Winter Words
I’m a bad Santa, a Grinch and yuletide curmudgeon of the highest order and I admit it. Just the thought of this most blatantly commercial and candy-cane-twisted holiday sends me running for my dimly...
View ArticleWinterness
His shadow, embedded in ice frozen in time, Inescapable in ways unimaginable with cold that numbs the very soul, winterness Night train, with no destination in sight on the broken hands of time, a...
View Article2,592,000 seconds
I figured out that I spend approximately one month a year riding the train back and forth to Boston. One month. 30 days. 720 hours. 43,200 minutes. 2,592,000 seconds. I write, read, sleep, text...
View ArticleLumbricus Terrestris
I am not, I repeat, not a morning person. Never have been, never will. Ask my wife. Ask my kids. Hell, ask Bill the conductor on the 6:30am train I take into Boston. He checks my ticket and says,...
View ArticleHelter-Skelter
You know you’re getting out there when the only reason you know it’s Monday is because there’s an NFL game on tonight. My Tweet this morning was telling to say the very least: “I’ve officially lost...
View ArticleNebula (II)
Somewhere, amidst the shattered crystal silence of daybreak. . . I find you the dusty silhouette of a life resting on a shelf in my mind that’s sadly gathering dust, the gentle flutter of wings sets...
View ArticleTrains
I stood at South Station tonight watching the Christmas Train roll along the tracks. They set it up every year and tonight I found myself daydreaming [night dreaming?] a bit, reminiscing about days...
View ArticleCairns & Innisfail
I am saying serious prayers tonight for a country I have yet to visit. If you’ve heard about the tropical cyclone Yasi, you will know what I’m talking about. This nasty monster has morphed into a cat...
View ArticleForgiveness
Waiting to be forgiven is a lonely and melancholy place. Taking the train to wherever might just suffice. For tonight . . . ~m
View ArticleOdiferous Bezoar for the masses
I came home from work and went upstairs to change into my oh-so-comfy ‘Cinnabun fat’ clothes. As I took off my shirt I noticed that my armpits smelled/reaked of rotting onions. Onions? WTF? [how about...
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