THE SHADOW PEOPLE ARE BECOMING MORE AWARE OF OUR INTEREST IN THEM. PHOTO BY DARWIN BELL
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
sun behind us
THESE ARE THE SHADOW PEOPLE. THROUGH EXTENSIVE RESEARCH, I HAVE LOCATED TWO OF THE ORIGINALS AND WILL BE POSTING INTERVIEWS ABOUT THE LIFESTYLES OF SHADOW PEOPLE IN TODAY'S SOCIETY. PHOTO BY VAN 69
tilt
A PREMONITION ABOUT MOLD AND SHADOW PEOPLE
THERE IS A STORY SOMEWHERE WITHIN THIS ABANDONED BOAT. WHO KNOWS WHEN IT WILL APPEAR? ONLY THE SHADOW KNOWS, FOR SURE.* REALLY. HONESTLY. AND THAT REMINDS ME OF THE SHADOW PEOPLE ART BELL ONCE SPOKE ABOUT SO FREQUENTLY FROM HIS PLACE HIGH ON THE DESERT PLAINS OF NEVEDA.
IF THERE IS ANYONE, AND I REPEAT, ANYONE, WHO KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT THESE RUMORED PEOPLE THAT ARE SPOKEN OF SO FREQUENTLY ON ALL NIGHT RADIO PLEASE FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS. IF YOU ARE OUT THERE, PLEASE WRITE DOWN ALL THE DETAILS IN A NOTEBOOK WITH THE TIME AND DATE OF THE NOTES TAKEN, THE DAY OF THE WEEK, THE WEATHER, AND ALL PERTINENT INFORMATION YOU CAN RECALL. PLEASE LEAVE THE NOTEBOOK IN YOUR NIGHTSTAND ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF A GUEST BED IN THE UPSTAIRS OR BASEMENT.
FOR NOW, THIS IS ALL I CAN SAY ABOUT SHADOW PEOPLE. THE PHOTO WITH THE PORT HOLES HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS STORY ABOUT SHADOW PEOPLE, IT SIMPLY SERVED TO TRIGGER A THOUGHT THAT WAS TRYING TO ESCAPE MY MIND. SO, FOR THIS REASON, I AM GREATFUL FOR THE PHOTOSHOPPED PHOTO, YET I AM GROWING SOMEWHAT SUSPICIOUS. THE MORE I CONCENTRATE ON THIS PHOTO, THE MORE I BEGIN SEEING THINGS THROUGH THE PORTS.
THE PORT HOLES. THEY ARE LIKE EYES, YES, YES, EYES. AND THAT THE BOAT IS TILTED, NOT SLIGHTLY, BUT SOMEWHAT SEVERLY, I AM GROWING EVEN MORE WARY. WHAT IS THAT CRAP DOWN IN THE LEFT HAND CORNER ANYWAY?
THIS WHOLE SCENE IS BECOMING WEIRD. THAT WOOD, THAT ROTTING WOOD BENEATH THE THIRD PORT ON THE FAR RIGHT. DO YOU SMELL THE ROT OF THE WOOD? IS IT MOLD? TELL ME IT IS NOT MOLD!
PHOTO BY MISSIZ BEASLEY INSPIRATION BY ART BELL
*"Only the shadow knows..." was from the 1940s radio program, THE SHADOW
Monday, March 23, 2009
once upon a time ...
HE IS ON HIS WAY TO A DESTINATION WHERE HE WILL FIND MORE THAN A MILLION DOLLARS IN CASH IN THE BASEMENT OF AN ABANDONED BOOK STORE. WATCH FOR THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY IN THE NEAR FUTURE.
THANKS TO Lo Li for permitting exhibit of her photograph.
THANKS TO Lo Li for permitting exhibit of her photograph.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Davenport, Iowa train station
Davenport, Iowa train station
Construction was completed on Davenport Union Station in 1924, a combined passenger station serving the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad; the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad; and the Davenport, Rock Island and Northwestern Railroad
THANKS TO THE PHOTOGRAPHER kla4067 for this photo. My uncle worked on the Milwaukee Road. He was a conductor on number 26 and Davenport was his layover before returning to Kansas CIty, Missouri. This photo rekindles some old memories. Until seeing this photo, the image was rather a blur in my memories.
Construction was completed on Davenport Union Station in 1924, a combined passenger station serving the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad; the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad; and the Davenport, Rock Island and Northwestern Railroad
THANKS TO THE PHOTOGRAPHER kla4067 for this photo. My uncle worked on the Milwaukee Road. He was a conductor on number 26 and Davenport was his layover before returning to Kansas CIty, Missouri. This photo rekindles some old memories. Until seeing this photo, the image was rather a blur in my memories.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Ghost of Summer Visitors
GHOST OF SUMMER VISITORS, THE WORST CHRISTMAS STORY YOU WILL EVER READ. ONLY THE STRONG SHOULD FOLLOW THIS PIECE OF FICTION...based on a true and genuine tale told time and again since 1928...
