Posted on by robinblipinski

If If If…(only)

Written by: Ignorant regret

So, if you could go back and change an event in history… An old fantasy for ‘thinkers’. “What would you do if you could go back in time and change something.”

Some quick and noble responses are, “I’d go back and kill Hitler,” or “I’d never marry that man in a million years after finding out he is gay,” or, or, or… You can’t and if you could you wouldn’t. Though there is a story in this.

***

A stop sign shows defiance to oncoming traffic. Standing there firmly wearing red and the words, “STOP”. Because of the power of a stop sign most vehicles stop. They stop, look both ways and proceed upon their travels looking for another stop sign to show respect.

Tony was a young hotshot internet something. He did Youtube videos pertaining to the mush society so much craves. Money and woman were a commodity of trade to satisfy his lusts and yearns, cars and property just the means to continue existence his way.

Tony approached a stop sign and being the arrogant person he was most comfortable being, he showed no respect. No, Tony did not even try slow down, he did not even bother to look up from his phone reading a sex text from one of his recent conquests.

Momentum is a wonderful ally of physics. Mass/matter traveling at a particular velocity requires time/energy conversion to bring the travel to a complete stop. In other words, Tony was driving 35mph in a 25mph speed zone and blew by the arrogant stop sign unable to intervene. His speed and course took him across a road where oncoming traffic with the right to proceed, side-swiped Tony’s car.

Normally the sound in this area was pleasant. Birds chirped, children laughed as they played in a school yard located across the street. Sounds of traffic muted as modern cars with modern mufflers barely announce they exist.

After being side-swiped the normal sounds suffered a setback with the tortured sound of metal twisting, a horn wire shorting out causing the horn to bellow like a wounded buffalo. A very intense sound to match a very intense scene.

Across the street some children screamed, running inside to seek safety and guidance from an adult. Inside Tony’s car the airbag deployed and the side of his head experienced some real pain. The other car suffered the same with the exception of a child being killed by the impact.

(silence)

You’re an intelligent reader and already know what happened after the accident. A child killed, a grieving mother driving the other car, Tony in pain and in trouble.

Police came. Reports filed. Ambulance arriving. Typical tragedy to replace tragedy.

Going further into the story, Tony was charged with vehicle homicide. He did time in jail. The grieving mother continued mourning the loss of her child for the rest of her life.

Tony spent twenty years in jail. He learned how to be a bit humble. He learned prison was not a nice place. And when he served his time he left the jail a new man. He also ran into a wizard.

Ha! I know what you’re thinking. Fantasy. Science fiction. Blah, blah, blah… Think what you want, trust me in knowing Tony met a wizard. The wizard was watching Tony from a bench located in a park near the prison. It did not take Tony long to notice he was being watched by a small, strange looking man sitting on a bench.

“Hello Tony, ” the gnarled wizard uttered in a voice sounding sharp and clear.

“Hello? Do I know you?” Tony was a bit perplexed as his mind did not register identifying this person.

“You don’t know me yet understand this. I owe a debt to a friend of mine. A gambling debt. A game I truly love to play. Anyway, my friend wants me to give you a second chance. You could say I lost the game and you won.”

Tony laughed nervously. This old man was obviously not mentally well. And what would you say if you saw a wizard sitting on a bench in a park and he started talking to you as if he knew you?

“What do you want? I don’t have any money. I just got out of jail.”

“Yes. Jail. Wonderful concept. Locking up people for years. Sounds wonderful.” The wizard seemed to drift off for a second until resuming in full voice, “You don’t have to do anything. Just tell me where you’d like to go back into time to change one action you ever did…”

Unbelievable I’m sure for many readers. Wizards. Magic. Second chances. Changing actions. And yet here Tony was given a wonderful ‘gift’. He just had trouble understanding it. Of course in his mind he instantly thought of the day of his accident. That’s it. Just an instant thought. And before he could utter a reply the wizard smiled in glee and said, “Done!”

Tony opened his eyes and noticed he was in his car looking at a sex text from some bimbo in his past, or was it present? Tony was shocked as he remembered the pending accident, the twenty years in jail, and an old man smiling in glee.

