A Spooky Lead Up To Halloween

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One spring morning, many decades ago, my Mom had handed me an edition of our local newspaper neatly folded to “frame” an obituary. She’d been wondering if the deceased had been a college buddy of mine.

The deceased’s name certainly was common enough so it could’ve been someone else… but… as I began to read, I could sense my eyes widening and jaw dropping. As surreal as this all was, the in-print particulars had left no “i” undotted; no “t” uncrossed.

Indeed, this was the same guy… we had been enrolled in the same broadcasting courses, worked together in the recording studio and eventually earned our degrees. And now… there I was reading the two paragraph final chapter to his all too short life. Short story even shorter… while my 27-year-young photographer friend was on a photo shoot assignment up in Canada, he had suffered a fatal heart attack.

Six torn off calendar pages later… in the days leading up to Halloween no less… there I was browsing, from A to Z, through a mall record store’s vinyl LP bins near closing time… so completely engrossed in reading liner notes I had barely noticed in my peripheral vision that someone was approaching me.

As it turned out, he was far from being just another nameless customer. His cheerful “Hi Tom!” amply proved that.

OMG… that oh so familiar, distinctive voice. It hadn’t been all that long ago when I had routinely heard it in my studio headphones. There was no denying who had just spoken, YET, all my sensibilities told me this could not possibly be happening. Cautiously glancing upward and leftward there, right before my very eyes, stood my reported dead friend… in the flesh?

Under the circumstances, the one and only thing I could possibly blurt out was, “You’re supposed to be dead!”

For a fleeting moment, I had wondered if I might’ve just joined him “on the other side”. I had read of near-death experience survivors who’ve unfailingly reported…

  • Stage One: Floating upward, out of body experiences.
  • Stage Two: Seeing a brilliant, white light at the end of a long, dark tunnel
  • Stage Three: Glorious, out of this world, Heavenly family/friend reunions.

Yet, my brief downward glance confirmed that my feet were still firmly grounded; that no EMTs were frantically trying to resuscitate my sprawled out on the carpet, lifeless body. No tunnel vision, either. Even the ambient lighting had never gone beyond that provided by the overhead, fluorescent fixtures. So, if I had, indeed, just died… just how, pray tell, had I managed to skip over the preliminaries… to arrive at Stage Three?

I could sense the puzzled, still startled look, frozen on my own face. My friend almost seemed to be enjoying how he was spooking me out… could not begin to contain his wide grin and chuckling. But this had been so typical of his sense of humor and, on this occasion, he still had his comedic sense of timing down pat. Well, eventually, he realized it was time to tell me all about how he had “died”.

Indeed… there had been a heart attack… BUT the person who had actually suffered it was the guy who had stolen his wallet. Since New York driver’s licenses of that era had been issued sans photo, the Canadian authorities only had a minimal physical description… so generic it could’ve easily described tens of thousands of men. The discovery that he was still alive had come far too late to “kill” his death notice.

As we parted company that evening, it had been our warm, 98.6-degree, firm handshake, which, ultimately, had proven that no ghostly apparition was he!

As I drove home… alternately glancing between the the nearly deserted road and crescent moon breaking through the clouds on the western horizon… I could not help but mull over all that had happened at the mall. I knew it would take some time for me to more fully shake those still lingering, unsettled feelings.

Well, the good part of this near death experience was neither my friend nor I had to even come close to dying to experience it… and while he hadn’t actually tricked his way out of death, he did get the treat of reading his own obituary.

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Original WordPress
Posting Timestamp:
07/11/2016 @19:56

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Six Sax Players Sans Sox

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How strange for Six Sex starved Sax players
to be spurned; denied strip joint ingress; just
because their fashion statement is sans Sox!
That Sux since each onstage lass wears less.

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Fortune Cookie Blog: Pitfall

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When compassionate souls extend unexpected, complimentary words:
The good response from the beneficiary is the rapid show of gratitude.
The best response: ensure benefactors feel no pressure to praise anew.
In other words, do all you can to avoid the bottomless pit of need pitfall!

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Fortune Cookie Blog: To Serve Man*

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Bad News: Global pandemic analysts’ reports warn us of TWO sickening
variants decidedly deadlier than CoronavirusClassic; even CoronaDelta!
[1] Headless losers, who flat-out refuse to heed mask-up / vax-up advice.
[2] Unkind humankind’s unwillingness to unite against a common enemy.
Good News: Carnivorous extraterrestrial spacefarers have yet to find us?

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* Fans of Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone
will already understand this headline.
If that ain’t you, read all about it here

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Fleshing & Flushing Out Roy G. Biv

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Once upon a time…

A not in the pink, manifestly Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue / Indigo, (no shrinking) Violet magician trotted out his disgusting act; an insufferably long sequence of unsavory tricks (running the full gamut of dirty – dirtier – dirtiest).

PRESTO CHANGE-O, he had rendered his captive audience of critics and cynics livid Red with justifiable, palpable anger. He had unforgivably and (likely) unalterably changed, forevermore, an entire nation and world; for the worst.