It was a bad idea. I told Uncle Walt who owned the only department store in Cenral City that having a Fairy Princess instead of a Santa in the main window wouldn't fly. People who love Christmas want to see fat Santas, not fairy princesses. But Walt was stubborn. As it turned out, I should have kept my mouth shut. Had I not tried to get him to find a fat Santa, there would be eight more people alive today. So, Walt relented and decided to do it both ways. A Santa and a Fairy. Sheila Pozek was the obvious princess, everyone agreed. She was the it girl. Santa? In Central City, there were no fat men. No, not one who could play the role. "So, we will run a classified for a Fat Santa," Uncle Walt decided. He ran the ad in the New York Times. Three weeks later, Central CIty was full of fat, short men with white hair and beards.
TO BE CONTINUED................
It was a bad idea. I told Uncle Walt who owned the only department store in Cenral City that having a Fairy Princess instead of a Santa in the main window wouldn't fly. People who love Christmas want to see fat Santas, not fairy princesses. But Walt was stubborn. As it turned out, I should have kept my mouth shut. Had I not tried to get him to find a fat Santa, there would be eight more people alive today. So, Walt relented and decided to do it both ways. A Santa and a Fairy. Sheila Pozek was the obvious princess, everyone agreed. She was the it girl. Santa? In Central City, there were no fat men. No, not one who could play the role. "So, we will run a classified for a Fat Santa," Uncle Walt decided. He ran the ad in the New York Times. Three weeks later, Central CIty was full of fat, short men with white hair and beards.
TO BE CONTINUED................
FredsPixLocalHomesAshiya, Japan53
THERE ARE MANY STORIES BENEATH THESE ROOFS AND BETWEEN THE BRANCHES OF THE TREES THAT WILL REMAIN SILENT FOREVER. THE ROOFS OF JAPAN, SO BEAUTIFUL, SO JOYFUL TO THE EYES, SO FULL OF CONTRADICTION IN ONE WAY AND ANOTHER. THE JAPANESE SOUL, SO QUIET AND POLITE, YET SO LOUD WITHIN THE MIND OF THE INDIVIDUAL. SO QUIET, ALWAYS SO QUIET, UNLESS IT IS SHARED BY MUTUAL AND POLITE AGREEMENT. THUS, WHEN THE BOWS ARE SEEN, SO PROPER AND SO CORRECT, THERE IS A SPACE BETWEEN THE TWO THAT IS FILLED WITH EVERY RAY OF THE RISING SUN, EVERY SOUND OF THE SAMISAN. A POEM BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER
THIS 1950S PHOTO FROM WA7OEC...OUR THANKS TO BILL FOR PERMISSION TO POST HIS MANY PHOTOS FROM HIS TOUR OF DUTY IN THE U.S. AIR FORCE DURING THE 1950S.
THIS 1950S PHOTO FROM WA7OEC...OUR THANKS TO BILL FOR PERMISSION TO POST HIS MANY PHOTOS FROM HIS TOUR OF DUTY IN THE U.S. AIR FORCE DURING THE 1950S.
on his way to a train
THIS IMAGE MIGHT CAUSE ONE TO WONDER WHY THIS MAN IS IN A HURRY. IT MIGHT, AND THEN AGAIN, IT MIGHT NOT. ONLY THOSE WITH MORE THAN THE NORMAL AMOUNT OF CURIOSITY WILL REALLY GIVE A DAMN. PERHAPS HE NEEDS TO FIND A WC OR RESTROOM ASAP. PERHAPS NOT. WHATEVER, HE DID NOT LINGER LONG--HE IS ON HIS WAY. HE WANT OUT OF THE TOKYO METRO OR SUBWAY AS FAST AS HE CAN. NOW, I AM STARTING TO TELL THE STORY, SOMETHING I VOWED I WOULD NOT DO, DUE TO THE CURIOSITY FACTOR. IN A FEW SHORT MINUTES HE WILL EXIT INTO THE FRESH AIR OF THE LAST LIGHT OF DAY AND RUN LIKE HELL TO HIS APARTMENT BUILDING, A BUILDING NOBODY COULD FIND WITHOUT A DETAILED MAP. BUT ABE, LET'S ASSUME HIS NAME IS ABE, A FAIRLY COMMON NAME FOR A JAPANESE MALE. IF THERE WAS TIME, NOW WOULD BE THE TIME TO GET INTO FIRST NAMES OF JAPANESE MALES. BUT TIME IS RUNNING OUT. JUST AS ABE IS RUNNING TOWARD HIS SEMI-DELUXE 3RD STORY APARTMENT WITH A VIEW OF A SHUSHI SHOP AND AN ELDERLY WOMAN'S FOUR SQUARE FOOT OF SPACE SHE TENDS FOR BONSAI PLANTS. THE END OF THIS SHORT, SHORT STORY IS NEARING. AS ABE TURNS THE CORNER AND IS WITHIN FOUR FEET OF THE ENTRANCE TO HIS APT, HE IS SURPRISED TO FIND HIMSELF STARING INTO THE LARGE HEADLIGHTS OF A LOUD TRUCK RACING DOWN THE NARROW ALLEY. WITH A MOVE ABE