Go Ask CERN

richardsport

Just finished oil pastels available $1380.00 message at rfilos63@gmail.com

 

 

Among the exterminators Grimes was the best, the top. But the sight of him staring down the rabbit hole left most onlookers in a bit of doubt. Grimes was tall yet hunched in his back such as to give the impression that he was shorter. His clothing all seemed on the short side. Not just high-waters but his shirts also appeared as if shrunk up in the dryer. On his head was a ball cap of such age that the logo on the front could not be distinguished at all. The skin on his face was dull white just like so-called rabbit he had been called in to find and, well, exterminate.

Now, looking down this rabbit hole Grimes scratched at the hair beneath his ball cap. Quite a bit down you see, the earthen sides changed. Just beyond his penlights ray, if his mind was not scattered, the walls shone of metal. Or some kind of metallic thing with wires, and the most foreign looking buttons. Is this some sort of trap? Grimes thought to himself. But to what purpose? I better have a closer look, but not too close yet mind you. Something was certainly queer about the whole situation and Grimes knew that he had better move with caution, especially after all the bizarre tales that had brought him to this place.

II

As Lacie watched from behind the hedgerow she could see Grimes was looking perplexed. At only 19 years old, and with looks that most would refer to as homely she thought it best to stay in the background. So many strange things had occurred here in this small country town, and some horrific at that. She along with everyone else was understandably nervous. Lacie pulled at her long pigtails wondering if Grimes knew that the real danger was not the rabbit that went down the hole, but the awful things that have been seen coming out of the hole at night. Ungodly creatures which must be to blame for all the mayhem taking place here. And the sounds, those awful noises coming from that pit. Well if Grimes was not careful he would soon find out about all that and more, she thought to herself.

Meanwhile, 20 miles from the South Pole in an underground bunker. Two men dressed in the finest of Nazi attire are talking.
“Sir, there appears to be a problem over in England.”
“And what sort of problem might that be General, that has caused you to disturbed my sleep?”
“Sir, my Swiss contact is reporting that the White Rabbit is causing quite the storm in a small town there.”
“This certainly is something of a problem now isn’t it?”
“Sir, yes Sir it is, some who are in the know are saying that ‘the storm has begun’.”
“Well I think you should get going then, you have a long journey and a lot of work ahead of you General. And General, I expect to hear a good report from you within the next forty-eight hours.”
“Yes Sir, I understand”

III

The next thing Grimes knew he was knocked over on his back. Lacie, still hiding, let out a cry. If not for the event before them Grimes surely would have heard it. Some sort of energy beam, Grimes thought to himself? But that thought did not last long, for as soon as he as got himself to the sitting position bright lights began shooting upward out of the rabbit hole. So bright that they had a buzzing sound around them. They shot straight up at first and then kind of gathered in the sky. Red and green and blue, they began to swirl and swirl at an intense speed until at once they combined and shot right out of sight into space.
Lacie now composed herself took the opportunity to quickly head back home. Laying on her soft bed she thought hard about what she had just seen. The only thing she could compare it to was stories that she had been told by an uncle of something called the “Norway Spiral”. Exhausted from the experience Lacie slowly drifted off to sleep.

At first the General was puzzled, “what was that sound?” he thought. So deep in the ocean things tend to worry one more than they would on the surface. Was that a “clink”, he thought to himself. He gave the all quite command. Listening, straining to hear any abnormality. There it was, not a “clink” but more of a “buzzing”. And now getting steadily louder. The whole submarine began to shake, and strange colors filled the air inside. No time for even a last breath as the vibration intensified into a grand explosion as every piece of the debris shot straight up out of the ocean and continued skyward until completely out of sight. Of course there was no one there to see all this, or was there?