The End?

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To better flesh and flush out Roy G. Biv…

Once upon a time…

An (un-pink) unhealthy in mind and body, roly-poly magician, Roy G. Biv (stage name MAGA the UnMagnivicent), [1] donned his costume garnished with the subversive, radical right’s flamboyant, defiant (red) political stripe, [2] uglied up his mug with lurid (orange) clown make-up and [3] waddled onto the world stage to act out in a cowardly (yellow) and callow (green) manner.

Absolutely unable to own up to the political downfall of his own making, he experienced exhausting episodes of (blue / indigo) depression. Rather than seeking the shrinks he so desperately needed, he resorted to venting; snorting out his in-yer-face (un-violet) seething rage. In a decidedly vengeance seeking mood, he ceaselessly sought out the limelight to perform an unbearable, interminable series of horrifying tricks.

PRESTO CHANGE-O, that wretched trickster’s overall overkill stage presence and sky high overhead / cost overruns, respectively, spilt red hot bodily blood and ice cold budgetary red ink; thereby angering and devastating all critical thinking members of our human family.

The End?

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Ghost Story

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It went down late October; eve of holiday Hallow
Within weed field, forgotten; infertile; fallow
Dense devotees danced; their visages sallow
Backlit by the flickering, wick centered tallow

This coven raised praise, undying, to false deity callow
With countenance of orange; physique of marshmallow
Alas, rhyme ends abruptly; bard got hung from their gallows
Buried half meter deep; within his grave shallow

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Short Story: Misdirected Indignation

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Ironic how an insane, infantile individual’s invention / Big Lie re rigged
elections, inspired intolerant, insolent individuals to Incite Insurrection,
YET, the insightful, incisive, incontrovertible Truth re global warming &
the global pandemic can only Inculcate Indifference, Indolence & Inertia.

The End?

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A Fleeting Feeling of Normalcy

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Were this post’s featured motorcyclist any more punctual, the white lab coated crowd could handily synchronize their atomic clocks.

Hmm, not a bad post lead-off / teaser. Anyway…

For approximately two years (throughout Michigan’s temperate seasons) and promptly at 3:25 each M-F early morn, this cyclist has been habitually tooling down the two lane major thoroughfare, which runs past my humble abode; had been idled, for a spell, by (what else) the pandemic; but, of late, has roared back to life.

Naturally, the motivation behind such excursions is unclear; but, factoring in the weekdays only schedule and the S to N heading (away from my economically depressed hamlet toward our neighboring, land of opportunity community) it’s reasonable to conclude that remaining gainfully employed figures into the big picture. Well, either that or we’re discussing someone ISO the liberating feelings that, perhaps, only the open road can offer?

Yeah, by now, you may be asking, “Eh, so what? WTF is the big deal?”

Well, this does become a big deal to this social isolating, gone stir crazy guy. I mean, even the slightest inkling of pre-pandemic normalcy can trigger a glimmer of hope for the better days that have got to be out there. Somewhere? Some way? Someday? Someday soon?

More importantly, it is reassuring to know that this biker is amongst the survivors of humankind’s still raging health crisis.

And yes, I do care about the well-being of folks I’ve never met.

Beyond that?

While I’d never ask you to commit to this…

Perhaps, recall this feeling abandoned blogger whenever a motorcyclist roars past your home in the wee hours.

Just knowing that someone out there may be doing so is comforting, too.

Thanks for indulging me…
Do take care and…
Be you vaxxed or not…

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Fortune Cookie Blog: Key F-Words

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The society which Flourishes sits atop a rock solid Foundation
of mutual respect; Flounders whenever reputable Folks aren’t
afforded the respect they have earned; wind up marginalized
by the very society they Fervently hope to renovate/perpetuate.
Champions of Humanity like US Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez,
Dr. Anthony Fauci, Ms. Greta Thunberg & Ms. Emma Gonzalez*

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* Memo from the Cookie Maker: Obviously, this list is
mere sampling. This foursome’s vital to survival causes:

AOC: human rights, racial /gender equality and freedom
Fauci: public health / ending Covid-19 and the pandemic
Thunberg: reversing climate change to save planet Earth
Gonzalez; gun control to end all school house massacres

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Realities and Possibilities

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As dusk’s drapes descend; close
A raised glass toast to propose
May our numbered tomorrows
Be unencumbered by sorrows
Brimmed with grandeur; a’glowin’
Trimmed with love, peace; freely flowin’

When “numbered” comes down to one
Toast that, too, once day is done
Salute kind mortals who perish
Honor life’s moments they cherish
Ponder their dust now windblown
Up to the heavens unknown

Where might souls reappear?
Swathed by elements’ sphere?
Eternity enshrouded; with our maker near?
Or doth this transcend; taught tenets, mere?
Nonsense the senses; all we smell / taste / touch / see / hear?
Beyond our grasp; we behold the untold frontier?

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