LEARNED WHEN HE WAS SEVEN, HE ROTATED HIS BODY AND SLAMMED HIMSELF AGAINT THE CONCRETE BLOCKS OF HIS BLDG. AS THE UTILITY TRUCK PASSED, ABE HELD HIS BREATH. "THIS TOO WILL PASS" HE TOLD HIMSELF. AND IN THAT FROZEN MOMENT IN TIME, HE ASKED HIMSELF WHERE HE HAD LEARNED THAT THOUGHT. IT WAS NOT SOMETHING HE HAD LEARNED IN ZEN 101; IT WAS NOT PART OF HIS EXTENSIVE MATH COURSES. NO, HE REMEMBERED, IT WAS FROM A COMIC BOOK HE HAD PURCHASED FROM AN AMERICAN COLLECTOR WHO HAD BEEN GOING DOOR TO DOOR IN THE FALL OF 2007, A STRANGE SIGHT INDEED. ABE BROKE INTO A WIDE SMILE. THAT WAS FUNNY. HE REMEMBERED THE KID HAD RED HAIR AND SPOKE FLUENT JAPANESE. THAT WAS WHAT HAD INTRIQUED HIM. HE CHUCKLED. "WELL, I'LL BE DOGGONED," HE THOUGHT AS THE FUMES OF THE TRUCK'S EXHAUST TINGED HIS FACE. ONCE INSIDE THE CONFINES OF HIS APT, ABE CLICKED ONTO THE FOLLOWING WEBSITE:
http://worldzbestfotoz.blogspot.com/
Monday, March 16, 2009
GOODBYE
EARL LINGERS ON TARMAC BEFORE DEPARTING AS UNOFFICIAL PEACE ENVOY AND PSEUDO-DIPLOMAT TO NORTH KOREA. WILL HE BE ABLE TO TALK WITH DEAR LEADER? WILL HIS GIFT OF SPECIAL BRANDY BE APPRECIATED BY DEAR LEADER? ALTHOUGH HIS HOPES FOR AN ACTUAL FACE TO FACE CONVERSATION WITH THE DEAR LEADER SEEMED SLIM, THE FACT THAT STONEBRIDGE SPEAKS FLUENT KOREAN LANGUAGE (WHEN USING SIGNBOARDS AND PROMPTERS) COULD, HE SAID, MAKE A DIFFERENCE. MEANWHILE, INTERESTED FRIENDS AND FANS OF STONEBRIDGE AWAIT HIS LATEST NEWS. SO FAR, NOT SO MUCH AS A PEEP HAS BEEN HEARD.
GIFT FROM PATTY ANN IN 1965
A SHORT STORY ABOUT MY MORRIS MINOR, KANSAS, BEACHES, MOUNTAINS, POETRY AND VODKA
BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER
BEACHES ARE VERY MUCH LIKE MOUNTAINS in that they attract people from all other geographical areas; beaches attract people from the plains because there are no beaches on the plains. Kansas residents, for example, have only to drive five or six hours and they are in the Rocky Mountains. The beaches are still many miles in the distance. So, what is the magic attraction about beaches, mountains and Kansas? Kansas? Who mentioned Kansas?
Okay, I mentioned Kansas because I am tired of the flatest state in the United States always getting a bad rap because of its geographical features. What about political correctess here? Bashing Kansas is akin to bashing tall, skinny people in some ways. For example, if my Aunt Mary had told me to stay away from tall, skinny people because they were underfed and aloof, the two having both cause and effect upon their condition, there would be public censure of my beloved and departed aunt because of her predjudice against people of such stature. Actually, Aunt Mary once told me that some of her best friends were tall and skinny. Thus, when I confronted her on her demeaning comments about tall and skinny folks, she retorted that she meant no malice, that it was only her experience with a basketball player while attending Kansas University that caused her to adopt such judgment. May aunt Mary rest in peace; she married time and again and never really found true love.
Perhaps she should have gone to the beach or to Colorado Springs in search of romance. Afterall, can one expect to find the love of one's life in Quinter, Kansas, or Goodland, Kansas? And no, not even Hayes, Kansas.
They are, however, great little towns; I have spent some time in each one forementioned. My Morris Minor broke down in the middle of a winter night back in 1967 while I was headed for Pikes Peak to write poetry. What an experience. It was most unpleasant, explaining to my wife why in the hell I had gotten it in my mind to leave the home to go write poetry on a mountaintop. She was not a happy woman. It was, I believe, her first clue that she was in for a most trying marriage. Well, here it is 2009 and we are still together. I have yet to become famous as a poet and I no longer have my Morris Minor, two sad realities that could cause me to go on a binge if I still drank.
