Category Archives: Uncategorized

There are times when it is difficult to write.

I am having trouble with my eyes. Glaucoma. So I really want everything to be BIGGER.

And I try to avoid what I can’t really see.

My hands hurt too much to draw as much as my heart wants. So, I reuse a lot of old pictures that I love because I used to be pretty good at drawing.

Because I am old now, I can only seem to think about and fixate on a thing I can no longer do. And not just because Raquel Welch is now dead. The little soldier can no longer even stand up and salute a beautiful woman. And carrying out his essential duty is out of the question. I even make metaphors like a dirty old man now.

Dang it!

And I do not have a shortage of ideas to use. I had intended to write a biographical story about Walt Whitman being not only a poet, but the nudist kind of naturist according to his poetry. But diabetes assaults my thinking machine and putting together complicated themes and ideas becomes too hard to manage in the time I have available.

Of course, I am retired and have nothing but time available. But with all the other issues, I forget to use it before it is too late.

So, I wrote this… some of it large enough to actually see it.

I have to admit it because I am into all this “naked truth” thing… I am getting lazy in my old, old age.

Yes, I have valid excuses. My eyes are failing with glaucoma and the beginnings of cataracts (not the waterfall kind.) My fingers are slowed and interfered with by arthritis. And my computer with the good word-processor is all glitchy (Who knew that eating potato chips while typing is bad for your keyboard? Oh, that’s right. My know-it-all daughter, the Princess, lectured me about that before all the glitches.)

But I have one novel finished and not published for want of editing.

And I keep starting new projects instead of finishing the one I am currently working on.

Poppy’s story is almost finished in the complete draft, but stalled over a plot point.

Golden Wing is only one-third done. It’s stuck on the hospital scene, just because I have to go back and reread the whole thing to get back into working on it.

This one is started, but off to the slowest start of anything I have done so far.

I am cheating on this one, making it out of old blog posts and writing a new one about once a week.

And this is the one most likely to get finished before I die. I am posting it on Tuesdays. As you can see, I haven’t created an actual cover for it yet. Lazy me.

I have been reading about the high school boy who rang the wrong doorbell when he was supposed to pick up his younger brothers from a friend’s house and got shot in the head because he was black. And shot a second time when he was on the ground. He lived. But only because his guardian angel was helping.

The shooter, an old white guy, was taken into custody only to be released within 24 hours.

And then I couldn’t help but remember Emmit Till. From before I was born. And I cried for half an hour.

If I were to pick the five kids I loved the most in the 31 years I was a teacher, two of them were black. Only one was a white kid.

How could we not have learned from that picture of Emmit in his open casket? Thank God it is in black and white.

Forgive me. I can’t write more. I have to cry some more….

Life goes up and down, round and round, inside, outside, happy, to sad, and down to the bottom of the sea, and finally up to the highest height of the mountain peaks. And I am navigating it all in an airship with holes in its wings that also has to serve at times as a submarine with leaks in its hull.

How’s that for a tortured metaphor?

I know I don’t have many more years to be alive. I am in poor health and it is getting worse. We’re facing tornado times with global warming. The house I live in is falling apart. I am trying to live one day at a time and savor every moment I have left. But there’s a large amount of pain. I have an awful lot of frustration built up over how hard it is getting to do any real writing during the average day. It’s hard to make all of that funny and laugh it off.

Still, I have not given up. This blog post is evidence of that. I pecked this one out with arthritic fingers and a lot of bulldog persistence.

Here are the things I intend to force through to publication;

The Haunted Toy Store

I feel like I have been drowning at the very bottom of the sea. But I am struggling back to the surface for another breath of fresh air.

I have always believed as Carl Sagan taught me in the 1970s, “Extraordinary claims like the existence of aliens requires extraordinary proof.”

Well, we are seeing extraordinary proofs from eye witnesses, military videos, and accounts from whistleblowers.

The main reason I can say I am now 95% certain that we are being visited by intelligent entities from other worlds or other realities is because the American government has finally admitted on the record that there are things buzzing our aircraft-carrier fleets that we have video recordings of that we don’t know how they fly and do the other impossible things that we have them on record as doing. The gentleman pictured above, Luis Elizondo, was formerly the leader of an intelligence project for studying these Unidentified Arial Phenomena (UAPs for short.) The government has identified him as the person he says he is, a person who left his job in order to make all of this public and to get the government, especially congress, to take it all seriously. He has evidence that the visitors are a definite national security threat and safety concern for our airborne military and civilian air travel.

Extraordinary proof. Of course, I believed before based on the work of Stanton Freedman, Richard Dolan, George Knapp, and numerous other competent and believable investigators (but NOT the Ancient Aliens guys.)

