Friday, December 30, 2011

The Box

I play in the box
When reality fails expectations
And I need lift to outer space.

I play in the box
To remind myself that growing old
Takes being young.

I play in the box;
I hide away and be myself
Through crayons and glue.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

A New Series?

The Old Man and the Alien

An old man seeking companionship and an alien learning what it is to be human.  
This is their story.

Old Man: It isn't just about conquering this planet and that planet.  There's a lot more to existence than blasting down lifeforms with your ray gun.

Alien: Like what?

Old Man: Like sunsets, love and all that junk.

Alien: I have a collection of sunsets.

Old Man: In your memory?

Alien: No, I stole them. [Silence.] What's love though?

Old Man: Love's a lot of things to a lot of people.

Alien: I have complications processing your vague platitudes.

Old Man: All right, all right.  Don't have to go thinking you're smarter than me.

Alien: But I am. My IQ exceeds your own by far more than the distance I've traveled.

Old Man: Then why are you here?

Alien: Because...

Old Man: Knowledge clearly isn't everything?

Alien: Yes. And I'm terrible empty as vast as it may be.

Old Man: That's right. So shut up and listen for a change.  Love can't be quantified; it can't be learned, absorbed or rationalized by any of the little doodads on your spaceship.

Alien: They're called gravitational distortion regulators.

Old Man: Whatever. The point is humans have a connection to one another beyond logic.

Alien: Is that why there's war?

Old Man: Hell no, there's war because one person wants some shit another has.  We'll cover that next time. Love is between a man and a woman, or if you're my grandson a man and a man.

Alien: It's not always for procreation?

Old Man: Have you seen all them ankle biters trolling around out there? You think we need more?

Alien: But would it not be logical to simply expand into another solar system?

Old Man: We don't have the money for that.

Alien: Yes, I find that curious as well. My species worked together for the common good of expanding into space.

Old Man: Yeah and that's why you aren't human.

Alien: I don't understand.

Old Man: I don't expect you to.

Alien: Does it tie into love?

Old Man: No, it ties into war. People don't like to share if they can help it.  Which I guess, ties into love too.

Alien: How?

Old Man: Well love is pretty selfish. You want one person and they want you.  Ideally.

Alien: Wow. I read nothing in the database explaining this.

Old Man: That's your first mistake. Go out and live!

Alien: Are you suggesting I copulate with an earth female?

Old Man: Slow down, tiger. Try polite conversation first.

Alien: Which would be?

Old Man: Damn, I've got so much to learn you, boy...

to be continued...

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

The Legend of Joe Briggs

My shot at a folk tale.


Joe Briggs walked out of the polling place.  It was clear he wouldn’t be gone long from the look of him.  He was positively fuming; maybe even a little drunk.  The volunteer had told him in no uncertain terms his identification was out of date and unusable.  When he asked how much a new ID would be the worker had told him $40-50 easy.  Joe mumbled something about poll tax but the volunteer was adamant.  State orders had come down with strict requirements to prevent fraud.  Joe asked what fraud there’d ever been.  She wasn’t amused.  The volunteer threatened to call the police; Joe threatened worse.

The rest had happened so fast no one was exactly sure what went down.  The poll worker was out cold with a black eye on the table and Joe was speeding off in his pick-up truck.  In a few minutes the police arrived, surrounded the building and began questioning people.  The volunteer told them Joe’s name but the other people present gave no clue as to where he might have gone.

Things quickly escalated as the police wanted to examine the voting apparatus.  They claimed it may have been tampered with in the chaos.  Everyone knew it was bunk and an obvious power grab.

People surrounded the voting machines.  A cop fired his weapon in the air.  Several flinched but all managed to hold their ground.  A tense situation only became tenser as Joe pulled up outside with reinforcements.  His truck bed was full of good ole boys with automatic weapons.  The police had a few handguns between them at best.

An officer considered calling in the SWAT but in a scene reminiscent of the old West, Joe Briggs kicked down the door and shot the radio clean out of his hand.  The rest of the officers didn’t take long to surrender after the fact.  They were outnumbered, outgunned and scared shitless from the looks of ‘em.

All the authorities could do was watch as Joe let everyone inside to vote.  He still made sure no one cheated but he was fair about it.  At the end of the night he even let the cops cast their vote, provided they didn’t report anything.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011


Books are my friends
they won’t run away,
stop loving me. I hold them
and they don’t complain.
we spend hours talking,
traveling our worlds–
they take me through theirs
and I, through mine.
It’s unconventional but…
I proposed to ink and paper
with a paper ring and she wrote yes.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

And Now The Night Before Christmas!

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the net

Not a blogger was stirring, not even Zeba;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Punk Chopsticks soon would be there;

Annie and Marion were nestled snug in their beds,

While visions of rhyme schemes danced in their heads;

And Shreya in her 'kerchief, and Jack in his cap,

Had just settled their blogs for a long winter's nap,

When out by the laptop there arose such a clatter,

Wander sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the computer he flew like a sprite,

Tore open the browser and keyed up the site.

The moon background on the breast of the digital snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to icons below,

When, what to his wandering eyes should appear,

But a brand new post about eight tiny reindeer

With a Chinese-Malaysian typist, so lively and quick,

He knew in a moment it must be Punk Chopsticks.