He dropped his phone instantly and noticed a big red stop sign, the same arrogant sign he saw twenty years earlier. Stomping on the cars brakes he squealed to a stop just in time to see a smiling mother with her smiling child drive by. The mother actually looked in his direction and smiled. The mother and child ‘once’ the victims of his actions.

Tony was sweating now. He was trying to come to terms with the reality of what did and what was happening. His powerful sport car idled at the stop sign and Tony was brought back to the now when a vehicle behind him honked their horn in frustration.

A bewildered man took his foot off the brake while signaling a right-hand turn. Question: Why right and not left?

Slowly applying fuel the car reached out into the road while turning right. Once fully in the new direction and his heartbeat slowing another car coming from the opposite direction swerved and hit the sports car. The impact was powerful. So powerful Tony was instantly killed. And as with a billiard ball bouncing off a bumper the drug induced driver of the other car carried forward and across the road, skidding up and over the side-walk and ending up in the school yard… A yard where children were playing. Ten children to be exact. Two of which survived and eight which either died quickly or slowly.

Meanwhile, the game continued.

Posted on by robinblipinski

Theory of Relativity

Written by: A hair follicle of Albert Einstein

“What time is it?” A question most likely ranked in the top ten questions asked daily. Time for dinner. Time for sex. Time for work, school, bank robbery. Time ranked as order of actions taken or needed. Is there a theory in this? Consider then the conspiracy or the fact that as you read this your heart pumped blood at least sixty times…and counting. Tick, tick, tick…

This story is about a hammer, an auction, and a mass murderer. After all, seems like the perfect time for it.

***

Reedsport Oregon. A small town located mid Oregon near the small village of Winchester Bay. Not much goes on in either community suffice to say the area no longer caters to loggers or hippies. It is more a retirement community for those waiting to die and being served by resources designed to give them comfort.

Time passed slowly in Reedsport. There were the usual activities such as filling a car with fuel or shopping for groceries. There was a grade school and high school where young adults played with their time trying to grow into their destinies. Mostly a normal place with one exception hidden from the normal world. The exception was named Frank. Frank Manlowski.

Frank was not old or young, he just was. What he was is a man who went on travels up the I-5 corridor to Portland Oregon and it was there he abducted drugged out homeless people. His choices of people were easy, he timed his abductions to fit the toxicity of the young/old, male/female. It was easy and nobody cared. No one noticed. Easy and it was time for his actions to be successful.

The drive from Portland to Reedsport was just as nice as going from Reedsport to Portland. The exception being that on the drive back home, Franks victims would regain consciousness and would either crap themselves from the drug reactions to the ether used, and for sure they would find the time to start asking Frank some very important questions.

“Who are you?” or “Where am I?” or “Where are we going?”

A lot of questions made in a car where Frank gave no reply. Not one reply. Not a peep.

Frank usually just sat there silently while his victim in the backseat babbled, cried, screamed. And for those of you interested in the minor details, Frank would become intensely sexually aroused.

Arriving back home, Frank clicked the garage door opener and once the door was open he drove into his world of conspiracy and the reality of torture/horror/murder… Can you start to see?

Frank had many techniques of killing and torture. Hundreds of bodies had been processed in this house of blood. Hundreds of people found their timing of death to be at the hands of a crazed killer.

And now, on the opposite side of the world in a country called, China, a metal hammer was finally being finished. Perfect timing you might ask? Well, before asking such a strange question remember this. Franks time frame was now, today, August 18th, 2026. The hammer being finished in China was also today, December 12th 1991. Strange? Not really, though necessary to show how such theories come to be.

After the hammer left the factory it traveled in a shipping container to a seaport in Alaska. Anchorage Alaska. And after the container was received by Home Depot the hammer was unloaded, placed in inventory in the store, sold to a lady named, Martha, and taken to her home to be used in her garage.

Martha enjoyed carpentry. She made picture frames and enjoyed using her new hammer, that is until she died, which was also today, March 14th, 1992.

Shortly after buying her hammer she died and her possessions were gathered and sold at auction by her son Frank who was born today, Nov 10th, 1981.

The auction was the usual auction. Material items of a world lost in time being sold just in time to those in timely need of such items. The hammer once owned by the Chinese, Martha, Frank, was now owned by a bush pilot named, Bill.

