Flying On The Ground At Night In a Small Town Cemetary Is Not Scary

It was a daylit night, the clouds were stuck in a tree at the cemetery war memorial. The light was high yet shone all the way to the grass at my feet. Under my eyes, over my head. Fast above, so fast the sky had no time to think. There was a smell of night damp and fallen rain, not just summer but forever. I saw the tree outlined with sharp shape against the midnight, each branch held its angle, and there was light at every edge. Nothing strange, nothing out of place, all together there. It held me in a cold and warm embrace with smooth snagged sticky space and nothing strange, nothing out of place. Then the clouds were high, so high above the moon with its daylit night, and they flew, not like but with the wind. This was the vantage point to see them all together, over and under, beneath the ground the dead, around the sky the light, against the tree the life. Nothing strange, nothing out of place. My feet were on the ground, my head was attached, my eyes above my head. There was nothing to do, nothing to think, nothing to say, nowhere to go. All together there, it was. It still is.

Monkey's Night Out

Hey! Just got back form the Oscars. Did you guys know the orchestra was live? I didn't even see them! Anyway, I'm having trouble focusing after the sparkly gowns with sparkly backdrops... I even took a little tumble trying to find my seat. Of course I wasn't invited, I was hanging out in the car wash and got stuck under a black SUV. I was only trying to clean up a bit on the cheap...  Anyway, next thing I know a valet tossed me the keys and told me to park it in the VIP section. Well, I'm a sucker for red carpets - they remind me of raw meat. One thing led to another and I ended up 26 rows behind Jack Nicholson. That guy is awesome. He has a cologne very close to 80 proof Kentucky Bourbon, unmistakable even at a distance.
I had a good time and met some real animals there, mostly at the VIP bar. They were all talking about movies and boring stuff like that, but I got some free drinks. The bartender thought I was Danny Devito. It was fun for awhile but I had to get out of there after some producer offered me a job driving his dog to school. The money was crazy good, but I couldn't do it. A respectable dog I could maybe handle for a week or two, but this was a chihuahua working on a law degree. I could've drowned him in a teacup. I'll never understand pets, let alone ones with aspirations. All I know is there's hot water at the car wash, good booze at the Oscars and whoever Danny Devito is, he should get some new friends.

The Bitter Transformed Existentialist

You painted me into the corner cupboard.  Of course it was dark, and the saucers blocked your view, even after you took them out and piled them one on top without any sense of size order. It is better to go from large to small but this is never taught as it is not deemed a useful skill in getting ahead.  Algebra might have helped you had this been a serious endeavor, not so much for stacking the small plates, but for calculating the outcome of painting in the dark. That's where I was, for all you cared.
Geometry maybe more applicable, or am I being too kind? Just a simple sense of 1-2-3, or more precisely, what-the-hell. Did the cupboard shelf need painting or were you just obsessing over the lack of visible purpose in your life? I think we all know the answer to that, so why bother with an analysis. The outcome is clear. You painted me into the corner cupboard and there I will remain. Your friend until the next time I creep into your cup when you least expect it.

Kevin Ayers 1944 - 2013

Kevin Ayers was one of those people who should pass away in the night, asleep, perhaps dreaming of sub-tropical locales and women laden with ripe bananas. Rest in peace...

What Have I Drank?

Be forewarned, this tale is sordid and downright unsavory.  There is a bar in our 'hood that is very close to our hearts, especially for its affordability and lack of a sign on the building. It also has a cool name (something defined as a "prolonged series of retaliatory, vengeful, or hostile acts") Yet, it is a very friendly place frequented by hip girls & boys and the guy who founded Voodoo Doughnut, who has a fantastic collection of trilbys.

This afternoon, being a Friday and feeling a bit Happy Hourish, we rolled in and sat up at the bar. Cocktails were an astonishing bargain at $3.50, so I inquired as to the brand of house Whiskey.  On this occasion I was taken aback at the answer: McCormicks.  My initial thought was a mashup of fish restaurant and something vaguely Scottish, which I quickly put aside and ordered straight on the rocks. The adorable barperson assured me it had a "vanilla finish" which it indeed had.  It finished like a final shellac on a yacht named after a very frugal relative wearing rather too much perfume. I had another. The final tab came to less than a bowl of our cat's best kibble, so I felt quite pleased with myself. Of course it was all an illusion... as most of the best things in life are.

After returning home, I felt compelled to find out more about this ridiculous sort of Bourbon. I had visions of sipping at home at less than the price of bottled water, laughing at the likes of Makers Mark and Knob Creek. I quickly found the entire history of the distillery documented on the ever -reliable Wikipedia. I felt a bit unsettled at the discovery that the distillery was located in the upper reaches of Missouri - a most unlikely place to manufacture Bourbon. It appears the place was established there for the natural Limestone springs running underground. Furthermore, it is the nation's oldest distillery due to the fact that it marketed its product as "medicine" throughout prohibition. This is a very savvy Whiskey, with a hint of lawlessness and perhaps a slightly illegal aftertaste. 

The final chapter in this lengthy history of distillery (which also features a popular vodka called "Glazed Doughnut") almost caused a complete state of sobriety. Rather than paraphrase, I am including this classic bit of history so that no one will be tempted to order this tipple at any price. You can thank me later by buying me a Bourbon made anywhere south of the Ohio river. Cheers!

1996 Export Investigation

From 1996 to 1999, the company sold nearly five million gallons of disguised grain alcohol to a freight forwarder operated by a Russian immigrant for eventual smuggling into Russia. The shipper was suspected of having ties to some of the most powerful mob clans in Russia. Other distillers, brokers, and shippers around the United States were also reported to have been under investigation by U.S. authorities. McCormick was charged and pled guilty to a misdemeanor count of making a false entry in regulatory documents, in which it identified the alcohol as non-drinkable products such as industrial cleaning solutions, and it agreed to pay $2 million in penalties and $1 million in reparations paid to the government of Ukraine, and accepted a one-week suspension of its license.

Royston Montgomery Pemberton

Hello most forthrightly! That is, I'm introducing myself, as it were... if you catch the drift I'm leaning toward, and I most sincerely hope that you do. My name is as listed in the above title, but you can call me Roy. Monty if you prefer, but in truth - Pemberton is the name ascribed me when the feet hit the floor, which I assure you happens when I am awaken, usually daily. My reason for addressing this forum, while not entirely clear to me since I only recently arose from a rather ambitious nap, I can only guess is for a good cause. What?  Yes, well I will do my best. Always aim to please you know!
In truth, things have been topsy and all around out-of-the norm for my sort of breed. The cold requires that I spend a sometimes exhausting amount of time indoors and off the hunt, so to speak. The fire warms the hearth where I am often found in deep contemplation and, in truth, much needed recovery, and I take great comfort in using this time to, uh, catch up on my rest.  One can only do as one must, and that is what I do when I am sleeping.
Well! It's been tremendously pleasant introducing myself under difficult circumstances, considering the evening meal is still an hour off. I will excuse myself now and bid you all a good evening as I must prepare and conserve my energy for the coming repast. Sleep well and dream of foxes. Goodbye!