To My Baby Niece, Isabella

You are young, so young
that failure seems impossible.
I pray you always find it is.
Some of us won’t make our dreams
Come true. I know you will.
You’re free to cry.
You’re free to think and be.
You’re more than me.
You’re you.

Friday, December 23, 2011

What Does Your Blog Say About You?

May I present the alphabet poem prompt.  I don't know if anyone will follow my lead with this, but I think it would be an interesting reflection on our selves if we created an alphabet poem on what our blogs say about who we are.  So, I'll give it the first go.

Impeccable, incredible
Craftsman of the

Lover of the

Ice cream lover
Cracked out on
Entertaining self.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

My Bad Luck with Fortune Cookies

Maybe I should stop opening these cookies but being the masochist I am, here's yet another installment.  Once again, the others at my table got encouraging words and I got this:

People forget how fast you did a job-but they remember how well you did it.

It would appear the cookie gods have a problem with my work ethic.  Not everyone can devote their time to making stale rocks, I guess. Maybe if you spent a little more time crafting your confections they would taste a lot better.  But, no, I'm doing my job fast and not cranking out five-hundred boxes a minute.

Monday, December 19, 2011


Does anyone have a Kindle? If so, you have a brand new way to read the Spice! That's right. Nice Old Spice is now available for subscription on your Amazon Kindle. Unfortunately, it's $0.99 a month. They wouldn't let me make it free. But, if you want to try out something new, look no further! Also, there's still my novel if you haven't read it. Wink, wink. It's in paperback too.  Double wink wink (that's four whole winks, c'mon).

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Unemployment Rate Hits 100%

No one is quite sure how it happened.  It may have been the result of a double dip recession turned depression; it may have been banks continuing to invest heavily in Europe.  Either way, it appears one-hundred percent of Americans are now unemployed.  The super-rich are even out of jobs, as nearly every company has failed or is in the process of bankruptcy.  Farmers have stopped harvesting; government employees have been suspended indefinitely.  Even this reporter is freelancing this story, hoping desperately for buyers in a hopeless market.  Basic utilities across the board have become imperiled as well.  Power and water facilities have no one to run them, and no money to operate.  Stores long since looted, city-dwellers are taking to growing their own food from seeds in the parking lots and abandoned buildings most have holed up in.  The President of the United States, long the last individual receiving a salary, recently resigned as his cabinet had months before.  He is now currently residing in a dumpster outside the Capitol Building.  His cardboard sign says THE END IS NEAR.  And he may just be right.

Friday, December 16, 2011


Over the course of the week I've gotten several Facebook ads from Pepto-Bismol mentioning by birthday  These are just a few:

"You have a birthday coming up. And no one knows better than Pepto how things can get out of hand."

"Hey, you don't have to have Pepto handy at your birthday gala. You also don't have to have snacks. Or drinks. Or fun."

"Happy birthday. If you had a Like button we'd Like you. But you don't. So instead, a friendly reminder: if you overdo it, Pepto's got you covered."

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Happy Birthday to Me

My birthday's in about an hour. I could be celebrating but I wrote this poem instead:


I feel my head aching
and I see gray hairs;
brain matter seeps
through roots and
takes away my color.
I was once bright red
but now am faded to
the contrast of the wind.
When did I become a
wispy cloud of storms
with no mobility that I control?
The earth pulls me along,
shaping me to forms
those below can only guess.
I could be bitter but I’m tasteless
and your tongue is numb.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Pebbles in the Lake

This poem is featured in Ben Ditmars' chapbook of poetry, Night Poems. Available on Amazon for Kindle and Print.

Pebbles in the lake are
Children of boulders
Sinking to the sand and
Seeing hazy sunlight
Through the surface.

Segmented beams
Become a glow at night
For those embedded,
Unable to escape.

We dream in stasis
As the fish swim by
And divers brush their hands;
Bring warmth in long,
Forgotten crevices.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

An Open Letter to Ben Ditmars from Death

Hey, I bet you think I'm losing my touch?  No chance!  I've killed two-hundred kittens in the last hour.  Thank Satan for Red Bull!  I don't give up, I don't take no prisoners!  Okay, okay, if I have something really important to do I might take a few.  You know like when a rerun of Seinfeld happens to be on.  I just love that Kramer guy.  Hey, he wasn't racist then!  He wasn't dammit!  Don't tell me what to like!  The point is, you made me look like a chump Ben.  People are going to start jumping off buildings for fun now, just to mock me.  What!?  They already do?  There's no way that's a sport!  I suppose they leap out of airplanes too for the thrill of it?  Mother-fuckers!  I've obviously got a lot of fear left to strike into the hearts of the human population.  Oh, wait.  Fox News has me covered.  Their viewers fear me ALL the time; from immigrants, leftists and all sorts of dark-skinned people.  Honestly they don't even have to be a race apart from whites; they just need to spend an hour at a tanning bed and Hannity will devote a show to taking their rights away.  All right, I should wrap this up.  I guess I won't kill you, Ben.  For now.