IV

As the sleep began to fall from Lacie’s eyes and the blurry room became more focused she became frozen in her bed. Looking down on her was what seemed to be a hundred pair of eyes. Just eyes floating in the air above her. They moved as if they were attached to faces and bodies, but none of that was there. Or at least if it was it was not visible.Her head became light and Lacie felt as if she would vomit at any moment. Then a strange sound, that buzzing sound and it was growing. She closed her eyes and tried to think about before all this craziness began. She was just fifteen when she first saw the White Rabbit. And at that time nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “But that soon changed didn’t it”, she thought to herself. “No, don’t think like that”, she pleaded with herself, “Think of times before that”. Then the room began to spin…

V

Acts 2:19
And I will shew wonders in heaven above, and signs in the earth beneath; blood, and fire, and vapour of smoke:

One lone ray sunlight of could be seen lighting upon Lacie’s face. Just a small crack in the curtain was enough to let it through. And now it’s warmth brought comfort to Lacie, though she still dare not open her eyes just yet. Pushing the worst thoughts of last night from her mind she focused back on Grimes. Such a peculiar fellow he was. But something about him seemed to catch this young girls fancy. As if there was any way Grimes could be her knight in shining armor, her hero. “Maybe just a bit more sleep.”, she thought to herself drifting slowly off again.

Back at the bunker under the ice:

“Sir, reports are that it was a complete loss, no survivors”
“Very Well then Captain, I shall give the Leader your report. But you are aware he will not be very happy about this”
“Yes, I know. May God have mercy on us all”
“God?, Did you say God? You know that you can be executed for speaking such words.”
“Yes, I mean no sir, I did not say, I did not mean to say or..”
“Relax, just make sure it does not happen again. Now go and prepare your men for their inevitable task”.

“You get what you need.”
The Rolling Stones

VI

“Carrots are divine, get a dozen for a dime, it’s magic”
Bugs Bunny

“Not much of a rabbit are you?”
“Well actually I prefer to be referred to as a Hare” The White Rabbit said. “And what may I ask are you supposed to be? Colonel Sanders from KFC?”
“You just mind yourself there Rabbit, the Leader himself placed me here to make sure there are no problems, and I surely would not mind telling him that you are a problem running around acting the fool like Bugs Bunny.”
“Just get back up there and keep an eye on the girl, and no more funny stuff”
“Yeah, yeah , yeah” the White Rabbit said as he headed up the hole.
And as the Rabbit disappeared above a kaleidoscope of sharp colors feel down hitting the floor of the control room. Lights flashed and the others there scrambled to avoid being injured.
“The leader will hear about this” could be heard softly in the background

Grimes shook his head a few more times before trying to stand. “What on earth was that?” He thought to himself.  “Did that really happen?  Did I really just see that?” After another minute or so he
was able to compose himself and get to a standing position. He circled the hole in the ground over and over before walking slowly to his truck. Looking at the small old pickup truck and the fading paint with the dents and dings from years of service all he could do was think of that famous line from the movie “Jaws”, “we’re gonna need a bigger boat”.  And quietly to himself said, “I’m gonna need a bigger truck”, knowing that a bigger truck would be of no help in a situation of this sort. Perhaps a faster truck to get far, far away.
He slid into the drivers seat started the engine with the usual grinding sound and put the old truck in drive for the ride back to his shop/home. A bit of rest and thought on the matter before coming back tomorrow would surely do the trick. No little White Rabbit was going to get the best of Grimes the best exterminator in the whole area. “Yes” he mumbled in the cab, “maybe a bit of tea also to calm these nerves, and I’ll be back for him in the morning”

VII

Lacie carefully set the bowl of soup on the table. Her grandfather smiled. Jack used to be so strong and active, but that was along time ago now. These days he mostly sits by the window watching the outside world go by. Lacie loves Jack and always loves to hear his stories about his secret life working for the resistance. She really is not sure if they are true stories or maybe exaggerated for a special granddaughter, non the less she could listen for days to his tales. “Papa, something strange is going on here lately” Lacie spoke. “Something more than strange actually, something evil”

“Now, Now Lacie, don’t let your imagination get the best of you” Jack replied.

“No really Papa, it has to do with the rabbit hole and that exterminator Grimes who came to take care of the problem.”

“What is all this talk about a rabbit hole and rabbit exterminators”
Jack sort of grunted between sips of his soup . “You don’t call the exterminator for a rabbit, I’ve never heard such non..” Suddenly Jack’s face froze. He put his spoon down and turned toward Lacie. “Lacie listen carefully to Papa, this would not possibly have to do with The White Rabbit would it?”

“You have heard of The White Rabbit Papa?” Lacie said.

