gazed over the trains inside. It broke down halfway to Lexington and took close to 20 minutes to get working again. A 20 minute break down during rush hour? Any other day that would have people shouting for blood. But not today. That only meant more time to forget their troubles, the slaving job ahead of them, as they pranced around their playground, their ghost train. All that was missing was a conductor walking through the aisles with trays of hot coco.
As for me? I eventually sat down and stopped looking at the train, but the people in it. Wow. How very different. Excited, happy... interested. Well I had to hand it to The Big Apple. It had done it this time. And on this particularly sad and cold morning I had already passed some very final and (now I can see) very ignorant judgment. If there's one thing this city is good at, its making things happen. Someone had a neat idea. And they went for it, and it happened. Hey! Lets take one of our old trains from the 60s and dress her back up. Have a few good boys pop the hood and make sure shes up to it, then run her for a weekend or something. Give people something to see. Something different.
Well that's why I'm here isn't it? I had an idea and now I'm trying to make it happen. That's why I brought it to the city. THIS city.

A Thanksgiving Letter (to my brother)

Dear Sam,
 If you didnt eat all you possibly could...
 If you didnt decimate your entire plate...
 If you didnt cram mama' Lou's good ol' cooking down your happy fat throat...
 If you didnt lick up every taint of purple cranberry sauce on your plate and bread crumb off your napkin...
 If you didnt shove the elderly mercilessly on to the ground and small children out of your hungry, rampaging path when going for seconds, thirds... eighths...
 If you didnt stare that turkey leg in the eye with your battle fork and knife in hand and tell it in your best Clint Eastwood voice, "It's goin' down. A'yippy-kai-yai-yay..."...
 If you didnt gnash, growl, and fight over the buttery rolls as if they were the secret to life...
 If you didnt conquer enough chow to have to drop trow...
 If you didnt leave the pie scene similar to a Hiroshima aftermath...
 If you didnt eat mashed potatoes till it came out your nose and ears like your head was a play-dough factory...
 If you didnt stuff stuffing until you ripped lightning and crapped thunder...
 If you didnt eat like some type of savage wild animal, like you just got out of a 4 hour school seminar, like your soul purpose was to disgust those who sat next to you... as if the whole wide world was about to explode and the only way to save it was to jack-ram fodder into your skull hole like Mr. Bumstead himself...

Then you must be crazy. Because all I'M having for thanksgiving is a load of PB&J's... all by myself... because thats all I can afford to eat and I feel some moral obligation to eat a large amount on the afternoon of that day....

So yeah. Happy Thanksgiving bro!
---Love--- Jake

Unforgettable Movie Scenes.

So here's some unforgettable movie scenes, whether they be funny, touching, uncanny at pulling you in, or just plain epic.
 (There is no specific order, I'm just listing them as they come to me.)

-The singing on the beach with a ukulele scene from "The Jerk"

-The scene from "Lord Of The Rings" where the signal for aid from one kingdom to the next is being lit.

-The scene from "Whats Eating Gilbert Grape?" where Gilbert calls Arnie down from the water-tower by talking through the megaphone and saying "match in the gas tank, boom boom"

-The fight scene between Sam and that black dude in "Inception" where the hotel room is spinning inside his dream, inside his dream of him sleeping in the back of a falling van.

-The scene in the "Matrix" where Neo is in the hallway with the 3 agents at the end and finally "figures it all out".

-The scene in "Back To The Future" where Marty McFly plays Johnny B. Good.

-The scene in "Jurassic Park" where the T-Rex thrashes the last of the raptors and lets out his roar for the last time as the banner falls from the ceiling and around its massive body (always gives me goose bumps)

-The scene where Quigley is left for dead in the desert and shoots that dude off the wagon as he is trying to get away in "Quigley Down Under"

-The scene in "Silverado" where Jake steps out of the saloon and calls "hey!" to the 2 bad guys right before he shoots them.

-The part in "Ace Vantura: Pet Detective" where he is told that his future clients are prepared to pay him 60,000 dollars to take the job and he comes out of his meditation saying "reeeeeeeeeeeeeee-heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeealy?"

-The "It's not your fault" scene in "Good Will Hunting"

-The scene in "The Fugitive" where he jumps off the dam.

-The scene in "Man From Snowy River" where he goes off the edge of the drop with his horse. 

-Where in "When Harry Met Sally", Harry says, "And once you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!"


(add more later)

Inner Cloister

Had I gone by day, instead of by this black night?
Well it might have turned out right.
But this life is not about my could-have-dones or would-have-beens,
or where my conscience ends.
And now when the sun rises on this open hall,
with skeletons and ghostly vats, this gray and hellish skull...

And this Inner-Cloister hurts.
Cold pains, achin' dry. Gone open azure sky.

I'v paid my prices, pondered my vices, this hero life is...
still without a mind.
And should it be how the songs say?
With matted eyes, butched coats, makes they---
part of my kind?

And this Inner-Cloister hurts.
Cold pains, achin' dry. Gone open azure sky.

Hope to all! Hope to all! Because all summer gives way to fall.
And I had never seen the snow, and the water thrashed and the wind did blow.
Heeding their ancient call...

ROAD TRIP!

How to make the perfect road trip.

Alright so lets cut this right to the chase. No beating around the bush here. I'm not gunna doddle on this one. This post is going right to the counter. I'm really too tired to sit around and try to amuse my followers with my brilliance of wit and bold, attacking prose. So no more dilly-daddle. Lets do this.
Heres how to have the ultimate road trip experience.