Monday, December 12, 2011

The Deal with Death

Death drew its scythe,
Slashed the air,
Absorbed the warmth,
But Tim refused to budge.
Not yet, he said.
Then when? Death drawled.
Whenwhite flowers grow
On trees in early Spring
And there’s the slightest chill,
But still the sun, warming just enough
Yet not too much. And I am old;
Stretched too far across my years,
Feeling thin while at the same time wide.
Knowing that my blood and words live on
Though I cannot.  I’ll be ready then.
Death laughed, smiling through
The empty void within its cloak.
Deal, it said, you’ll be ready then
And I’ll be there.
Tim shook the bony hand
As Death diminished.
He left his bed in tears
Of joy, walking home to see
His family; healthy, whole,
With years and years ahead of him.
Graduations, great-great grandchildren,
Weddings, kisses in the rain were his.
Rolling in the autumn leaves gave way
To making snow angels, putting up the
Christmas tree. But spring was just around
The corner and Tim knew it.
White flowers grew
On trees as he felt the slightest chill,
But still the sun, warming just enough
Yet not too much. And he was old;
Stretched too far across his years,
Feeling thin while at the same time wide.
It’s time, he thought. But where is death?
The hooded specter was nowhere to be seen.
Tim shrugged and started walking toward
The woods. He never noticed he had left
His body far behind.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Ben Stone from Knocked Up

‎"Love? The most beautiful, shiny, warmy thing in the world? You can't accept pure love? You can't accept Debbie? She's chosen to give you her life. She's picked you as her life partner! But you play fantasy baseball because you can't accept her love? I could accept it, man. And Debbie's amazing, man. She's cool and she's funny and she smells good and she's nice and her hair always looks different. She's too good for you, man. You're disgusting. You know, you're an urchin. And she busts your balls 'cause you're a little bitch. You're a filthy bitch! And I'd bust your balls. Debbie wants to give her life to you, and Allison doesn't want to do that with me. And it makes me sad all day."* 

*Hopefully this full quote will show up on Google now.

Friday, December 09, 2011

My Bad Luck with Fortune Cookies

I'm a glutton for punishment so I went out with my dad for Chinese food.  We got clever though.  This time we switched cookies, hoping to trick fate and give me an encouraging fortune.  It was one step ahead of us.  My dad got ended up with:

No need to worry, you will always have everything that you need.

I bet you're wondering what I got.  Remember that scene in Jumanji when the boy tried cheating and the boardgame made him grow a tail?  Yeah, kind of like that.

Self-respect is the root of discipline.

Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking.  "I respect Ben, he's so cool."  But don't!  Buddha will come on you like a golden statue.  I don't have self-respect and I will never be Kung-fu Panda.  Also, something about discipline.

Thursday, December 08, 2011

Butterfly Poem Inspired by Shreya

I was reading a post on Shreya's blog Carté Blanche about her photography and thought of some lines for a poem.  Thank you for the inspiration, Shreya!  Everyone be sure and check out her blog,

The butterfly will make you wait to spread its wings
Because it knows your time is worth it.
You see it fly away but it keeps watching,
Hoping that you’ll do the same.
That human’s wings could touch the sky!
If only they stopped looking at the ground...

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

If the World were an Insurance Company...

“Poison control will now transfer you to the drain cleaner department. Please listen to the music while your party is reached.  I’m hooked on a feeling, I’m high on believing!  You used Liquid Plumber, correct?  Transferring you to the Liquid Plumber department.  Please listen to the music while your party is reached. I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment’s gone! Dust in the wind!  Before we give any more advice, we’re transferring you to claims.  Please listen to the music while your party is reached.  Karma karma karma karma karma chameleon, you come and go, you come and go!  Your claim number is 109998.  Transferring you back to the Liquid Plumber department.  Please listen to the music while your party is reached.  Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.  Remember me to one who lives there, she was once a true love of mine.  Sorry, it turns out your claim did not go through.  Are you still there?  The nerve of these dying people, I swear!”

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

Parental Info on DirecTV

DirecTV offers info on practically every show for parents. I do mean, just about every show. Not only that but they have family discussion questions for the very worst of them. You know the ones kids should not be near at all, let alone with sane parents? Well, these are a few of the best.

Beavis and Butt-Head
All right, Billy, we're going to watch Beavis and Butt-Head and then we're having an intellectual discussion on its relevance to society. Think really hard on the issues it presents. Did you just laugh when I said hard? God dammit, Billy!

Families can talk about role models. Do you expect to find positive role models in the shows you watch? Which ones exist? What aspects of their behavior impress you? Do you think their characteristics are transferrable to the real world? Teens: Why do you think this show has been remade? Does it offer any positive content for viewers? Is its comedy style similar to any other show you watch? Do you find it funny? Are you familiar with the MTV shows that are highlighted in Beavis and Butt-head? If not, are you more inclined to watch them after seeing the clips here? How does intermingling shows like this serve as advertising? Do you think that factored into the plans for this series?

Daddy really likes this show. We're going to figure out why.

Families can talk about what it means to treat other people with respect. Does this show treat its subjects respectfully? Does it matter whether subjects are willingly participating in the issues and events the show covers (dwarf tossing, for example)? What messages does the show send about sex, alcohol, and other hot-button issues? Do you think producers hope teens will watch? Why or why not?

1,000 Ways to Die
Fictitious representations of death aren't teaching you anything. We laugh at real people's problems in this family. Even if they don't always live through it.

Families can talk about the pros and cons of featuring accidents and/or deaths on a reality show. Is it ever OK to treat these events as a source of entertainment? Does it make a difference if the stories are presented within the context of educating viewers? Families can also talk discuss how death and dying are treated in mainstream American culture. Did you know that some cultures incorporate death as a major part of life? How does this show treat its subjects?