Thank God, I got rid of that nasty habit when the doctor told me not to expect to live to see him again if I continued trying to drink a fifth of Smirnoff every day. But about the beach. Actually, there is no one beach that is romantic, they are all romantic. No, the beaches during World War Two were not romantic and never will be to the men who fought for them. But for those who have walked the beach at Waikaikai hand in hand as man and wife, man and lover, lover and woman, or whatever combination thereof, beaches are romantic.
There are memories. Oh, yes, the sound of the surf, the thunderous roar of the breakers as they rush into the boulders along the shore. There is the infinite sound of the sea birds at all hours, even in the hours after midnight, one can hear the sound of the sand piper or some kind of waterfowl as it scurries along in the sand far from where you lay with your lover, embracing, making memories to remember some far off time in the future.
Yes, beaches are so romantic, so different than mountain tops, so different than Kansas.
BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER
BEACHES ARE VERY MUCH LIKE MOUNTAINS in that they attract people from all other geographical areas; beaches attract people from the plains because there are no beaches on the plains. Kansas residents, for example, have only to drive five or six hours and they are in the Rocky Mountains. The beaches are still many miles in the distance. So, what is the magic attraction about beaches, mountains and Kansas? Kansas? Who mentioned Kansas?
Okay, I mentioned Kansas because I am tired of the flatest state in the United States always getting a bad rap because of its geographical features. What about political correctess here? Bashing Kansas is akin to bashing tall, skinny people in some ways. For example, if my Aunt Mary had told me to stay away from tall, skinny people because they were underfed and aloof, the two having both cause and effect upon their condition, there would be public censure of my beloved and departed aunt because of her predjudice against people of such stature. Actually, Aunt Mary once told me that some of her best friends were tall and skinny. Thus, when I confronted her on her demeaning comments about tall and skinny folks, she retorted that she meant no malice, that it was only her experience with a basketball player while attending Kansas University that caused her to adopt such judgment. May aunt Mary rest in peace; she married time and again and never really found true love.
Perhaps she should have gone to the beach or to Colorado Springs in search of romance. Afterall, can one expect to find the love of one's life in Quinter, Kansas, or Goodland, Kansas? And no, not even Hayes, Kansas.
They are, however, great little towns; I have spent some time in each one forementioned. My Morris Minor broke down in the middle of a winter night back in 1967 while I was headed for Pikes Peak to write poetry. What an experience. It was most unpleasant, explaining to my wife why in the hell I had gotten it in my mind to leave the home to go write poetry on a mountaintop. She was not a happy woman. It was, I believe, her first clue that she was in for a most trying marriage. Well, here it is 2009 and we are still together. I have yet to become famous as a poet and I no longer have my Morris Minor, two sad realities that could cause me to go on a binge if I still drank.
Thank God, I got rid of that nasty habit when the doctor told me not to expect to live to see him again if I continued trying to drink a fifth of Smirnoff every day. But about the beach. Actually, there is no one beach that is romantic, they are all romantic. No, the beaches during World War Two were not romantic and never will be to the men who fought for them. But for those who have walked the beach at Waikaikai hand in hand as man and wife, man and lover, lover and woman, or whatever combination thereof, beaches are romantic.
There are memories. Oh, yes, the sound of the surf, the thunderous roar of the breakers as they rush into the boulders along the shore. There is the infinite sound of the sea birds at all hours, even in the hours after midnight, one can hear the sound of the sand piper or some kind of waterfowl as it scurries along in the sand far from where you lay with your lover, embracing, making memories to remember some far off time in the future.
Yes, beaches are so romantic, so different than mountain tops, so different than Kansas.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
subway ad with monocle
I FELL IN LOVE WITH A POSTER BY EARL R. STONEBRIDGE...
Yes, I know it sounds weird. I have been called weird before. But that is okay. Yesterday evening, on my way to my little place in Yamato, I noticed this woman starring at me. It was a burning kind of look. I looked up and saw the poster you see. Okay, so it was just a feeling. Later, after I was home and painting, I heard a soft whisper outside my window. It was a feminine voice. I do not understand too much Japanese, but enough that I hurried to the door and bade the young woman inside. She was so very quiet at first. I looked at her and suddenly realized it was the young woman in the advertising poster on the train. What the hell? Oh, wow, what the hell? Hell, yes! I grew weak and leaned on the door jam. She smiled and told me to "not to be alarmed Earl-san, all is okay." I survived the shock and felt a wave of electric energy entering my mind and soul. I offered her a sake. She drank with a smile. I felt a wave of electric energy reinvigorate my mind, soul and then my body. Sake affects me positively. But wait! How could she know where to find me? It was her poster, not her. I mean, do you follow my drift?
I was off-guard for a minute, so excited by her presence I missed the essence of how she found out who I was and where I lived. Did I want to appear stupid? Did I want to act stupid? How should I ask her such a question. Her eyes were so full of warmth. Why should I worry about how she found me and all of the complex intelligence of that nature. No, why not assume it was some kind of electronic monitoring system. Let me think, she might haved posted a video cam behind an eye and scoured my sketchbook looking for a contact, a number, a clue to who I was and where I lived.