Bill bought the hammer along with some other tools at the auction. He placed the hammer in his job box that he used at his job. He owned his own plane and often times flew all around Alaska, Canada, and sometimes he went to California to visit his one of his best friends named, Butch.

Time.

Theory of relativity.

Gravity.

Conspiracy.

Fate.

Ticky tock, ticky tock…

Today, August 16th, 2026, Bill did his precheck on his Cessna 180. Everything looked great. He had already filed his flight plan with the FAA and with all said and done, he took off from Anchorage and headed South.

His first stop was Portland Oregon. After landing and clearing customs while making sure all the paperwork was done, he spent a relaxing night and then got a good nights sleep.

Today, August 18th, 2026, was also the same August 18th, 2026 that Frank was just finishing dismembering one of his hapless victims. While he was finishing cleaning up the mess and eating a sample of the victims now still heart, he actually started whistling a tune, while Bill received tower permission to use runway #4 and off Bill headed South towards his final destination in Petaluma California.

The weather today was wonderful. The fog hung close to the shoreline leaving the interior to be clear and bright blue.

The Cessna purred like a kitten as the plane headed parallel to the shore, it purred until it growled and then stuttered and then a ruptured fuel line ignited and then the plane spiraled out of control above a small town called, Reedsport.

Frank was still whistling and he had also finished cleaning up the mess and placing some trophies inside one of his many freezers. He was lighting up a cigarette outside when he heard an explosion above him. Looking up in awe he was just in time to see a small hammer, a hammer made in China, a hammer used with love in her heart Martha, a small hammer falling out of a small plane once owned by the now deceased Bill.

The hammer smashed Frank in the face and instantly killed the butcher who in the ensuing today’s would prove to be a very historical figure in the history of mass murders.

The End.

***

Theory of relativity.

Gravity.

Fate.

Destiny.

Do I believe in any of it? Maybe. Maybe not. However, I do believe it is good and with a snap of the fingers, can all change.

Posted on by robinblipinski

Passage to the Sun

Written by: A Rite

Soil beneath his feet felt the perfect moment. For M’lmar his moment was one he had waited for the many years needed until his boyhood passions needed first to fade.

M’lmar sighed and closed his eyes while he tilted his head back and he thrust his thoughts up and towards the stars. His mind flew past the three moons orbiting his planet while his feet tasted the tendrils of energy being sucked up from the soil and into his body.

A perfect moment is as the words given mean. Perfection: None other than the best. Moment: A snapshot of capturing time. M’lmar opened his eyes and his consciousness snapped back to the attention demanding the physics of his stance.

On this planet there existed a spiritual identity where all was shared. Matter. Energy. Gravity. Life. A rich vibrant orb mixed with the blessings of water, plant, soil, mineral and the knowledge of perfect moments, perfect meanings; perfection a foam rising high above the oceans of imperfections, of all that cast away in the earlier moments needed to feel such. The imperfections of failed death, of failed love, of failed designs where machines only consumed the resources with greed; never giving back the perfections taken and altered for primitive means.

In the many worlds drifting in the many galaxies there fed the artery of experiences of youth. Youth. The being born into this stream and striving for what M’lmar now had beneath his feet. That moment where it was time to leave the cocoon of what might with potential to what is, that being the attainment of a place among the mature winged butterfly of his society.

All around this world there existed the familiar and set(s)motions where the flow(s) of energy were used so wisely, for some worlds this concept would only be a dream, never to attain such a reality.

The sun over M’lmar’s planet cracked open the horizon. The light flowed straight and true unlike the optical illusion of atmosphere bending such before his eyes could see. It was stirring in his bloodstream; his mind opening doors of which only a short time before were welded shut while his body/mind built the rooms inside.

Sparkles of matter/energy being created out of nothing swirled around his head. Small particles at first and then with a blur of motion and speed, grew into a cloud of color and light. His body now enveloped and shrouded as if a statue of living stone only now being carved into beauty.

It was the sound. The energy of M’lmar was now its own world, its own galaxy, its own Universe.

From the scene, picture the mouth of M’lmar now open into a perfect circle where inside escaped not the proverbial black hole of the galaxy consuming monster one could find in any spacetime, in any view to fit any need.