The Real Housewives of Atlanta
Jessica, with any luck this will be your life someday. Jessica?  JESSICA!? Put down that book on the LSAT!!

Families can talk about the appeal of watching shows about wealthy, elite members of society. Why do you think the Real Housewives franchise is so successful? What kinds of messages do these shows send about people who have money? Do you think people really want to be like them? What would be the hardest part about living like these people? The easiest? Families can also discuss some of the featured on the show. Some of them talk about their troubled pasts. How do you think that impacts the way they live their lives?

Also, on a final note, they had this to say about Spongebob Squarepants:

‎"Parents need to know that this cartoon includes violent, dark satirical humor that will confuse kids who can't separate fantasy and reality."

Yes Spongebob is violent and dark and a mockery of sponges everywhere.  He will corrupt your mind as he washes your dishes.  Beware!

Sunday, December 04, 2011

Eve v. God

Eve sued God today in federal court for damages cited under the Americans with Disabilities Act.  “I was a diabetic,” she said in a recent press release.  “I couldn’t just turn down an apple with my blood sugar the way it was.”

The defense counters Eve was not an American citizen at the time of the incident and therefore not entitled to the act’s protection.  Her lawyers responded she was the mother of all American citizens.  The defense paused for thought at having heard this and proceeded to scratch their heads at a loss for words.

“Her and Adam’s eviction,” Eve’s lawyer stated, “was unwarranted, unethical and illegal.  Would God have kicked a paraplegic out of Eden for taking a crutch?”

In further developments, the serpent is getting in on the action.  He also claims himself as a victim; of defamation from God.  He recently was quoted saying he had only prescribed Eve necessary medicine for her continued well-being.  “God has blighted my good name and reputation,” he told reporters.

Could this develop into a class-action?  Analysts are saying it might.  Stayed tuned to Channel 3 news for the latest!

Saturday, December 03, 2011

Disorderly Love

This poem is featured in Ben Ditmars' chapbook of poetry, Night Poems. Available on Amazon for Kindle and Print.

Love isn't orderly.
It bleeds; it stains
In memories pinned up
On refrigerator doors.
Drawings and report cards
Stacked with letters, doodads
On an otherwise dull surface.
We sacrifice aesthetics
And our own reflection
In the glossy chrome.

Thursday, December 01, 2011


Our bickering left breadcrumbs
That the other couples pecked
But couldn’t share.

Lightning struck a tree
And blocked the road;
I thought of you.

I counted snowflakes as they melted
On the ground in puddles
Like familiar tears.

Headlights only show more cloud in fog;
Truth we’re forced to live with.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


I recently had my poem Fuck-up accepted in the online journal Samizdat. You should go check it out with the other poems, fiction and such in the journal.  It's a great site. You can also find the link, along with all my publication information under the tab Babycakes.

Speaking of tabs, pages and what not. I've added links to some of my favorite bloggers under In ewiger Liebe. But, there's more! I wrote a little something about each blog. I think that's more fun than merely giving links out.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Once & Was

I was once told I had a bright future
Before they launched me on a rocket toward the sun.
I could once recite the numbers one through ten in perfect Spanish
But now I could not tell you one through four without a song.
I marvel and the once and was; the child and the optimist.
Some change the world with high ideals but most survive.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Chat

I think this might be my first story told with all dialogue.  I managed most before, but not quite.


“She only fucks the people she hates.”

“Didn’t she fuck you?  Why would she fuck someone she has no interest in?”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t interested.  It’s how she gets back at people.  I think that gives her more pleasure than orgasm.”

“Revenge is a dish best served hot and sweaty.”


“Was it like a one-night-stand then?”

“No, we dated for six months.”

“That I can’t understand.  Six months!?  That’s pretty elaborate for revenge on her part.”

“You can do a lot more damage when you’re close to someone.”

“So, she tortured you for six months and you stayed with her?”

“No, she was peaceful for the first four.  It’s how she led me on.  I hadn’t seen it coming.”

“What did she do?”

“She started sleeping around.  She didn’t keep it a secret either.  Well, she did to an extent but she wanted me to find her out.”

“How’d she manage that?”

“I found clothes that weren’t hers; shirts, pants, even underwear.  It wasn’t just lying on my bed, but simple enough to see in the hamper or stuffed in a closet.”

“You must have flipped.”

“You know, I didn’t.  I understood relationships weren’t perfect and held out hope we could still work things out.”

“That was mature of you.”

“To an extent, I guess.  More naïve it turned out.  It wasn’t long before I caught her at it.  I came home after work and she was cock-deep, moaning with some other guy.”

“Fuck.  And this was after four months?  Can’t believe you stayed another two.”

“I can’t either.  But I did.  I really tried to win her over; took her to concerts, restaurants, everything I could think of.”

“Nothing got better?”

“Only worse.  I caught her with more men.  She didn’t even make excuses.”

“Were you two still sleeping together?”

“Unfortunately, yes.  I knew it was dangerous with all the other guys she was with, but just like with the concerts I thought I could satisfy her working harder.”

“That’s terrible.  I really feel for you.  What finally made you break it off?”

“The day I finally realized how absurd it was.  I was online researching vacation packages, thinking we could use a nice getaway to smooth things over when it hit me.  Nothing in the relationship was worth saving and I deserved better.”

“How’d she take that?”

“I never figured out.  I just packed up and left.”

“I bet that hurt her.”