At that instant Jack’s body twitched and his knees jerked knocking the soup bowl to the floor and spilling it everywhere. “Darn, what a klutz” Jack shouted.

“No papa that was my fault putting it so close to the edge of the table and then getting you all excited about silly myths of rabbits.” Lacie said, as she quickly began the clean up process.

Jack settled down a bit and thought back to his final days working for the resistance. Those bitter cold days under all that ice. He reached down into his pocket and rubbed the pocket watch within, thinking, “The time has come I guess, indeed I knew it would”.

VIII

“He might be a smart scientist, but in operational terms, he’s a Kramer”
https://wikileaks.org/gifiles/docs/23/2372585_re-fw-ct-fw-
france-arrested-aqim-guy-worked-at-cern-.html

Three hours sleep was not too bad considering what Grimes had experienced the day before. But now things would be different. Grimes was loading up everything in his arsenal. Everything he could get in that old truck was being loaded. That rabbit didn’t stand a chance against the best exterminator around and that exterminator was Grimes.
Lacie made her way closer to the rabbit hole. She wanted to get a quick look this morning before anyone else happened by. “Everything looks normal” she thought to herself. There was no sign of anyone around as she made the corner past the hedgerow. Just then she heard it. A low rumbling, or was it a buzzing sound growing louder. Lacie ducked back behind the bushes just as the old truck came to a halt by the rabbit hole. “Oh, thank God, it is just Grimes,” Lacie said to herself.
And then she sat down to watch Grimes work from her hiding spot.
With Lacie gone Jack made his way out to the old barn. Half crumbling not to many ventured in it these days. As he made his way up the last rung of the ladder to the loft Jack could see the old chest was still right where he had left it. Ducking his head past a beam he moved closer and as he did he began to get lightheaded. Then the sound began, a buzzing he saw what looked like an animal run by to his left at lightning speed. A White streak in his vision. Jack went to spin toward the apparition and as he did the buzzing increased and seemed to be focused on his chest. He reached toward his heart, screamed as he fell out of the loft to the hard ground below. And that was all.
“Fingerprint File” by the Rolling Stones
Fingerprint file, you get me down
You keep me running
Know my way around. Yes, you do, child
Fingerprint file, you bring me down
Keep me running
You keep me on the ground
Know my moves
Way ahead of time
Listening to me
On your satellite
Feeling followed
Feeling tagged
Crossing water
Trying to wipe my tracks
And there’s some little jerk in the FBI
A keepin’ papers on me six feet high
It gets me down, it gets me down, it gets me down
You better watch out
On your telephone
Wrong number
They know you ain’t home
And there’s some little jerk in the FBI
A keepin’ papers on me six feet high
It gets me down, it gets me down, it gets me down
Who’s the man on the corner; that corner over there
I don’t know. Well, you better lay low. Watch out
Keep on the look out
Electric eyes
Rats on the sell out
Who gonna testify
You know my habits
Way a head of time
Listening to me
On your satellite
And there’s some little jerk in the FBI
A keepin’ papers on me six feet high
It gets me down, it gets me down, it gets me down
It gets me down
Hello, baby, mm-hmm
Ah, yeah, you know we ain’t, we ain’t talkin’ alone
Who’s listening? But I don’t really know
But you better tell the SIS to keep out of sight
‘Cause I know they takin’ pictures on the ultraviolet light
Yes, uh huh, yeah, but these days it’s all secrecy; no privacy
Shoot first, that’ s right… you know
Bye bye. Who’s listening?
Right now somebody is listening to you
Keeping their eyes peeled on you
Mmm, mmm, what a price, what a price to pay
All right. Good night, sleep tight

 

 

 

to be continued?

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A Country Sampler

nonukes1

 

For such a born and bred Bronx kid to wind up out in the sticks in South Carolina is one thing.  But to write poetry about the country life?  I guess you just never know! Below find some of my works that I am considering for an upcoming chap book. Also please, if you have been enjoying my work please consider helping with any amount at my GoFundMe. This really is all I have until we can figure out exactly what can be done to fix my back. As you can see it has just been a meager amount over the whole life of the campaign but all our savings and anything that could be sold have been exhausted with several months left until my disability hearing is scheduled. Enough said. Enjoy the writes.