Pure blackness where now the energy entered; consuming in entirety the body of M’lmar, yet only for a blink.

With a flash of the whitest white. The highest of intensity blew back and with it the sound of a music so pure the entire planet of M’lmar took pause and smiled. The planet shook in tempo and the people knew without doubt that a new citizen no longer a child had taken the passage to the Sun and in returning brought to his people the gift. A perfect gift.

Reaching down, M’lmar opened the soil with his glowing hand. He opened the palm and with a breath of motion, blew the new seed from his hand where it landed perfectly and burrowed deep.

Soon, a new form, a new child would spring forth to grow and wait the turn to feel the perfect moment beneath the feet.

Posted on by robinblipinski

A Wooden Stool

Items and objects; material in a non material means.

As a high class hoarder (genetic gift) I have traveled this world and admired/acquired many ‘things’. Things of normality and things of non-belief.

Items ranging from a kiss from God to a set a bull elk antlers found at a dumpsite. Items. Things. Memories.

What does this mean? A sickness? A disease? Dragons are known to collect and covet gold while in my laughter knowing they truly collect other things…

“What is it worth?” asked by those coming to my gallery and wondering. The reply, “Whatever it is one wants to pay.” Pay being a dollar or a curse, maybe a blessing or a sneeze. Value is whatever it means.

Lately I have been selling/casting away/throwing away things while attaining a deeper meaning and treasure from the experiences as the dust after years is blown away.

The pictures above are of a stool. A wooden stool of very little monetary value yet hold a story deep and rich as any item can be.

No, the stool is not the crown for the King of England nor a bit coin, which no one can see. It is a memory, a collection, a story. It is today and tomorrow and the next of next until it is yesterday; one of my favorite things.

The story: As an avid collector of anything NOT made of gold…(yuck, cosmic shit if anyone were to ask me) I bid on fifteen chairs being sold by a police department. The police in the small town had just buildt a new station with new cells, new windows, new carpet, new, new, new, so out with the old things.

Online auctions, a place where one can sit naked and sip whiskey while bidding on absolutely anything. Navy aircraft carrier screw shafts weighing more than a semi truck fully loaded. A submarine. A most wonderful and amusing distraction to enjoy while being hundreds of miles away.

On this auction of fifteen chairs, I won. My high bid was $10.00. 10.00 + 6% sales tax+ 10% commission (you do the earth math) and the chairs were mine.

What kind of chairs come to mind when reading this? Office chairs? Metal chairs? Obviously the wooden stool must have been one.

Off with the invoice in my hand, a truck full of corgi’s and a wife rolling her eyes and wondering if maybe there might be a cure for my obsessions. (lucky there is no cure, only relief)

Arriving at the new police station the directions further given were to an old shipping dock located in another part of town.

Pulling up in the truck it was a new adventure trying to find the gnomes in charge of the multiple manmade caves holding all sorts of ‘things’, things to include my newly purchased chairs.

The head gnomes eyes gleamed and in true gnome fashion laughed when seeing me. His friend came in from the dark and he too, laughed. (Gnomes have a unique sense of fashion and humor)

With the formalities out of the way and the minor social verbal tests given and passed, the chairs were released. Chair after chair after chair. Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. Fifty two chairs were now mine. Chairs of every sort and style. Years of abandoned chairs. One chair actually was covered in faux leopard skin.

The chairs completely filled a 24′ flatbed trailer and the truck pulling it. The wife had eyes either filling with tears of joy or tears of sorrow. The corgi’s were just excited there were some gnomes to torture instead of the usual elves.

Fifty two chairs. A full load. A lot of strange looks driving back home. And once back at home there were calls to friends to be made. A LOT of chairs needed new homes.

Currently as I type this I’m sitting in a very large office chair that was a part of the goods. A wonderful chair and very comfortable and also fireproof. It had to be as I left it next to the heater and instead of bursting into flames, it just melted a little.

And now, the stool. As soon as i saw this stool i fell in love with it. And why? An old, ancient device a man once spent years sitting upon?

Look closely and see for yourself. The screws were of the old guild as were the square nuts. The wood from a tree long ago important and still sporting that importance today.

Look at the vibrant colors heralding the owner of the stool. Notice the scars of life given and taken during the duration of the legs sitting firmly upon stability while chaos unfolded around it.