“I bet it didn’t.  She never loved me.  I doubt she can love anyone.”

“So you aren’t coming to the wedding?”

“What wedding?  Don’t tell me someone’s falling for her game again.”

“As a matter-of-fact I am.  And you’re right about everything.  She was in a bad place but she’s better now.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I don’t think you know the realization she had when you left.  It might not seem like it but subconsciously she was reaching out.”

“Really now?”

“She didn’t come from the best background.  She wanted you to be jealous.  It was how her mom had always done things growing up.”

“And she opened up to you about all this?”

“No, I confronted her.  I kicked the guy’s ass and almost hit her too.  Luckily, I stopped myself before things got out of hand.”

“It sure doesn’t sound like she had a realization when I left.”

“I think she did.  Otherwise, she would have never told me the things she did.  I’d never seen a girl cry so much, look so helpless.”

“I wish I could pity her; I really do.”

“She didn’t expect you to and neither do I.  I just want you to see how far she’s come and try taking the first step toward forgiveness.  It would mean a lot to her if you two could end up friends someday.  You walking out, ultimately, did a great deal for her.”

“So, I guess I’d be an usher or something at this wedding… if I went?”

“Best man if you want it.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Well, it looks like we won’t have one then.  She’s determined it’s you or nothing.”

“I guess I’ll have to then.”

“Great.  Thanks for doing this.”

“I’m still hurt and a little angry but I’m glad she moved on and found a way to be happy; maybe there’s hope for me too.”

“There’s always bridesmaids.”

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Race to Erase

Joy ran off fifteen pounds,
It wasn’t good enough.
Her washboard, six-pack
Went down to perfect hips
And chiseled legs.
It wasn’t good enough.

She thought of nothing but her health,
Shed pounds in her relationships.
It wasn’t good enough.
Blood ran through the body
To the heart; diastolic near impeccable.
It wasn’t good enough.

She stopped studying; figured
That a brain of seven pounds
Just weighed her down.
It wasn’t good enough.
Others saw her flawless bod
And gaped but couldn’t for the
Life of them recall her name
Or who she was.  And neither could she.
It wasn’t good enough.

Friday, November 25, 2011

My Bad Luck with Fortune Cookies

Fortune cookies come in all shapes and sizes. Okay, so almost always the same size and shape. But the fortunes can be drastically different.  Most people I know will crack one open and leave with an optimistic feeling. Others, like me are not so lucky. For reasons I cannot quite explain my fortunes are most always terribly condescending or just plain insulting.  This leads me to a new segment titled My Bad Luck with Fortune Cookies.

Not all closed eye is sleeping, nor open eye is seeing.

On the surface, perhaps not bad. But think what it's saying about me, the paying customer. I'm apparently not very perceptive to Mr. I-write-cookies-for-a-living.

Cultivation to the mind is as necessary as food to the body.

Well, they could have said bluntly I'm a fat idiot but instead chose the next best thing. I'm eating too much, and in doing so contributing to Mr. Cookie's business. But that isn't good enough. I need to cultivate my mind. I suppose that means cooking my own meals and writing my own fortunes. Tough break, Mr. Cookie.

P.S. the lucky numbers sucked too.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Black Wednesday

I hear about fun times
that people have and envy
not so much that I myself won’t have them
in a way; more, the belonging in their moment
I seem incapable of replicating.
Middle-child syndrome you might call it;
the perpetual third wheel, or often less
and more a spoke within the tire
to break down and stop the wagon–
if only that significant.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Jamie's Gate



I tried to remember the crime I committed.  I tried to recall why the cops were dragging me out of their cruiser and into a police station.  Nothing came to me.  I felt their fists hit my stomach; I smelled my own fear.

“Teach you to camp, hippie!”  One’s voice said.

“Let’s book him.”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter.  Say he hit one of us.”

I wondered if I had.  Anything seemed possible in the current situation.

“Time to strip this Nancy down.  We can see if he’s really got some balls under that Vagina.”

I didn’t resist when they tore off my shirt and pants.  It seemed all the more humorous to them.

“He’s got bigger grapes than I thought.  Still small though.”

“Hey, Hank, get me the pepper spray.  I have an idea.”

“You wouldn’t?”  Hank said egging him on.

“Oh, I would, Ted.  Hand it over.”

The immense pain I felt before was somehow amplified.  Hank emptied the whole can of pepper spray on my bare genitals.  There was nothing I could do to stop him as it burned.  I bit my tongue until it bled.

“That’s enough for now.  He can cool his heels ‘til we think of something better.”

“Sounds good.  Come with me!”

I was dragged again; this time unable to walk.  The cop showed no sympathy; kicking, hitting, kneeing my enflamed genitals.

We entered a bizarre looking jail.  There were no cells.  Inmates were free to move yet chose not to.  They cowered, shaking violently around a central pit.  It wasn’t clear what was inside; just that something was.

“What are they afraid of?”

“You’ll see soon enough.  Or maybe, I can let you in right now.”

He lifted me up toward the pit.  I thrust my feet against the air trying to get him.  I never got the chance.  Before I realized what was happening I fell.  My legs broke on impact and I couldn’t move.

I saw the faintest glow light up a body.  It was a young woman; a beautiful one at that.  Perhaps she was a prisoner as well.

“Excuse me,” I asked.  It was a mistake.  Her teeth snapped, sharper and longer than I could have previously believed.  “Are you a werewolf?”