"You think too much," she whispered. I did not take the train the following day.
Yes, I know it sounds weird. I have been called weird before. But that is okay. Yesterday evening, on my way to my little place in Yamato, I noticed this woman starring at me. It was a burning kind of look. I looked up and saw the poster you see. Okay, so it was just a feeling. Later, after I was home and painting, I heard a soft whisper outside my window. It was a feminine voice. I do not understand too much Japanese, but enough that I hurried to the door and bade the young woman inside. She was so very quiet at first. I looked at her and suddenly realized it was the young woman in the advertising poster on the train. What the hell? Oh, wow, what the hell? Hell, yes! I grew weak and leaned on the door jam. She smiled and told me to "not to be alarmed Earl-san, all is okay." I survived the shock and felt a wave of electric energy entering my mind and soul. I offered her a sake. She drank with a smile. I felt a wave of electric energy reinvigorate my mind, soul and then my body. Sake affects me positively. But wait! How could she know where to find me? It was her poster, not her. I mean, do you follow my drift?
I was off-guard for a minute, so excited by her presence I missed the essence of how she found out who I was and where I lived. Did I want to appear stupid? Did I want to act stupid? How should I ask her such a question. Her eyes were so full of warmth. Why should I worry about how she found me and all of the complex intelligence of that nature. No, why not assume it was some kind of electronic monitoring system. Let me think, she might haved posted a video cam behind an eye and scoured my sketchbook looking for a contact, a number, a clue to who I was and where I lived.
"You think too much," she whispered. I did not take the train the following day.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Spooky Operation
THE SPOOKY OPERATION
photo by Missiz Beasley...fiction by Earl R. Stonebridge
It was supposed to be a simple operation, really. I recall that the face above me was not the friendly face of old Doctor Brown, the family doctor for years. When I started to protest, I felt hands holding me down, restraining me from leaping up and demanding to know what was happening. As I drifted off into a weak netherland, I vaguely remember hearing several of those in the cold operating room chuckling. I recall a man with a strange accent saying, something about training women to perform battlefield surgery in order to preserve certain organs. That was the moment when I felt a thin and very sharp pain. When I awoke a few hours later, I found myself in an austere and plain room. From my bed, I could see what looked like the familiar onion-shaped domes and spires of a famous chuch in Moscow....
photo by Missiz Beasley...fiction by Earl R. Stonebridge
It was supposed to be a simple operation, really. I recall that the face above me was not the friendly face of old Doctor Brown, the family doctor for years. When I started to protest, I felt hands holding me down, restraining me from leaping up and demanding to know what was happening. As I drifted off into a weak netherland, I vaguely remember hearing several of those in the cold operating room chuckling. I recall a man with a strange accent saying, something about training women to perform battlefield surgery in order to preserve certain organs. That was the moment when I felt a thin and very sharp pain. When I awoke a few hours later, I found myself in an austere and plain room. From my bed, I could see what looked like the familiar onion-shaped domes and spires of a famous chuch in Moscow....
More Doors
FORESHADOW OF A DAY OF INFAMY BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER
When I saw this photo, I sensed a bit of mystery about it. But perhaps there is no mystery lurking behind the door, but only several cats who will be glad you are knocking on the door.. However, for the purpose of creating a short story based on my first impression of this photo, I have used this photo (PHOTO BY LORNA IS) to illustrate a short piece of fiction. I will call it FORESHADOW OF A DAY OF INFAMY
Let the story begin: you are somewhere in the Ozarks and out of gas. There are no other homes in view and it is almost dark, twilight time. (Add music from Twilight Zone here and pan camera on your eyes as you squint to see if you can identify the figure inside the door. It is not a person. No, it is much larger and has what a appears to be four legs).
You are a trifle anxious and decide not to tarry, but find another house to seek help. There is suddenly a noise behind you. You turn and see two Dobermans standing about a yard away. You are now between moments.of decision. As you concentrate your energy on one of sevral decisions, you notice what looks like a pile of old letters that have been delivered. They are in a box beneath the mail box and some are faded.
You notice one postcard with tropical flowers; it has a cancelled red U.S.Air Mail stamp in the upper right corner. You stand trembling and read the message. You read the postmark: 2 December 1941-- Honolulu Terr: of Hawaii:
"Dear Mother, we arrived yesterday. Will spend a few days having fun here on the famous Waikaiki Beach and see some native dancers throwing fire pins, or should I say, juggling them. Everyone says it is quite a show. You should have seen the necklace of flowers they gave us guys, and then we will take a short flight on over to our new duty station on Ford Island . Most people call it Pearl Harbor. Take care, Mother dear and watch over the old dog. I hope all is well with you. Wish you were here."