Yes, there is definitely more to this story. Maybe one day i will write more of this little stool, a stool worth more than money or words, a stool that will always make me smile.

Posted on by robinblipinski

Therupy

Written by: A turnip farmer

Once upon a time there was a dirt clod separator agoing by the name, Cletus. Now Cletus was what you might call, a turnip sodbuster. Meaning he’d be one of those folk that turns the sod over by using a mule and a plow. Single shank shiny sodbusting machine a straight out of Sears and Roebuck cateelog.

Now Cletus was a definitely not a fancy dandy. There was no automobile, no lectricty, and no telivision.

It might sound strange but turnip sodbusters wor funny clothies. They had to cuz there weren’t much money to be made by selling turnips. Most nips ended up as hog slop, or in Cletus cause, his still. See, turnips made some nice alkehol.

I’m telling this story as Cletus wuz my cousin who worried about nuthin, well, almost nuthin cept talkin to women folk.

Cletus was a bigun, stood about three axes high with black wiry hair strong enough to slick a tick. Sometimes the mule he used to sodbust got cranky and tire so many days old Cletus had to take the leather straps n pull that single shank shiny plow hisself, whistling and going gangbusters.

One day Cletus saw a woman standing on the road next to a automobile spewing black smoke. This worried Cletus as he was alway fideting and sweating when his body was near a female, specially them ones that were not sporting a beard or sipping from a jug while not having any teeth.

This here woman was a looker, weighing in bout ten stone, the heavy kind. The kind where a man could have her help pull a cord of wood, split it, and still have enough spark to plow twenty acres.

Cletus tried to avert his gaze and while the plowing was hard work, he started sweating a pool of stink and his gut felt like a skunk crawled up inside to nest.

A strong whistle came ringing down and plumb slammed Cletus in the head. He had no choice but ta check the source, source being of course, the lady astanding next to the dead automobile.

With a tremble said to the mule, “Yahooo…” Which in mule language means, “Stop.”

Wiping the dirt from his hands Cletus ambled on over to talk to this woman.

“Uh, howdy miss, need any help?” Cletus now was truly sweating up a storm and the skunk in his gut sought higher ground inside his head.

“Yes indeed sir. Seems my car here is not feeling well.”

Now, Cletus could talk mule, he could talk plow, heck he could even talk to squirells, dogs, and wildcats. Women folk without beards and had most of their teeth were a might hard to even evoke a whisper.

Pausing for a spell, Cletus told this fine lady, “I don’t know much bout automobiles. Nothing at all.” And with that he turned and lumbered off.

He lumbered off a mumbling an giggling. Lumbered past his mule and plow. Lumbered past the turnip patch. Lumbered past his shack. Heck, he lumbered so long he go tired and lay down to take a nap.

When Cletus woke up he found himself naked, surrounded by fried possum, fried grizzly grease. He was shocked as he stood up and saw a lake with giant trout jumping up and laughing at him daring him to catch them. Cletus realized he was in heaven an what a wonderful heaven. No turnips, no mules, no plows, no cousins, no women with or without beards.

“Yehaa!” Cletus said as he reached down to pluck a ripe watermelon. Yessir, heaven it was indeed. An not a worry in the world.

Daily writing prompt
What’s something you used to worry about but don’t anymore?
View all responses

Posted on by robinblipinski

Perspective

A crack whore looks at a day through the lenses of obtaining the means of the next high. Selling her body so to poison her body.

A navy sailor on watch stands on the bridge of the ship looking at the world with order of military precision, boredom and sometimes shear terror.

A politician views his/her world as one of power and yes, corruption.

A believer in a deity looks at the world with a controlled form of obedience to that of which they accept.

So much perspective. A poor person often pursues a fantasy of becoming a rich person. A rich person to become a kind person or maybe even a richer person.

A fat to be thin. A. A. A.

What’s your perspective parasite?

(munching on some recently discovered canned dog food the parasite replied) “That you are retarded.”

Perspectives. Objective. Adjectives. Negatives. Positives.

Today I watched J.P. piss on a rattlesnake. He did not see the snake as he let go and yet was very surprised to see and hear the rattlesnakes announce it was not only pissed on but pissed off.