“Much worse.”

“A demon?”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I wish that were all.”

Her teeth were not what moved.  Her entire face expanded, split in half.  Screaming hands reached out.  I felt my essence pulled away.  Skin peeled off with memories, emotions toward the young girl’s void.

I saw a story flash as I absorbed inside of Jamie.  An even younger version of the young girl had gold necklaces and bracelets with a shovel.  She was digging furiously; possessed with desire.  She wanted something more beneath the ground, the grave.  It called to her.  One more necklace, one more ring would help her forget.  And she could stop.  But she could never stop.  Jamie was beyond intervention.

Metal hit wood.  Her hands pried open the coffin lid.  But nothing was inside; merely satin and a headless pillow.

“I see you’ve found my coffin,” a cold voice said.


“Oh, yes.  I’m dead, undead to be exact.”

“It can’t be.”

“But it is.  Joshua, Maurice, grab her.  We have work to do.”

They lifted her from the grave.  She seemed almost willing as she walked into a clearing with no headstones.  A pentagram had been drawn on the ground.  The vampires licked their lips hungrily.  Jamie considered escape but barely turned before they pinned her down.

Remorseless penetration consumed her body.  She bled from her mouth and anus.  The cold, undead members were as hard as ice.  The only part of her they left alone she feared for.

A hideously scarred creature approached and the rape stopped.  It seemed like Jamie’s savior perhaps.  But she had hoped too soon.  Both hands held a massive, reddish horn up to the moonlight.  Chanting began.  Pitch rose higher and higher until… the horn was slammed into Jamie’s previously untouched vagina.  The creature lifted it again; the chanting renewed and she felt the unbearable pain once more as it went further.  It never stopped.  The night was an eternity in hell; a hell that rose inside of her.

I felt her pain, her anger and her rage.  My hands reached out the void with countless others ready to consume.  Our enemies would join us.  Our friends would join us.  Our families would join us with all others in the way.

Monday, November 21, 2011

The Cheetoh Kiss

She’s eating Cheetohs
And I like the crunch,
The rustle of the bag.
She smacks her lips.
I taste the cornstarch,
Extract on the phone.
Electronic breath breathes
 Leaving me
 Lovebite orange.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Techno Mix

As you can hear (if you haven't muted the volume) I've changed up the playlist again.  I got bored with the old and brought in some new.  Thought I'd explore techno music.  I'm not quite familiar with it so I looked up some songs others people seemed fond of.  I had a few bands in mind though i.e. DJ Sammy who performed one of my favorite songs, Heaven.  Also, for no reason I threw in Smash Mouth and some Italo disco.  So, I hope you take the time to enjoy and dare I say, dance it up?

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Eye Floater

At a young age the vitreous inside
Our eyes are perfectly transparent;
We see the world for what it is;
And not for what it isn’t.

Imperfections soon emerge with time
Branding shadows on our retinas
Showing us the past in worms
That crawl across closed lids
To feed off insecurities; the ugly
Memories we can’t forget, though
Tried in vain. The worm, the floater,
Always finds them.

Sweet congealed mess living in my head,
The spot on the carpet that won’t go away;
If only I could cry you out.

Monday, November 14, 2011

The Crime

“Did you hear the news?” a mid-twenty something blonde man said, sitting next to a brunette woman roughly the same age.

“How could I not?”

“Did it surprise you?

“Of course it did.”

He held a paper in one hand and gently put it down on the table.  The brunette woman winced, but otherwise showed little emotion.

“How are you so calm over this? You dated him for Christ sake.”

“You were his best friend for I don’t know how many years.”

“Well, people change I guess.”

“Apparently.  The Jeff I knew would never–“ She trailed off.  The reality of the situation appeared to hit her all at once.

“It’s okay, Beth.  It’s nothing you did.”

“I know that, Todd!  I’ve told myself that since the moment I heard.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“No.  There has to be something I could have said that might have made the slightest difference.”

“There wasn’t.”

“But all those families…”

“BETH!  There wasn’t!  Let it go.”

“That’s easy for you to say.  You didn’t sleep with him.”

“Do you really think that gives you some magical insight into the workings of his later deranged mind?”

“Something was there then; it had to have been.  Maybe if I had just made him cum a little better…”

“I’m sure he cummed spectacularly.  At least that’s what he told me the next day.”

“You dog!” Beth shrieked, throwing a pillow.

“Hey, women tell each other just as much.”

“Not that way.”

“What way is that?”

“You know,” Beth said, impersonating a male voice, “I totally banged this girl last night.  She squealed like a piggy.”

“He didn’t say it like that.”

“How did he say it?  No, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.  No.  Yes.  Fine, just tell me.”

“He said he slept with the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and he was truly happy for the first time in his life.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“What did you say back?”

“I believe my exact words were ‘Dude… weak!’”

“That does sound like your teenage self and come to think of it your current self.”

“It was really corny.”

“And romantic.”

“But mostly… corny.”

“I don’t understand then, why he broke it off and left.  You’ve got to know more than what you’ve told me.”

“The last thing he said was he needed to get out of town to work some stuff out.  I didn’t see him after that; no one did.  He vanished into thin air.”

“He didn’t call… or text?”

“Like I said… nothing.”

“Did they say what happened to him?  I couldn’t finish reading the article.”

“It wasn’t pretty, Beth.”

“What do you mean?”