 

Carnival Craze

ahead dots color hill tops afar dark
yellow, red, blue. and white bulbs
a slow drive rounding easy curves
chants of glee sounding the escape
voices expecting exciting an evening

sour the sweetness knocking gently
as windows rolled down feel a sniff
ahead now neon lights circle the sky
parked the station wagon in a field
smiles falling out the old rear door
pink fluffy sugar whipped on a stick

corn scented popping grandly new
sticky sounds of sneakers skipping
mirrors and teacups join a sway too
the hot dough shaped ears powdered
join parade in turn at ticket booths cut

prizes of royalty reach up drooling eye
wheels spinning higher recall butterflies
bops and pops abound in wild carousel
loose change dribbles clanging on down
gum, hats, glasses and feathers scatter
back to the old Buick we return, smiles

Carrot Seeds

growing up in the city
carrots came in a can
you peel back the tin
and out they came clean

concrete gardens sprout
hard the seedlings rise
a transplant now am I
turning soil mixing poop

tiny the seed of a carrot
rolling off my dirty hands
after sun and water shines
a little green pop appears

when the green grew tall
I had to check have a peek
so poke around did my hand
just a skinny root now ruined

another day another check
months end the crop is gone
let the seeds grow undisturbed
the fruit will show when ready

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A Picture In Grayed Boards

Mothers words grip within emotions
in the way dads old pickup drives
the treasured rides dirt swirling
behind us faster than the rabbits
fleeing through the peanut fields
startled does bound the fences
wire sagging and barbed gives way
her apron blowing softly seen
from the porch she waves smiling
it’s peach pie this evening sister
hanging out the washed sheets
giggling cute as the chipmunk
watching her from under the barn
grayed boards perfect the scene

perpetual the change that remains sweet

muffled giggles in blooming flowers
spark light the butterflies cool rise
yellows, oranges, and blacks scattered
in a blinking musical whirlwind ballet
lilies and crocuses spinning a melody
delicate antenna mimic a child’s wave
May shadows at noon disguise liquid
puddles skated smooth froze as ice
floral scents carried along spring winds
perpetual the change that remains sweet

Turnips Beside The Road

bunches of turnips spread out
an old country table of boards
dents and gaps showing age
soil dry now crumbles off as
each pile is shook before packing
the old vegetable boxes stacked
hurriedly in the bed of that old
white pickup that sat years in the
field back of the old slave cabins
it’s another hot day out there for
selling turnips beside the road

 

 

 

The Oldies Station

old the filling station half stands, a rusting show place lost
once bustling in brightness, weeds poke up asphalts cracks
peering around, periscopes riding in the crumbling black wakes
entertainment in a desolate place, silent country Bowery reruns
pumps hand driven, virgins they were to plastic cash sliders
in reflections shadowed, chrome glared of manner’s suited
oil checks, pop in glass bottles, coin driven phone call booths
change rides in, wearing glamour mostly, leaves some dusted
streetlights bent in prayer, touching the abandoned lot distressed
their wiring hangs limp, cut to fraying the darkness answers not

Southern Shine

Blue skies reflecting off southern eyes
Sight that is sweet as fresh pecan pie
Georgia peaches and Muscadine wine
Honey suckle and the sweet bye and bye
Carolina moonlight drinking down the shine

 

 

Papered With The Funnies

listening as the drops sound off one by one
coming storm raining down on the old tin roof
the falling porch leans toward the hill above
nothing fades as nicely as paint on metal does
wildflowers peak from between boards and stone
foundation sliding daily towards the eastern edge
sights and sounds returning inside this house
fools call it a shack but to me it’s ever true home
papered twice in the finest newspapers of the era
an architectural designer tribute to snuffy smith
running water is found in the creek pure and cool
the most of it found clear in mason jars shelved
among the years tomatoes and pickled okra
nostalgia grows in this holler when the rain falls
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Monday Morning Poetry

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The World From His Window /or/ the Wheels In the Wheels Go Round and Round

