CAFE DE BLOG

Sarasota FL This land of the first people, the native Indians, was called Sarasota. Today the city dwellers call it “Paradise.” It is a cruel joke flaunted by the city of wannabes  and social climbers, who clambering to get their mug shots, in glossy magazines. With all the greed, avarice and under handed deals in this town, it is the devils playground, and many a souls depart, as the corner pronounces death by misadventure. The origins of this sweet, innocent town called Sarasota are unknown and shrouded in the fog of the bayou backwaters. Historians think the word Sarasota is part of an American Indian language, which meant Point of rocks. It sounds dangerous, if you are on a ship or on shore. Another old legend suggests that Sarasota means “Place of the dance.” I wonder who all were dancing at this party, I wasn’t there. On the map of 1763 this land mass was called “ZARAZOTE. “ The name itself sounds even more dark, threatening, and very ominous. It could be anything bu

Gentle reminder of the Lords extreme love, grace, forgiveness of our sins. One was the defiant, the other was repentant, and the son of God forgave them both. Because he loves us so much. God Bless you.

The Ferryman on the river Styx. Once when I was young, a long time ago, I waited on the coarse and rocky shores of the river Styx with the funeral cortege and strained my neck to see the boatman. The elders said, young man, you do not see the boatman do you, but we do. It’s not your time to cross the river of despair. Now I fear the night and I fear the deep sleep, that insomniac craves for. I am happy when I open my eyes and the boatman is nowhere in sight.  From the distant shore, the river Styx looks like a very dark, forbidding, an almost colorless city on the waters with hues of grey and black.   Fires burning everywhere, winged birds with scary large beaks,   and many   gruesome-headed animals howling about, on the isles in the river, and the multitude of restless souls looking for coins. But now that I am old and the world has grown weary, and indifferent of me. I see the ferryman, and he sees me ever so clearly, waiting alone with no funeral cortege, to bid me farewell, clenche

MANEATERS The  villagers trembled, as death walked with four paws under the forest canopy, it’s the season of death, and they have heard his voice. When the king of the carnivore walks fearlessly in the dark and in the daylight, it is color blind he seeks mostly humans as he gets old and this kind is easy to catch . Sometimes the hunter chases the prey unlike any other; it’s the time of the maneater. Many a time the prey becomes the hunter, it’s a nightly game that is played out, and the tiger uses all his instincts of million years while the hunter uses his five senses. Only the gun and your heartbeat are your companions. There are no shadows in the pond, no birds fly the very blue, and the whole forest watches the hunter and the prey play their role only the end is bloody. The forest has become a very foreboding place, and the bear has gone to sleep. Only the owl is the last guardian of wisdom. In the teepees of the first people, they dream of forest, lakes, no boundaries, and end

Love Lost, in the last town before the forest. As I sat next to man's closest family member on earth the monkey, we both had the same idea, and without encroaching each other’s space we both sit in a cool mountain spring pool, and contemplated. This town was getting up, and preparing for the challenges of the day. Temple bells harkened the arrival of the new day, the street sweepers swept, the shopkeepers hawked their wares, and the housewife’s stroked the fires for the family breakfast. The holy men chanted and meditate that the day may go well. In the distant a very friendly volcano, growled and murmured as it has done for a millennium and thought it was the mouth piece for mother earth. The clouds travelled ever so slowly as they kissed the rim of the crater, and headed east by southeast, they harkened the coming of something wet, yes very wet, it was the coming of the monsoon season. I looked, for love, but only found regrets, and was consoled by a lost dog, with a smiling face

How was your summer? My summer was like a long never-ending walk thru the desert of endless, useless repetitive motions. Thanksgiving, 4thof July had no meaning but left me staring at my shadow in an empty room with  no  life, and memories with no emotions just waiting for another day.   I hear laughter, jubilation, and sounds of joy on the other side of  my door, but it’s quite like a cemetery on the inside of my door. Let  the children play and be happy and the community rejoices its  repose, as I slowly wither away from myself, my family, my people,  and my nation that is far away. My loneliness envelopes me like   a whirling dervish in a trance. This was the devil's anvil, all retreats are cut off, and this was my  winter in the summer of my life. So drink sparingly from the chalice  of life as the journey is long and arduous, make all thy decision early  and wisely. God Bless You May all be well with you? DMD

  Our Nuclear Sea. No white sails of peace, and tranquility against the backdrop of the virginal sea. A sea with no boats, big or small, and no fisherman young or old. No one to harvest the bounty of the sea, as there was no harvest in the sea. Waters looked so blue but it was only a mirage, it’s the reflection of the sky. But the sea is black, like china ink black, and the sands are the same that glow in the midnight black. They build it for peace for humanities sake, but nature has its own will, and destiny for mankind. God Bless You May all be well with you DMD  

First kiss, do you still remember? Do you still have the sweet memories of your first kiss, not the experimental kiss on the mirror? Yes, I   remember I was in church, there was a kind angelic nun who tickled me, and then there was the priest who shook his finger around my face and stroked my forehead. So I kissed the nun and bit the priest's finger that will teach him not to point his crooked finger with dirty nails near an innocent, almost sinless baby in church. That was my first kiss, how about you? God Bless You May all be well with you? DMD.