“You knew Jeff.  He was always the determined sort.  No one was going to take him alive if he didn’t want them to.”

“You mean?”

“I’m really sorry.  I had a hard time accepting too but it’s done.  The Jeff we knew died long before that night.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“Why not?  No friend of ours could possibly do such heinous things.  He changed.  Became another person.”

“I got a phone call from him,” Beth interjected, “a year or so after he left.  He hung up after a few seconds but I knew it was him.”

“Honestly, Beth that could have been any pervert!”

“It was him.  I knew.”

“And you didn’t report this to the police?  You know what he did!  What he was doing even then!”

“I agonized over it, believe me.”

“Obviously not enough.  You never mentioned this.”

“I didn’t think you’d understand.  I was kind of right in a way.”

“I’m not the unreasonable one!  You aided and abetted a criminal!”

“Really?  I had no solid proof it was him.  He didn’t say a word.  Do you think the police would have done anything but laugh?”

“No… I suppose not.”

“They’d probably think it was a long time coming.  Little girl can’t get over her heartthrob who ran away and became…”

Todd put his arm around her shoulder.  “Do you remember the police questioning us?”

“Yeah, they tried to get something, but they were from the same town.  They knew everything we did.”

“It’s a shame things didn’t work out differently.  He deserved what he got, I won’t deny, but still…”

“Are you sure?  They shot him in cold blood.  He didn’t have a chance to defend himself.”

“Beth, don’t start feeling sorry for him.  It’ll only make things harder.”

“I suppose so.  I guess I’m still holding onto who he was before all this; that smart, bright guy I fell in love with.”

“It’s hard letting go.  He was my best friend; always there for me no matter what.”

Todd picked himself up from the couch with a sigh, grabbing the newspaper.  He kissed Beth on the head and walked slowly to the door before pausing. 

“What is it, Todd?”

“I still can’t believe he was gay.”

Sunday, November 13, 2011

The Raving Moonbat

I've started a new political blog.  It's called the Raving Moonbat and it's pretty... liberal.  So, if you like that sort of thing and want more you should totally stop over man.  We can talk about world peace and eat these brownies I made.  I won't tell you what's in them though.

Friday, November 11, 2011


The bear ate honey in the forest.  Or what it thought was a forest.  The limbs flickered and a blowing sound emitted from the floor.

“Don’t mind the noise,” a soothing voice said.  “Get back to doing bear stuff.”

“What sort of bear stuff?” The bear replied.

“You know… fishing, hunting, playing with your friend Piglet?

“I’m sorry.  That’s not me.  I need to feel motivated.  What’s my motivation?”

“You don’t need motivation; you’re already a bear!”

“You’re a human but I’m not expecting you to act like Roy Rogers and Clint Eastwood.  How ignorant!”

“Jeff,” the voice whispered.  “Turn on the gas.  It looks like another won’t cooperate.”

“Whatever you say, Bill.”

A green cloud began to fill the room.  The bear merely continued staring at horizon it had figured out was two-way glass.  Impending death had not changed its demeanor, but rather gave a curious expression in the place of fear.

“I surmise,” choked out the bear as its lungs began to give, “you’d like to know what you’ve done wrong in this experiment.”

“We don’t need advice from lesser mammals.  If you were intelligent at all you’d be the one gassing us.”

“I’m going to tell you, regardless.  The obvious explanation is you can’t play God expecting results in your favor; the less obvious being, bears will generally eat fish over honey in their environment.”

The room became completely obscured with gas.  The bear did not use the situation to its advantage for escape, however.  It merely lied down as if going to sleep, happy to have the hard part of its journey over with.

“That one sure didn’t put up a fight.”

“You expected it to?”

“Well, yeah, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m human; my life means more.”

“But will your death in the end?”

“Really!?  You’re getting pretty philosophical.”

“Let’s just bring in the next bear.”

Another bear walked out identical to the first in appearance.  It was not clear where the corpse of the other had gone.

“What do you say we let this one live for a while, maybe get it some fresh fish?”

“I’d say you’re losing your nerve.”

“Didn’t you hear what that other bear said?”

“No.  You heard a bear talking?”

“Yeah,” Bill said nervously.  “Didn’t you?”

“I think you need a break…”

“No… please… I’m really all right!”

These were the last words Bill remembered speaking to Jeff.  He slowly opened his eyes inside the bear pen that was no longer a bear pen.  Bill was back in his college dorm room.  The familiar swimsuit calendar hung on the wall with posters of his favorite bands.  He ran up to his roommate, Zach, he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty-years.  "Hey, man, want to go play some Frisbee in the quad?"  Zach didn't respond.  Bill noticed him flicker.  A familiar blowing sound emitted from the floor.

Bill felt his lungs begin to seize.  The room was filled with greenish haze.  He ran with all his strength toward where he thought the two-way glass must have been.  When he fell over, he crawled.  Jeff was not ready to die.  He refused to accept it.  The lights were dimming; he knew it had nothing to do with the electricity.

As he lay, finally immobilized, he saw the other bear, the dead bear, sitting where his friend had been mere moments before.

“Help me!  Please!  I can save you too!”  Bill thought more than talked.  He was barely capable of whispering.

“So naïve,” the bear said before vanishing and leaving Bill to his fate.

Monday, November 07, 2011

Rainbow Baby

That girl with the golden smile
Ain’t so pearly white;
I’ve seen her cry her silver tears,
Sacrifice ‘til black and blue.