When I saw this photo, I sensed a bit of mystery about it. But perhaps there is no mystery lurking behind the door, but only several cats who will be glad you are knocking on the door.. However, for the purpose of creating a short story based on my first impression of this photo, I have used this photo (PHOTO BY LORNA IS) to illustrate a short piece of fiction. I will call it FORESHADOW OF A DAY OF INFAMY
Let the story begin: you are somewhere in the Ozarks and out of gas. There are no other homes in view and it is almost dark, twilight time. (Add music from Twilight Zone here and pan camera on your eyes as you squint to see if you can identify the figure inside the door. It is not a person. No, it is much larger and has what a appears to be four legs).
You are a trifle anxious and decide not to tarry, but find another house to seek help. There is suddenly a noise behind you. You turn and see two Dobermans standing about a yard away. You are now between moments.of decision. As you concentrate your energy on one of sevral decisions, you notice what looks like a pile of old letters that have been delivered. They are in a box beneath the mail box and some are faded.
You notice one postcard with tropical flowers; it has a cancelled red U.S.Air Mail stamp in the upper right corner. You stand trembling and read the message. You read the postmark: 2 December 1941-- Honolulu Terr: of Hawaii:
"Dear Mother, we arrived yesterday. Will spend a few days having fun here on the famous Waikaiki Beach and see some native dancers throwing fire pins, or should I say, juggling them. Everyone says it is quite a show. You should have seen the necklace of flowers they gave us guys, and then we will take a short flight on over to our new duty station on Ford Island . Most people call it Pearl Harbor. Take care, Mother dear and watch over the old dog. I hope all is well with you. Wish you were here."
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
`11x8
YES, THERE IS SPOOKY AND SCARRY STORY THAT ACCOMPANIES THIS PHOTO. WATCH FOR IT APPEAR SOON. THANKS TO Jodi Krautkramer FOR PERMITTING USE OF THIS PHOTO.......
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Mud Wrestling Creatures
WATCH FOR OUR SOON TO APPEAR "HISTORY OF MUD WRESTLING IN AMERICA" IS THIS A COOL PHOTO OR WHAT?"
Saturday, March 7, 2009
MORE MUD WRESTLING: DOWN AND DIRTY
MUD WRESTLING ORIGINATED IN KANSAS CITY IN APRIL OF 1950, THE YEAR OF THE BIG FLOOD. AS THE STORY GOES, TWO YOUNG WOMEN, IDA MAY SMITH (not real last name) AND BETTY JEAN BROWN (not real last name) were running from parking lot of a honky tonk called the Travelux on 24 Highway in the old area called the inner city (a term used for unincorporated areas of Jackson County at that time). To be precise, the old Travelux was on the north side of 24 highway about one quarter mile west of Wilson Road and Brookside, an area near the Mt Washington Cementery, still in operation. To be even more detailed, the Travelux was on the old trolley line that ran from Fairmount to Downtown Kansas City, Missouri. At that time in Kansas City area history, there was no karioke events in that area, just low-down country and western music. One might have heard songs current then, songs by Hank Williams like "Your Cheating Heart" and "My son calls another man Daddy," real emotionally inspired tunes. There was rain coming down and the two women were making a run for the door of the Travelux. According to rumors, both women were hurrying to meet a soldier home on leave from Korea. His name was Jim Smith (not real last name). Ida Mae had driven a 38 Ford coupe to the Traveluxe; Betty Jean had arrived in her ex-husband's 1937 Terraplane. As the story goes, during the race to the door, Ida Mae made a remark about Betty Jean's automobile. Remember, Betty Jean was the one with the Terraplane. The Terraplane was later to become a Hudson but not at that time. Exactly what Ida Mae said is not known; rumor has it that the remark was less than complimentary about the design of the auto. Hot headed and said to have been an only child before she turned 21, Betty Jean slapped Ida Mae's face. That was, according to those still alive for years after the event almost passed into the dark and dim anals of history, "when all hell broke loose." Before the two finally got into the Traveluxe to get liquid nourishment and clean up, they had drawn quite a crowd of spectators, mostly men, except for Bertha, a barmaid. The two women cursed, spat, slapped, kicked and behaved in a manner that would not have been befitting to any women in that period of time. When it all ended, the two women realized that during their combatant activity, Jim Smith had hurried away in his father's Oldsmobile. He would later return from Korea, a decorated veteran and purchase a new Chevy Deluxe from Rost Chevrolet in Fairmount. Thus, this is the true and authentic tale about the origins of mud wrestling. By R.L. Huffstutter
IT'S TOO LATE TO LOOK FOR VAN GOGH'S EAR
IT'S TOO LATE TO LOOK FOR VAN GOGH'S EAR...