J.P. also got stung over eight times today and broke his ipad.

A worker for J.P. got to see me pick up yellow jacket nests with my bare hands to prove that fear is what drives them to sting. They both got to see a perspective that i fear nothing and as such i am not stung.

From my perspective; to see a world lost to itself. Brief moments of kindness replaced with the cold hard reality of a battle between good and evil. To see the evil win over the domination of this planet and fail absolutely over the world of what matters.

What does matter? A question of perspective and a simple one to answer. What matters is the realization of when one embraces evil and then embraces goodness and then the reasons as to why.

Posted on by robinblipinski

Lets examine experience.

I have been blessed with many abilities, reading being one of them. A little background. Growing up there was no television, no video games. Growing up there was school, work, and books. Thousands of books. Books written on every subject. Books of fiction and non fiction.

In my prime I could consume three books a day easy while still providing ‘time’ for sleep, work, school. Carrying a pile of books weighing 25 pounds or more every time visiting the library. What fun days.

Now why babble about what just glazes over the eyes of those already bored reading this? The reason is that in the consumption of millions of words it became easy to get into the minds of those authors writing the books. To feel the personal touch of both the author along with the editors and publishing houses.

Lately the obvious is now words written with the aid of A.I. or other computer related signatures. Yet, still the mind of the author comes through.

I no longer read a lot of books as when it comes to humanity, the collective mind has already been read, devoured, processed, and placed into permanent storage. It now is very rare for me to be ‘surprised’. There still remains the hope that some human somewhere will express something from their experience, their mind yet that outcome is very doubtful.

Poetry is the exception. Poetry surpasses anything A.I. can come up with. Poetry written by A.I. is as obvious as a rock falling off a cliff and smashing a hiker in the head, so does not count.

Poetry is the only literature, the only written thoughts by humans that are not only real; they surprise.

Now, the reason for writing this is to make a point of some sort or another. Currently enjoying a book written by Michael Drury. She wrote a wonderful book of which pleased the nerves in my mind. She obviously is well versed in writing and in presenting what is inside her mind. She is open, raw, talented, and also jaded, ignorant, and sad.

Michael’s way of presenting her thoughts are rare and refreshing. And in reading her work the experience gives rise to the thought, “Maybe there is hope for this world?” A thought soon dashed when reading chapter four titled, ‘The Other Side of Love’.

In chapter four it instantly became easy to see that while Michael is a very intelligent woman and that her approach to age and time is excellent, her thoughts of what love is, is to say the least, absolute bull shit.

So, what is love? For Michael love is something she has not truly known, which by my own statement is also bullshit. Every human has experienced love. Without exception, every-human-knows-and-experienced love. True love. Real love. Almost every human has rejected that love, instead embracing the illusion of hate the world smothers each and every human in..

I won’t spend much ‘time’ regarding how every human has experienced true love suffice to say, God knew each and every human before they were even born… God is nothing if not the face of the purest Love ever was/is/and will be. Of course, this is one reason why people forget they know love as many choose to forget God.

Okay. Getting back to Michael and love, she explains her opinion in a wonderful way of physical writing and a wonderful way of showing pure ignorance. For all her intelligence my dog Thor know what love is better then she ever will.

For all the intelligence being placed on the human experience it is absolutely amazing to see how one can love and yet condone the death penalty. How one says they love and yet hate that of which they love.

My sister has been married five times. The common thread was how much she ‘loved’ each husband and how soon that love turned into hate.

What is the point of this all? Well, the point is that love from God is easy and yet almost impossible for most to understand. (maybe because it is too simple for people to understand?) It is also that love from another is also easy and yet almost impossible for most to understand.

Some bullet points.

  1. Love is not hard, love is easier than breathing.
  2. Love is not evil. love is the fire and water is the hate wanting to extinguish the flame
  3. Love knows no time, no age, no bitterness…L-O-V-E is e-t-e-r-n-a-l. Eternal. Love is absolute.
  4. Love is not physical, hormonal, pheromones.
  5. Finally for the point of this exercise, love is not of this planet. It comes from nothing in this illusion you all embrace as a realty called, home. Love is a true gift from God, one meant to be shared by all.