Path of the wanderer I am never ever too long in a place to call home. Walking where ever there is a path, made by humanity in a city or somewhere out there, a path made by peasants of a village, or their beloved animals. Sometimes the path is long and so arduous that it would literally ground you down like an eraser at the end of a pencil. If fate is kind and your side, the path brings you back to your birthplace, where you find solace, and comfort in the familiar.  After a brief spell, it is time to go again, the paths to the unknown come  calling.  The feet are yearning; the blood is thirsty with wanderlust, till it is  time to sleep and dream even as I put on the akasic veil.   God Bless You May all be well with you DMD

The Thief and the Policeman. I see you, and you see me, we have never met each other formally, but not for very long. But we know of each other’s intentions. People in the day recognize me and want to be my friend, but you shun the very sight of me, and hide in the shadow even when the sun is out Guess who am I? I am your consciousness of innocence before you got corrupted. I walk between the veils of right and wrong I walk all day and all  night long. Who am I? I am you and you are me, we just have different friends. You have larceny in your heart. All I have is an ounce or two of prevention. God Bless You May all be well with you DMD

Hope Of Mankind. When a storm uproots a tree or even a mighty oak. A fearn takes its place. In its rebirth there lies the hope of mankind God Bless You May all be well with you DMD

Kings Clown. Once upon a time long, long, time ago. The court jester asked the king for some money. The clown was a very treasured courtier of the king’s court. And because of his friendship, loyalty, and years of making the king laugh. The king offered this friendly advice to his favorite clown. “Don’t ask for money from a beggar or a holy man, but give generously to them.” The clown said, “What other choices do I have?” The king said. “The choices are clear, work hard, work the land like the native that you are, Or join the fraternity of any religious order of men in the world, with sincerity. Then everything is free, there is no initiation fee and no entrance fee.” The clown said. “So do I get the money or not. “ The King said. “You make me laugh.” "Now go forth through the field without scaring the womenfolk and children, and don't be afraid of the scarecrows they will not eat you they only like insects and worms, sometimes clowns." God Bless You May all be well wit

The End Game. Death in all its gore and splendor has the end game all ready written for all of us. The end game plays out every day from the beginning of time it’s the same for some, different for others on distant continents, as we all know it today. The fortunate ones, go to the other side in their sleep with loved ones, at their side awake and some asleep at the soon departed. Who are those few rare individuals who have escaped the mundane way to the grave, escaped the grasp of death, and cheated it more than twice? And as a precious gift of life, they get to see thru the veil of the unknown and get to peek and come back to tell us all about it. This anomaly has baffled the world’s theologians, medical professionals, and thinkers of our time. Were all these incidents, a freakish joke of nature or was it all part of an elaborate “End Game “written exclusively for the fortunate few? God Bless You May all be well with you DMD

Eternal Right: Born To Die, Summer or Winter. Angels ready, take all comers. Humans cling to life, never give up Grave diggers hate winters ground. DMD

The End Game. Death carriage awaits for all. Some dismiss it, and wait for cinders. End is dust to dust. DMD

Haiku: My winter. Round up all night long Early winter there is Hoarfrost underfoot Paddy wagon empty of love nears DMD

Haiku: My winter. Round up all night long Early winter there is Hoarfrost underfoot Paddy wagon empty of love nears DMD

WEAK HUNTER IN THE TALL GRASS The sea sings and soothes the soul of humanity, dolphins serenade ammophila, the sand lover, she holds back the beach with a gentle hand and sand dunes are at the whims of the ocean winds. The weak hunter sits on planks of wood he calls it a boat. He holds in his hand, wrought iron with flint, he calls it a gun. The hunter hides under nature’s canopy only to kill his prey, by ambush. He knows he is weak, weaker than the reed in the pond. Across the marshland, the oceans are full of hunters and the hunting grounds are open all year long, there is no refuge. But yet man must conceal himself and play this game, against the fowls of nature as the bunny tails sway in the fountain of moonlight, till the sun kisses the moon adieu. The hunters, summer has passed and autumn is at his doorstep, he has a tear in his eyes he knows he is the weak hunter. GOD BLESS YOU May all be well with you DMD

Blog if you may, but keep it short. I blog, you blog we all blog. I blog for a different reason I don't sell anything. “Yes that’s true, very true, someday it’s like a river that burst at its banks, and then some days it is like I am frog in a dry well.” the words are but a trickle, a blog is a blog, and not a novel. So keep it short. “It is okay.”   If you don’t understand my blog, some of my thoughts will tickle you as time goes by, but I am always thankful to those who stop by. Sometimes I wonder, what people are thinking when they read my blog, is Doug blogging from an outpatient psych clinic for the down and out. So dear, brethren saddle up and buckle up for what’s its worth, keep an open mind for a ride in the world of fiction. Where the fantasy is a jealous maiden, she does not share, she lays down and bears itself in deserts blinding light, is it a hallucination or a peek into the next world, as you know,” Fiction is a lonely rider and the horse is a filly.” Keep blogging

Two hobos on a motherboard grid, in Silicon Valley. “Hey Yahoozi, I have found a new love and misplaced the old one in this age  of internet shuffle.” “Good for you, Googly, lucky since you just lost your J.O.B.” Googly said,  “I told her, I can give her all she wanted of true love, if that all  she wanted, with all the caring, sincerity, humility.” “But what I cannot give her is a palace, full of riches and the comfort zone  she is used to.”   Yahoozi said, “True True.” Googly said,”I am a poor man with a big heart, loving a poor man should not be a big challenge if all you want is pure love...” “Somewhere out there, someone has the capacity to love a poor man or women, then the love will tumble in and fill my begging bowl, and the rich shall shrivel up from the lack of love.” Yahoozi said, “So what are you saying you want free love with low overhead; Googly When were you born?” Googly said, “I was born in 1960 my name used to be Woodstock,” GOD BLESS YOU