By Robert L. Huffstutter
You know it's time to start painting again when you begin seeing images with black lines around them, waiting for you to add color to make them complete. Is it a primal desire or only a wish we were young enough to get out the crayons and start in on an already created image in outline form of a mouse or a pirate, making the hat a solid purple and the mouse a bright pink instead of the standard dull gray or brown? Yes. Yes to all of the questions about art. Art is part of our primordial psyche. If we were created in the image of our Creator, is it not only natural for us to want to create an image of something our Creator created? There, now that I have explained and outlined the complete history of portrait painting, landscape painting, nature painting and other related scapes, there will be someone who will ask about cartoons or religious scapes. That's the way it was in Art 101 then...and it remains the same today. Professor Knowitall, where do cartoons fit into this concise little Judeao-Christian history of art you are disseminating?"Shut up and go sit at the back of the class," I might think, but of course I won't. It is a legitimate question that can be answered with brevity. "It is called humor, Aaron, okay? You know, you probably watched enough cartoons on Saturday mornings between the ages of two to twelve, however, that you might have used up all your humor."Not a good thing to say to anyone, really, but do we ever run out of humor? Can we laugh too much? As I ponder this question, I look at the headlines and realize in an instant that we are living in a time that will not be remembered as the "laughing generation." And that's too bad. Bombs are not funny; wars are not funny. Crimes are absent of all humor. Maybe we need to laugh more. We might choose to laugh at the fuss the government is making over Washington's madam of erotic fantasy escorts service. If the men who used those services needed to get their minds off of demolition through aircraft collisions into buildings and mass murder, perhaps there was a shortage of escorts.building blown up by those who had no sense of humor; maybe these men and women who dialed up a fantasy just needed to escape for awhile. Sure, they could have prayed, but not everyone finds solace in prayer; sure, they could have gone to a comedy, but maybe they needed something more intense than light chuckles. So, why is the government so determined to go after the madam when they could be exerting the same energy in pursuing mad men? How did I get from coloring books to alleged prostitution in so short a time? I am a victim of my own mind, absorbing too much of the world around me. I should have been born in the mid 1800s, lived on the left bank and been a friend of Vincent Van Gogh. But he was rumored to have been a madman, so art might not be the subject to study afterall.
Dreamy
THIS IS NOT EXACTLY A SHORT STORY, BUT IT IS SOMETHING ONE COULD WRITE ABOUT IN THAT ITS BEAUTY IS SO VERY UNIQUE AND UNUSUAL. IT IS NOW POSTED IN THREE OF OUR ONLINE JOURNALS, BLOGABOUTBIKINIS, ART PHOTOS, AND THE WORLDZBESTFOTOZ....IT IS ONE GREAT IMAGE.
BIKINIS ARE BEAUTIFUL, BUT FOR THE MOMENT, CONCENTRATE ON THE BEAUTY OF THIS FLORAL MASTERPIECE. THE PHOTOGRAPHER MENTIONED HE DID NOT KNOW THE NAME OF IT AND I FORGOT TO ASK HIM WHERE HE LOCATED IT. PERHAPS HE WILL RESPOND. OR IF THERE ARE FLORISTS ONLINE WITH THE ANSWER, PLEASE FURNISH SOME INFORMATION ABOUT THIS MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER. NOW, ABOUT THE BIKINIS: THE COLORS AND THE DESIGN OF THIS FLOWER COULD BE AN INSPIRATION FOR A NEW FASHION SENSATION IN MATERIAL. NOTE THE FEATHERY PETALS AT THE LOWER PORTION; OBSERVE WHAT APPEARS TO BE PINE OR FIR NEEDLES IN THE BACKGROUND. WOULD THEY BE A BIT PIERCING? WOULD THE FACT THE AN EVERGREEN IS IN THE IMAGE MAKE THE CLIMATE TOO COOL FOR A BIKINI SHOT? WOULD THE COLD WEATHER CAUSE THE MODEL TO SHIVER A BIT? IT IS AMAZING HOW MUCH CAN BE SAID ABOUT ONE IMAGE. THANKS TO SWEDE FOR TODAY'S CONVERSATION PIECE. POSTED BY THE EDITOR FOR ITS EXCELLENCE AND BEAUTY.
BIKINIS ARE BEAUTIFUL, BUT FOR THE MOMENT, CONCENTRATE ON THE BEAUTY OF THIS FLORAL MASTERPIECE. THE PHOTOGRAPHER MENTIONED HE DID NOT KNOW THE NAME OF IT AND I FORGOT TO ASK HIM WHERE HE LOCATED IT. PERHAPS HE WILL RESPOND. OR IF THERE ARE FLORISTS ONLINE WITH THE ANSWER, PLEASE FURNISH SOME INFORMATION ABOUT THIS MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER. NOW, ABOUT THE BIKINIS: THE COLORS AND THE DESIGN OF THIS FLOWER COULD BE AN INSPIRATION FOR A NEW FASHION SENSATION IN MATERIAL. NOTE THE FEATHERY PETALS AT THE LOWER PORTION; OBSERVE WHAT APPEARS TO BE PINE OR FIR NEEDLES IN THE BACKGROUND. WOULD THEY BE A BIT PIERCING? WOULD THE FACT THE AN EVERGREEN IS IN THE IMAGE MAKE THE CLIMATE TOO COOL FOR A BIKINI SHOT? WOULD THE COLD WEATHER CAUSE THE MODEL TO SHIVER A BIT? IT IS AMAZING HOW MUCH CAN BE SAID ABOUT ONE IMAGE. THANKS TO SWEDE FOR TODAY'S CONVERSATION PIECE. POSTED BY THE EDITOR FOR ITS EXCELLENCE AND BEAUTY.