And I am not the only one who has had his long-held beliefs vindicated. This gentleman, Bob Lazar, has been a much-maligned and persecuted whistleblower since the 1980s. He had his identity erased by the government. His former bosses at the Los Alamos Research Facility disavowed that he ever worked there. His college records were expunged. They even deleted his birth certificate. All of this because he worked at a secret base in Area 51 called S4. He was tasked with reverse engineering the craft pictured above. And, during the time that he was working on that, he took friends and credible witnesses out to a secure area to witness test flights of the aircraft he was supposed to be working on. And, of course, he got caught. He turned to TV journalist George Knapp to broadcast the information he was blowing the whistle on, not to make money, but to spread the truth and make himself too visible for the government to simply kill him and make him disappear.

More people believe Bob Lazar now than ever did before. He is somewhat vindicated as a real whistleblower. It has been proven that the rare element, 115, is real, though it was an unknown element when he broke the story forty years ago. There is now also undeniable video of similar crafts provided by the US government.

It will probably never be 100 % certain. The people profiting off the technology gained from the 1947 Roswell Incident will not compromise their cash cows… or their money-making anti-gravity drives either. And our government has been lying and covering up things since before Washington’s Presidency. But I believe we now know… we are not alone in the universe.

I am increasingly frustrated with an inability to get any writing done on my primary, secondary, and emergency writing projects. My writing time, it seems, is constantly interfered with by problems seeing the computer screen, or achy fingers from arthritis to type with, or just a lack of willpower to get off Instagram where I listen to kids play instruments or sing like an angel the way little Aiko Bett does or post their artwork.

I fear I may be at the end of my creative endeavors. I have more novels in my head, but getting them down on word documents is becoming impossible. If I only had a brain…

I am not willing to lose my ability to write. I am not ready to spend the rest of my days mindlessly watching Netflix or scrolling through Instagram and Twitter. So, I lose the battle again today, but I will fight to make it happen again tomorrow.

Yes, these people are all real people, although they only looked like this in their imaginations. These are the game characters of Juan, Daniel, and Alice. (Not their real names.) They became the Wizard Onyx, Gryph the Eagleman, and Sunnyjias, the Cymryllian Sorceress. (Also not their real names.)

Chiron the Centaur and his class of Greek heroes, Achilles, Theseus, Jason, and Heracles.

Characters from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Ariel the sprite, Caliban the monster, Prospero (as played by the Stratfordian Bill,) Ferdinand, and Miranda.

David, Son of Jesse, plays his harp and sings for King Saul along with various other members of the court in Jerusalem.

On the Planet Dionysus in 5438 A.D. Jaak the Dion boy, Michael, son of the Imperial Planetologist, Franklin riding the raptor, and Hrroush the giant pink velociraptor.

Members of the Norwall Pirates, Dorin Dobbs, Francois Martin (in the clown paint,) Davalon the Telleron, and Tim Kellogg.

… I was born in the Eisenhower Administration to a family of loyal Eisenhower Republicans. Nevertheless, I am now a Liberal Democrat by virtue of still holding the same basic values.

… I sympathize over the troubles of your Great Leader with the spoiled-mango sheen and horse-food wig… but only as much as you sympathized with me when Hilary lost the election in 2016. Remember the happy dance you did while wiggling your butt in my face? I certainly do. How sad for you that your Glorious Person is indicted after being impeached twice and has committed crimes in the public eye that we all know he’s guilty of. Remember, “Lock her up!” in 2016? I do.

… I am a liberal, and I believe that word is not a bad word. It means I want to change the world to make it better. A conservative is someone who wants things to stay the same, supposedly because we have already found what works.

So, forgive me if I don’t understand why the governors of Texas and Florida want to CHANGE the laws to allow concealed carry without permits everywhere in the State for all gun users immediately after the shootings of school children in Uvalde, Texas and Tennessee?

… I also don’t understand why if someone acts in a way that is “WOKE,” it makes you so scared you need to pass laws against it? Really? Being awake to reality around you, especially if you and your children are black and could be beaten to death or shot to death by cops even if they aren’t white cops, is a bad thing? You want everybody who is not white, rich, and entitled to be asleep to reality? Easily fleeced and even destroyed because they are not awake to what’s going on? And don’t you need to be WOKE yourself if you are not also white, rich, and entitled? The powers that be don’t treat poor whites any better. They just lie to them more.

…Don’t think I don’t sympathize with your current predicament. You need to KNOW I don’t. You got what you voted for. Matt Gaetz, Marjorie Taylor Green, Lauren Boebert, and Kevin McCarthy… You deserve everything they will do to you. I think you should change your politics because you are valuable human beings and don’t deserve to live in hatred and fear. But you believe in making your own choices and pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. So, good luck with that.