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She Talks to Angels

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  She Talks to Angels     The sun was just rising over the Wasatch as Porter’s spiritual daughter assumed her role of school crossing guard, helping children across the four-lane highway between their neighborhood and the school. Dutifully raising her stop sign and ensuring the safety of the hapless urchins as they excitedly rushed to join their friends for another exciting day in Caldern Hale, Utah!   Down the sidewalk Detective Plano came leading his first-grade grandson to the crosswalk where Karly was in charge. She took the little boy’s hand and waited for the nearby red light to change to inhibit traffic, adding another level of safety. Plano was a two-hundred pound man with dreadlocks extending to his shoulders and his grandson was a mini him, dreads and all!   Detective Plano wasn’t from Utah, but he got there as fast as he could. A Los Angeles native, he did his time in the LAPD, eventually working his way up to detective, and finally homicide. He would have put in his time an
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Kielia’s Definition of Love

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 In 2012 I woke at 3AM. As usual I sat at my computer and began to write. The words flowed. As they say, the piece was writing itself. A short story about a linguistics professor from the future coming to Austin looking for the definition of a word she’d found in a tomb that made no sense in her time. Long before the concept of “Woke” was mentioned in public media this little school teacher lived in a world dominated by science. She was eighty-eight years old with the body of a sixteen year old. She had never tasted food because she derived her life force from the sun. She had never known her parents because she was conceived in a test tube. And she was ok with all this. All but that one word. An ancient bit of sorcery she had to understand to make her understanding of the universe complete. She mentally kidnapped a young real estate broker and while not revealing the subject of her quest she used him to clarify her understanding. And he used her. He demonstrated that in spite of all h
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Two Little Girls

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      Meet the Nasser sisters. They could be anywhere. London, Mexico City, Austin. I’m particularly drawn to the older one. Not that the little one isn’t special but that one with her hands on her hips? Audacity! Crown on her head, not a hijab. No reason to hide her beauty. Bright eyes looking toward a bright future. A future that will not be allowed to happen now because some crazy old men uttered some nonsensical things that some other crazy old man wrote down and now, eons later other crazy old men killed these little girls because God is great!   The creative force of the universe damns every one of you. Do you believe that all the time that it took from the Big Bang from minuscule nothingness to these two little ladies was only so you could fire a missile at them during your property dispute? Do you belief Moses or Mohammed could even conceive of them, or their time and place?  Some of you attack a music event and others of you attack little girls in retaliation and what differen
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Sunday Morning Coming Down

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  Over the many years there are countless memories that are now gathering dust in the mind of an old man (That would be me) but they never go away, and I don’t apologize for them. The memories of an old man are like that. One such memory of mine is from my time in Nashville. One of many times in my life that I became delusional and imagined myself to be something that I wasn’t. You write and sing in some bar in Austin and the drinks would tell you that you oughta be In Nashville. So, I went to there to become another Willie Nelson, unfortunately they already had a Willie Nelson, and their quota was filled for singing Texas Fools, and I ended up doing shows out across from Opryland just off Briley Parkway at the Ramada Inn. My agent  told me it was a good gig. Tourists filled the bar, so you must be a star, you're on a stage in Nashville. Hank Williams never died; he does a show every night at the Holiday Inn.   I lived in a studio on Westend and every morning I’d get up and write a
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Too Stupid To Live

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  So,I’m gonna bust this bubble right now! I spent fifteen years, curtesy of the CPS, separated from my grandchildren. No particular reason. I just was one of them guys that has a face people like to slap the shit out of. And all that time I lived a delusional life, clinging onto schizophrenic memories of the sounds of little feet. The CPS was smarter than me! I should’ve taken the hint!   Well, time and tears went by and we were all united again. My joy was beyond description. Like finding a bottle of Jim in the cabinet behind the flour that you forgot you hid there so folks wouldn’t call you an alcoholic when you pour a couple shots in your morning coffee.   It took me some time before I realized the kids had morphed. Took about a day. They don’t talk, they scream. And they scream because they all hate each other. The big ones eat the little ones. This actually started a while ago. Ever wonder why the birth rate is declining? Millenials eat their young! But they honestly hate each ot
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