Friday, March 6, 2009
MORE MUD WRESTLING: DOWN AND DIRTY
MUD WRESTLING ORIGINATED IN KANSAS CITY IN APRIL OF 1950, THE YEAR OF THE BIG FLOOD. AS THE STORY GOES, TWO YOUNG WOMEN, IDA MAY SMITH (not real last name) AND BETTY JEAN BROWN (not real last name) were running from parking lot of a honky tonk called the Travelux on 24 Highway in the old area called the inner city (a term used for unincorporated areas of Jackson County at that time). To be precise, the old Travelux was on the north side of 24 highway about one quarter mile west of Wilson Road and Brookside, an area near the Mt Washington Cementery, still in operation. To be even more detailed, the Travelux was on the old trolley line that ran from Fairmount to Downtown Kansas City, Missouri. At that time in Kansas City area history, there was no karioke events in that area, just low-down country and western music. One might have heard songs current then, songs by Hank Williams like "Your Cheating Heart" and "My son calls another man Daddy," real emotionally inspired tunes. There was rain coming down and the two women were making a run for the door of the Travelux. According to rumors, both women were hurrying to meet a soldier home on leave from Korea. His name was Jim Smith (not real last name). Ida Mae had driven a 38 Ford coupe to the Traveluxe; Betty Jean had arrived in her ex-husband's 1937 Terraplane. As the story goes, during the race to the door, Ida Mae made a remark about Betty Jean's automobile. Remember, Betty Jean was the one with the Terraplane. The Terraplane was later to become a Hudson but not at that time. Exactly what Ida Mae said is not known; rumor has it that the remark was less than complimentary about the design of the auto. Hot headed and said to have been an only child before she turned 21, Betty Jean slapped Ida Mae's face. That was, according to those still alive for years after the event almost passed into the dark and dim anals of history, "when all hell broke loose." Before the two finally got into the Traveluxe to get liquid nourishment and clean up, they had drawn quite a crowd of spectators, mostly men, except for Bertha, a barmaid. The two women cursed, spat, slapped, kicked and behaved in a manner that would not have been befitting to any women in that period of time. When it all ended, the two women realized that during their combatant activity, Jim Smith had hurried away in his father's Oldsmobile. He would later return from Korea, a decorated veteran and purchase a new Chevy Deluxe from Rost Chevrolet in Fairmount. Thus, this is the true and authentic tale about the origins of mud wrestling. By R.L. Huffstutter
Monday, March 2, 2009
DO YOU THINK THERE REALLY IS A CRISIS IN AMERICA?
ATTENTION SHORT STORY WRITERS
ONE CAN USE THIS PHOTO AND THE TEXT BELOW FOR A WRITING PROJECT. IF YOU ARE A WRITER, THIS IS A SUBJECT THAT MIGHT CREAT A SCENARIO FOR A CONTEMPORARY SHORT STORY. YOU ARE WELCOME TO USE THIS, BUT PLEASE SEND ME A COPY AND A CREDIT FOR THE SUBJECT PLOT. CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE IS MY POLICY. SO YOU MIGHT WANT TO MENT SOME POLITICAL NAMES AS INSPIRATION FOR WHAT MIGHT BE A PRIZE-WINNING SHORT STORY, ONE THAT WILL INCREASE IN SORROW AS IT UNFOLDS. GO FOR IT. ROB.'''
"HONEY, DO YOU REALLY THINK WE SHOULD TRY AND RAISE A FAMILY IN AMERICA WITH THE SEVERE CRISIS WE ARE SUFFERING? I HEAR ABOUT THIS EVERY MOMENT OF THE DAY. LIKE THE GUYS DOWN AT THE PLANT ARE TALKING ABOUT THIS BIG CRISIS. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, IT'S THE WHOLE THING ABOUT CLEAN FUEL, MONEY, THE GOVERNMENT, THE MONEY MARKET, THE SCAMS THAT WENT ON AND ON WITHOUT ANYBODY DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT...," HE SAID. THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER FOR A FEW MINUTES.
"YES, HONEY, I KNOW. THERE IS SOMETHING I HAVE BEEN WANTING TO TELL YOU. THOSE TESTS CAME BACK. IT LOOKS LIKE WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TWINS," A LONG SILENT PAUSE. "HONEY, YOU DO THINK WE CAN AFFORD TO HAVE A FAMILY DON'T YOU? WELL, DON'T YOU? PLEASE, PLEASE SAY SOMETHING," SHE CONTINUED, HER VOICE TRAILING INTO A WHISPER
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