I’m having second thoughts about a cheap novelette I’ve been writing for about 25 years. It concerns a guy who secretly does paranormal research on the unusual, the weird, the ordinary, and the absurd. He struggles alone in his work because no one else could follow his train of thought enough to make any sense, much less any money. The following was found amidst scribblings on his "desk".

"This Is My Work"

This is what I do, what I must do.

It is not necessary for others to
comprehend my work.

The less I reveal,
the less confusion I create.

It is best to just stick to the job at hand.

Let the world find out by itself,
someday, if at all.

"Things To Do"

Write essays that find strange, unforseen aspects in anything and everything, create mystery out of boredom.

Make the world change its needs
to match your habits.

Find the formula for a "repackaging" of the Chinese language using the "coconut shell" alphabet system, and cleaning up all the loose ends through the use of fractions and hash marks.

Check out the use of green ink
to rewrite the history of colored pencils
around the world.

Forget the red ink and fade into the black backwards, with your best foot forward.

* Call Jimmie Joe (THE TURQUOISE BELT BUCKLE GUY) ask about a collaboration with astronaut and baseball card collections. May be able to use INDIAN JEWELRY!

Tell the huddled masses to sink or swim.

Don’t let day to day turbulence cloud the grim facts as they pour from the nostrils of blind industry.

Shoes in rows sit by the thousands, while millions go to their graves on bare feet.

The president flips a coin,
the earth explodes into popcorn kernels.

Numbers change.

Alphabets twirl in place.

License plates glow in the dark.

Riverboats flux into lunchboxes
and back again.

Parking meters blip and drip thru skyholes stamped in whalebone calenders.

Lost at sea and swimming thru logs of the brain forest, man sees his next thought as a baited hook.

back to the top