Red blood shot eyes
And thoughts of grey
In ultra-violet spectrums,
We can’t see but know are there;
Indigo’s a myth that we hold onto.

I’ve seen the rainbow’s spectrum lie,
Or maybe it has always told the truth
And we’re too blind, too quick
To get the bigger picture.

Something in the arch is lost
In the horizon’s translation;
Blue trails off to meet
The hardened smile of a girl.

Sunday, November 06, 2011

Night Poems

Ben Ditmars' chapbook of poetry, Night Poems is now Available on Amazon for Kindle and Print.

So, I'm considering this new project.  It might have and probably has been done in some way before but I think I can put my own unique spin on things.  My goal is to write a book of poems written at night in different places, instances, etc.  I'm of the opinion that everything is that much more interesting after the sun goes down and everyone's asleep.  Let me know what you all think.  If anyone wants me to send them some of what I'm working on, I'd love to do that too and get your opinions that way.

Saturday, November 05, 2011

Super Villains for Issue 2

Ohio's government passed legislation this past year to strip public employees of collective bargaining rights, the ability to strike and negotiate for safe staffing levels among other things.  Signatures were gathered and a repeal, Issue 2, was placed on the ballot to be voted on this next Tuesday.  Naturally, an influential demographic has stood strong against these efforts.  I speak of course of super villains.  They were kind enough recently to do a photo shoot.

The Dark Lord Sauron has long opposed collective bargaining and all forms of union labor.  Imagine being in his situation, managing thousands of orcs, and have them start complaining about sulfur gas.  HELLO, they're right next to a freaking volcano!  Of course, there's sulfur gas.  What can he do about it?  Not much.

Voldemort  has similar concerns.  Sure, he looks happy in this photograph, but inside, he's crying.  Voldemort, you see is among the much persecuted one-percent.  He worked hard to get where he is, ruling over a psuedo-dictatorship, and persecuting filthy mudbloods.  Under this new law however, half-breeds would have a say in their salaries.  Imagine, what this would do to yet another fragile Dark Lord.  His pockets would be emptied.  He would no longer be able to purchase elaborate fountains displaying the muggle and house-elf's feebleness in relation to wizards.

Lastly, we have Ganon.  Ganon is a Gerudo-born villain, seeking the Triforce and absolute power over Hyrule.  But he has a problem.  Public employees stand in his way.  Firemen, police and others arrest his monsters in a constant assault.  Without the ability to maintain safe staffing levels, however, they will quickly be overrun.  And Ganon will recreate the world in his image, making Lon Lon Ranch into an efficient distopia.

Thursday, November 03, 2011

A Love Story in 500 Words

“I’ll just hurt you” said Max.

“And why is that?” Jesse replied, crossing her arms.

“I just know, all right?”

“No, I don’t think you do.  It’s fear of commitment plain and simple.”

“I wish it only were…”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m bad news Jessie.”

“Like a robbery or tsunami?”


“You presume to think a relationship with you is the equal to mass displacement and death on a scale to rival Haiti or New Orleans?”

“Of course.  And now you see the gravity of the situation.”

“Your arrogance?”

“Precisely, among other things.”

“I’ve dated arrogant men before; men that really were.  You just think you are.”

“Obviously those relationships didn’t work, so why would you think this one has a shot?”

“Why do you say that?  They worked.  I parted pleasantly with several, it was only circumstance, distance and the like.”


“Stop minimalizing everything I say!”

“Can’t help it.  I’m an ass.  Is that really the sort of man you should keep chasing after?”

“I think there’s something deeper you’re not saying; some inner fear or insecurity.”

“Contrary to the female’s popular belief, men really aren’t that deep.  We tell it like it is unless we’re cheating.”

“Are you cheating then?”

“How would I do that?  I’m not involved with anyone.”

“What about me?”

“Well, apart from your mental candyland, no.”

“That really hurts.”

“It doesn’t have to; find someone who’s right for you.”

“But that’s YOU!  You’ve got to realize that by now!”

“I didn’t want to tell you this but… I have a dark past.”

“How dark?

“Deep space.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I’ve killed and I’ll do it again!”

“Then kill me.  Go ahead.  I have nothing to live for if you reject me.”

“But all I’ve done is reject you and if I’m not mistaken you’re still kickin.’”

“Fine,” Jesse mumbled, making her way to a nearby drawer.  She drew a large bread knife and held it to her throat.

“What are you doing?”

“If you don’t kiss me by the time I count to ten I’ll drench the carpet with my blood.”

“Honestly,” replied Max stepping toward her.  Jesse held the knife closer.  Blood trickled from a slight cut.  “Put the knife back, already!”

“One!” she screamed.

“Don’t make me beg!”


“This won’t change anything!”


“I’d only be kissing you to save a life!”


“Jesse, okay, I’ll admit it; I feel something but it’s very deep and barely there.”


“Also, it’s impractical to act on!”


“Please, stop!  I’ll only ruin you!”

“You’ll ruin me either way at this point, at least with one of them I’ll be alive!  Seven!”

“This is insane!  Take a breath and calm down!”


“Jesus, Jessie!”


“You win!  I’ll kiss you all night and for the rest of my life if I have to!”

“Good,” said Jesse, returning the knife to its drawer.  Max strode over, grabbing her around the waist.  She smiled as they kissed; all night.