Reading is wonderful. Writing is fun. Experience every ongoing. And stuffed jalapeno peppers with cream cheese, honey, and bacon are addictive.

Posted on by robinblipinski

Writers Parasite, aka, my friend.

Used to write under a thread called writers parasite. Wrote a lot of therapy for myself and it felt good as it keeps the shadows at bay.

The place I used to write is now defunct. The Editors there all dissolved into the mist and the owner gave up because of spam/bots and crazy creatures like myself.

However, I enjoy the parasite. It feeds me and helps me make sense of what no human can ever come close to understanding, at least that is what I understand about it.

The cool thing about writing is now for such as i the only way to put the weird wasting parasite in perspective is to communicate with it via the written word. Don’t really know why yet know it brings me some happiness to know I can.

I realize the parasite is not for everyone. Ha, definitely NOT for most and yet by writing here with it maybe some reader will get inspired to write about…

“Man you sure haven’t changed. A long winded bastard writing about absolutely nothing. Thankfully though you don’t write about how big a turd you created or blather about…”

Parasite! I knew you’d be back. Couldn’t stay away from me could ya?

“No. It is you that couldn’t stay away from me. Trust me in knowing that I tried to get as far away from you as possible.”

Well, good seeing you again. Have you been watching the World Cup?

“Nope. I hate Soccer. I played with dolphins off the coast of Curacao.”

You do know that Curacao just played Germany in the Cup and lost 7-1?

“Don’t care. I taught some dolphins how to play strip poker.”

Why?

“Cuz I like naked dolphins.”

Dolphins don’t wear clothes.

“Yes they do, you just can’t see them. All you see is what is at the tip of your nose.”

Did you win?

“No, those dolphins already knew how to play and I ended up the one being naked.”

Ha! I suspect you planned it that way. You just like showing your impressive purple blob of a body. Reminds me of jello.

“Jello? You got some? Heck it’s been so long since I’ve have jello I forget what it tastes like.”

Nope. No jello. Got some green peppers stuffed with cream cheese, Swedish molasses, mezzetta hot chili peppers, bacon, and baked to a creamy goodness.

(silence except for the parasites body emitting a growling sound)

“Damn. It’s good to be back. I’m starved. Lets go devour a tray of those peppers.”

Good to see you back also parasite. Together we can stir the pot, spill the beans, and torture each other. First though, time to munch.

Posted on by robinblipinski

What the eye sees the mind denies

Bigfoot. No, not Shaq the basketball player with size 27 shoes. Bigfoot the large fuzzy ape like humanoid fur ball that some kids playing with life in Idaho spotted a few days ago.

Does bigfoot exist? If the eye sees it the mind decides to find a reason to explain what is seen. As for bigfoot when they see humans, their eyes tell their mind to think, “Well, there goes the neighborhood.”

Have you ever see something that defies what your mind knows to be real? To be true? To exist? It is true that alcohol can help a drunk man’s eyesight when in a bar. When drinking and seeing a large muscle bound woman with a beard and who can bench press a Buick, his mind goes, “Wow! What a beauty!” In the morning after sobering up he glances over at her snoring loud enough to scare bigfoot and his eyes show the mind that this woman could split a lot of firewood, launch a fishing boat by hand, and thus is a keeper.

What does your, yes you, what does your eye see when read this? Words that make sense? Perhaps words providing the mind with comedy?

Think back as to what your eyes saw today. Did you see the two ravens soaring and laughing their minds out as they circled to make a statement? Yes? No? And no, I did not have a drink today, maybe tomorrow.

Maybe you saw coincidence? I’m talking about when you’re talking and when you talk your mind hears the exact same words you are saying, only those words are being said on the television by a blond newscaster with small feet, (smallfoot) (somewhere in Idaho a bigfoot is rolling their eyes)

Eyes are mechanical. They are an optic sensor with the capability of processing light waves as presented on a biological level. The mind is an extension of the brain, a somewhat fantastic biological computer without many apps unavailable to those not subscribed. Put the two together and the process is to process the visual data into thoughts/logic/reality/fantasy and then usually change into thoughts of sex, food, or wondering why bigfoot is outside the window throwing beer cans at the house.

Why am I writing this tonight? (Ha. Chuckle. Giggle). Because today the mind accepted what the eye is not supposed to see.

