Friday, September 26, 2008

It was 6:10 in the morning. I know this because I leave for work every morning at that time. I was putting the trash out, so it must have been a Thursday. I heard what sounded like a child whispering in the alley. I opened the gate and went to see what was going on. That alley is no place for a child to be.

It was hard to see, but I could feel my way through. No street light gets in that alley. No light from anywhere. I kept hearing the whispering. It sounded like a little boy.

I got about halfway down the alley towards the back of the house when the whispering stopped suddenly. Then I remembered the landlords warning. He said to stay out of that alley, that the previous owner of the house had gone insane and written things on the basement wall about the south side alleyway. They had to take the previous owner away. He had apparently strangled himself with an extension cord. The landlord said never to go in that alley. Just leave it alone. He planned to seal it off. He said he was afraid that bums or druggies would use it as a home. He said we should never go back there.

If there was a kid in the alley, I should get him out of there. I couldn’t hear the whispering anymore, but I was sure I had heard it before. I continued moving slowly toward the back yard along the side of the house. I couldn’t see anything.

I got the distinct feeling that there was someone else there.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

You thought nukes were scary?

Take a look at this graphic:

The US government now controls all that shit, for better or worse.

Personally, it makes me think of all the land turning to ash and the seas running red with blood.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

When I got home from work yesterday, I heard a commotion in the alley behind my back yard. I went out back to see what was up. There was an SPCA guy climbing around on the brick wall separating the yards, looking for something in the thick trees back there. A bunch of my neighbors were all watching.

I asked Carol, the elderly lady next door what was going on. She’s usually sitting on her front steps. She has an ash tray she keeps out there, and she usually has a cooler of iced tea. She’s out there when I leave for work at 6:10 AM, and she’s still out there when I go to bed at night. I had never seen her out back before.

“A squirrel.” Carol said, “It went nuts. It bit me and my dog.”

Shit. Anyone who knows me is probably aware of my feelings for squirrels. They are not good feelings. Just type “squirrel attacks human” into a Google search and you can begin to see why I hate the little fuckers. I fully believe that it’s quite common for squirrels to hide in bushes, wait for an unsuspecting human to walk by, leap out, attach itself to the human’s face, and gnaw out the human’s eyes. It’s just underreported in the media because it would cause panic if word got out that squirrels were doing this as often as they are.

I told Carol she better go to the hospital for rabies shots. She replied “I hate needles.” And she started to cry.

I gave Carol an apprehensive hug, and attempted, lamely, to comfort her. I only moved onto the block a couple of months ago. Does she have any family that could go with her? I’d never seen anyone. I asked her if she wanted me to come with her, quietly seething at the existence of god damn fucking squirrels.

She said no, the animal control guy was going to take her, and her dog. He was just looking for the squirrel to make sure the vicious little bastard didn’t go after any other people or pets.

I heard her come home a couple of hours later. I went out to ask her if everything was okay. She said everything was fine. “The guy never found the squirrel though, so keep an eye out.” Then she gave me a brownie wrapped in plastic.

Keep an eye out. Shit. God damn right I will.

Monday, September 15, 2008

So you see, I've been trying to lose weight. I haven't been eating meats or a lot of starchy things. Mostly just fruits, veggies, cereal and soy milk.

I made vegetarian chili. I told my housemate he could have some if he wanted. The next day, I went to eat some of it. He had CHOPPED UP AN ENTIRE PACKAGE OF HOT DOGS AND ADDED THEM TO MY CHILI.

He said "Oh yeah, I added some hot dogs to your chili. It's really good now."




I honestly think that he thought he was doing me a favor. Making the chili better.

Am I being a bitch? Am I Felix Fucking Unger? Is it okay to do that? Do people carry around packages of hot dogs and add them to food as a condiment? Like pepper, or parmesan cheese? I haven't been to a restaurant in a while - are there packages of hot dogs on the tables now along with the ketchup, salt and sugar?

If I go over to someones house for dinner, should I bring my own hot dogs to chop up and add to the food, or should I assume that chopped hot dogs will be available?

Monday, September 08, 2008

The following letter was found Saturday in a pile of smoky ash on the northeast corner of 8th & Wolf:

Spontaneous Combustion Note (Just in case)

I don't know,
This just happened.

It was spontaneous.
I guess that's why they call it...
I wonder what the odds where.

You wouldn't believe what it looks like here.

Hey, you know that thing you were trying to think of the other day? It was on the tip of your tongue? It was the name of an actor, remember? I knew who it was. But I didn't want to tell you. Sorry for that.

Oh, and if you ever run into Vai Sikahema, tell him I thought it was really cool when he punched the goal post in that one game after running the kickoff back. I'm sure he's never heard that before, and I would hate to think he felt unappreciated.

I also owe a nickel to the guy who owns the convenience store across the street.

Anyway, thanks for taking care of my unfinished business, and sorry again for that thing.

Next time, I'll try not

Friday, September 05, 2008

This much is true.

It had all gone bad while we slept. Some real ugly characters had decided to move in the squat. Kids messing with forces they did not understand. The place had become a magnet for bad ideas. Some damned fool had brought a copy of The Necronomicon into the house. He had read aloud from it one night. Things went rapidly downhill from there. The air was full of dangling question marks. We weren't going to wait around for the answers. It was a good time to be somewhere else. We would go south. On the trains. We waited for the evening, when the oppressive heat had lifted slightly. Then we started for the tracks. It was Jack Rabbit, Paradox, and I. We told no one of our flight.

So, on we went from bad to worse, with no knowledge of what monstrosities lay ahead. We cleared our minds as we walked.

Finally, we came to the tracks. We walked along them carefully. We were too close to make mistakes now.

Soon, we heard a train. Far down the tracks, we could see it’s light. The tracks shook as it approached. We ducked down behind a metal wall about ten feet from the tracks, to hide from the train operator as it passed us. After the front car got far enough down the tracks we started to run along the side of the train looking for a good car to hop on. We ran about a hundred yards or so, when the train began to slow to a stop. We kept running, looking for a car.

Then, the train started to back up. Something was wrong. The train was backing up. We made a mad dash to hide behind that wall again. We didn't want the train crew to see us. We hid silently as the train kept backing up. The ground shook.

The train stopped. We heard the sound of doors opening. Something was coming out of the train. We heard slushing and gurgling noises. We waited for death, or worse.

Then nothing.


It was Paradox who first stood up to look. The train was gone. It had completely vanished. Rabbit and I were still sitting behind the metal wall looking up at Paradox when a bolt of lightning stretched across the air about an arms length over Paradox’s head. Sheet lightning was striking all around the tracks, all around us. Paradox shrieked in terror. Then came the rain. Hard rain.

We ran. We ran for miles. The rain was shredding our clothes. Every drop of rain felt like a rock being thrown with great force. We were bleeding from the rain. Lightning continued to follow us, close at our heels. We couldn’t hear our own screams. We finally made it to an old squat on 34th & Spring Garden St. We hurried inside, found some candles, lit them and shook like fever victims. There we huddled together, wrapped our wounds in our shredded clothing. We had large bruises from the force of the rain. Paradox’s hair was burnt from lightning. We spoke little.