Step #1: Your Group.
You'll need a group of devoted, close friends to be in on it. Your going to be in a small space and up late nights with these people and it's probably going to be better if your all close and trust each other. 5 to 6 people would be the optimum, though you can have a more intimate one with your best friend or lover. Or you could brave a tribe, and have like 10 or 12 people.






Step #2: Your Dough.

Your going to need money. And the more the better. If you have a crappy job? No prob, just set aside at least 10 to 20 bucks a paycheck JUST for the trip. Don't rush it. Plan to have the trip at a time convenient for everyone. And try to have it a ways away from now. Like if its summer, plan to do it NEXT summer. Or if its winter?  Plan to do it the summer after this or just come up with a great financial plan so it could be for the coming one.
Everyone should be pitching in. Ideally, 2000 bucks a person for the trip. But like I said, the more the better.

Step #3: Your Destination.
Where you headed? My personal opinion? Road trip in the US. Good roads, solid laws, you can go forever and not have to cross a country boarder, great destinations, and you dont have to go far for awesome and diverse scenery and cultures.
The classic road trip is classic for a reason. Go drive through the mid west and/or the west. Red canyons, cactus, plenty of pit-stops, roadside pigs outs, and (of course) long stretches of open road.

Step #4: Your Wagon.
You need the rollin' shack. You and/or your friends have to pick out what you guys are gunna roll in. Again, my personal opinion? Get a Volkswagen Van/Bus. If you don't how the seat are put in, I would just pull them all out, cover the floor in something soft that you'd like to kick it in. Shag carpet is part of the stereotype for a reason. Optimize your vehicle. Add a cooler, a good sound system with plenty of tunes organized by play-list, room to for everyone to lay down when they want to sleep, and whatever else you feel would make the van a home away from home.

Step #5: Your Mash.
Your going to want food. Lots of food. Don't just buy enough food to get by. Your going to want food not only for meals but for just sitting around and having something to snack on while you chat, or drive, or in-between meals or when your bored, and yaddy yaddy yadda. Its good to always have stuff to eat. Eating from hungry to hungry just makes you think about meal times too much, and you want to enjoy your trip. Get LOTS of canned food and water before you leave. Of course have a healthy road-trip supply of your favorite verity of chips, nuts. and candy. If you can afford it get a lot of peanut butter and honey with bread. Nothing has to be refrigerated and a PB&H is amazing. Get cold foods in accordance to what type of cooling unit your vehicle has and how much room is in it. Always have cash put aside for roadside cafes and neat little restaurants along the way. It's always cool to be able to stop into different places and see what they have on their menus with your friends. Remember drinks; bottled water, sodas, energy drinks, etc, etc...




Step #6: Your Reckless Abandonment.

Leave. But in style. Look for a new job if you already have one. Set it up with a friend or a relative, knowing it will be there when you come back, because your current one? Gone. Your just gunna leave. Leave your job, leave your enemies, leave your problems. Still in school? Senior year? LEAVE! YIPPY-KAI-AYE-YAY!









Step #7: Burnin' Out.
Everyone pile into the Van, crack open some sodas, blast the opening tune, and burn out!

Stickin' It !

 Here is yet another post that comes from writings I did back in high school. I had a band during my senior year called Stick It To The Man. Just a fun cover band but we had some epic moments. Here I rant about my initial urge to create that band.

 OK. I will take stops like the one I am making right now through out this compilation of genius to write a certain rant in which I will keep coming back to again and again (depends really on the days when it strikes me harder then others). And this, my friends, is The Man. Yeah you heard me. The Man. Its almost like shouting a slurred Voldomort if you got drunk on butter beer at a Hogwarts bonfire party. And it ticks me off. Because, first of all we are mostly products of our society. Society is a product of The System. The System is a prime factor of The Machine. And The Machine is a mass of cogs, buttons, wheels and levers, pulled and run by The Man! One forged the other on down the little pink line so they could have their own gun to shoot with. And today society is the gun that I got hit with. I hate it. I hate it almost like Philipino (and don't give me crap about writing it with a "Ph" my goodness! It's how you freaking spell it) cheese ice cream... no... OK no, not THAT much. but a darn lot. Society decides some of the most personal things. For me it decided who I liked. Who I could be with. Well I don't trust society. I never met it in person. All I have seen are bullet holes that it left. And even, occasionally, have felt the burn of being shot by it. I have been very disabled against things like society and over all The Man since I have not had a freakin BAND in so frickin long. If I'd never cut my back hair since I had last been in a band then every time I sat on the toilet it would get wet. THAT'S HOW LONG!

No more. I will forge a rock band. Out of the stinking raw ores from Mount Power. I will pound them with the hammer of Angus and let their rancid fumes spit out of the rocky cracks. I will smelt it into a rock band worthy of sticking... I'm sorry, did I say sticking? wrong word. I meant stickin'. Worthy of Stickin' it to The Man! A band with running guitar solos and funky-chunky bass lines. I do believe that I am on the verge of this. Since, you see, on this island a drummer is hard to find... and drum set is close to being even out of the question. But I have found a a boy... a boy who has hair... long hair... and who has a drum set... a long drum set... and can stick it... long stick it. So I have asked and he has answered. The band is on the horizon now. I can smell it... and me oh my… it is very smelly...