It was beautiful fluttering in the wind. One side shiny, the other dark. The vibrations rippled the optic nerve.

The takeaway: 1. Bigfoot does not drink beer

2. Women that can bench press a Buick are real and rare.

3. Sometimes it is better for the mind to accept what the eye is not supposed to see.

Posted on by robinblipinski

So, what do you do about it?

‘it’

In abortion terms, “Are you going to take care of it?” or “Are you going to get rid of it?” Said by the male contributor of sperm to a now pregnant female. ‘It’ being the new life.

Along the same vein, ‘it’ can mean an identity or situation.

It happened the other day. Three months ago I installed a sidewalk for ‘friends’ who don’t have much money. They make their money through government checks. Disability. Bipolar. Mental cases. That is the son and daughter of a couple who are old, broke, and almost dead

Saved them about $2000. Installed a ramp, a handrail, fixed the worn and tired slab. Charged $2777.01 The father, Larry, was the one needing the new sidewalk as his health is poor at 90. I asked him if he wanted it smooth or washed aggregate. He wanted the traction and so aggregate it was.

Job was finished. Money paid and then three months later, Cindy calls. Cindy is a sad and sick person. Heavily medicated and filled with dark shadows. She said on the phone, “I need you to stop by and see how rough the sidewalk is It is filled with cracks.”

I said I’ll be right over, and I was.

She met me outside and said, “I was just going to walk the cat.” There was no cat. Just me, her, and it. It being the sidewalk.

The walkway was perfect. No cracks. Beautiful. Just the way they wanted it.

Cindy proceeded to say, “look at how bumpy it is,” and “There is a dip,” and mumbling.

There is nothing to see. Just a sad sick woman filled with shadows.

I asked what she wanted. She just rambled. I asked if she did not like the job. She replied, “No.”

I asked if her parents liked the job. She replied, “No.”

I asked to speak with her parents and she said, “Okay.”

We both entered the home. A home normally busy seeing as it was 5:30 in the evening. A time they normally have dinner.

Standing inside the kitchen Cindy went into the living room and glanced in the direction of her parents bedroom. She said, “They are both sleeping.” Her brother Sam was no where to be seen. Most likely in his bedroom filled with dark shadows.

We went outside. Again I asked Cindy what she wanted. She said, “This is not worth $3000” And there it was… It being, money and greed. You see, Cindy takes care her parents financials. She has the power-of-attorney. A powerful power when dealing with other peoples money.

I smiled as I know greed well. It is a powerful feeling.

So I replied that I would be right back with a check.

Went home, wrote a check for $2777.01 and drove back. Cindy met me and accepted the check. I told her that I only wrote ‘Larry’ on the check as I did not know how to spell their last name. I also said never call me again. To which she replied with a sneer, “That’s okay, you’re moving.” Her glow of greed absolutely beaming.

I drove off a bit sad as that family was once friends. My real friend, Craig and Lori said I was crazy to give them all their money back and that those people were crooks.

Before typing the conclusion of this story there is the mystery of speculation. Did Larry and Nay actually know what was going on? Were they actually there? Did Cindy take the money and use it to supplement her greed?

Or, was everybody at home filled with demons and shadows and were after ‘it’.

Ha!

For me, it is definitely good. For most others, it is a dead baby, a million dollars, wealth, fame, fortune…

For me, it is the power of God. The power to move mountains. Walk on water. Forgive.

My friend Craig says I should go over there and bust up the sidewalk with a hammer. Lori says she is sorry I got screwed.

What do i say? i say writing of this brings me comfort and closure to the situation. A situation where evil tries to destroy what cannot be destroyed.

You see, what i did was to buy an ending to a beginning i have known about for a very long time. I bought an ending to what tried to destroy what is inside.

Of course I will never work for people in this area again. An area filled with a group of people who are, for a term to be polite, filled with dark shadows…

In conclusion, i forgive them for they are not what they can be. They are not yet ready for what is coming and what is already here. I truly wish the best for them and maybe through some miracle or another, maybe they can finally see it…

Meanwhile, at this exact moment the air outside is sweet with the smell of honeysuckle and clear skies And most importantly, there is vanilla ice cream