He sits day by day
gazing beyond the silicon created illusion
searching for something that’s left his mind
a verse, a melody, a memory
like a broken shell beyond repair
in his world of fantasy  laced reality
the old man counts the days
by the hairs caught in his comb
while multi-colored children play games
on little black boxes in the dark
a world, distinct in-distinctions groans
false perceptions push and pull
everything within the senses once vivid
now cheating for a place among
what is seen, heard, felt, and received, rather than perceived
evening and morning greet each other loudly sometimes, quietly others
rather than that burned out marionette
on frayed strings, jerking wildly,
whose dance is without grace
always out of place
being a being, lost in space
if you hear him crying in the night
reliving the battles
the ceremonious washing’s
do not look to close
do not stare to long
his handlers have left scars of great depth
the old man is splintered and cracked
with a stench of wood burned in the fire
and soaked in water, you know
the odor I speak of, a perfume not
sold in the likes of ancient department stores
not to be found for any price these days
but this (that) old man
he stays right there, oblivious to his own care
though quite mindful of a stare
despite the new world disorder
thrust full force upon that one or sum
full of brows, silvery and thin
your thoughts of him
might be dim
he is just there in that chair
filthy, stinky, useless, unknown creature
whose presence only serves,
among men and women,
in this age and ages past
befitting a scare
but every now and again,
unseen until that shell has been split open
and broken
a single ray of light will give a glimmer,
a shimmer
and beyond the shell, beyond the smell
those who, still can be still, find a pearl
In the Makers hands
what to us is beyond repair
is made new, clean, and a treasure rare.

THE GROVE

Some Fourth Poetry

nonukes1

THE ALL AMERICAN KID FROM NYC

 

A New York City Fourth

before sticky notes
baseball cards and wacky packs
covered my eyes
brown wrappers
concealing the evil parts
born on magazine racks
a New York City Fourth

bottle rockets and bricks
beer and Southern Comfort
cover the park at sunset
bright eyed youth
captivated extra curricular education
browsing puppy love
a Bronx New York Fourth

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Welcome Home

friendly bones have left me now
the slightest movement cringes
manila folders filled with blood
mount for their final charges
this circus war in hospitals
a comedy of strangers
all hail the ones dressed in white
while we face all the danger
muscles fail, my body flails
writing the final pages
a corporate sung epitaph
dependent on your wages
mebx

[ stepping out through the bark of my dwelling ]

stepping out through the bark of my dwelling
a brief glance above the sky bellows deeply
distant stars strain through the black night misty
in darkness an echo sparking my soulishness
contrasting my manish ways nature exhales lightly
blowing the awful scent of my frailness westerly
out toward the rising pyre fiery which is mankind

A Wednesday poetry reading /or/ The Artful Blogger

santabarbara2
Guess they gotta good grip on me

Answer to my critics

This popular idea today of writing is something of a distraction. It is hard to escape it’s trappings. Form, style, punctuation, bow down to them and we will love you, publish you, sing your praises. But to write as art is different than all that. Telling you just where to stop and start, which words or syllables to emphasize would be like telling you what to see in a painting. Words have notes, and colors, and scents. They can be drum beats, or paintings, or melodies when put in a certain order. You can taste them, or smell them, even breath them. Sometimes they are sharp and loud and unsettling, other times smooth and flowing. Editors are looking for something that sells, the same ole same ole. I am looking for something that moves, that lives, or dies. Warhol didn’t need a canvas the size of the Sistine Chapel to reach into peoples soul, Jean-Michel Basquiat could intrigue an entire generation with a few letters on a wall, Patti Smith could move a whole city with just one set.  But what my writing means to me is of little importance, what it means to the reader is what counts. All I hope, is that when I am done with one of my works it hits you like the opening riffs to Sweet Jane, or Honky Tonk Women. Or like Kevin Blanch saying “they’ll be calling you a radical”. Now that moves me!.
Love is the answer!

1 Corinthians 13New International Version (NIV)

13 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

US FESTIVAL 1983

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Here we go again, another true adventure from years ago. As always the main thing to remember is that this is a true story.
The year was 1983, and this time I am sure about it. The radio station in New York that I listened to at the time announced this spectacular concert that was to take place in California. Something called the US Festival. It was being put on by some Apple computer guy, which to be honest I had no clue who he was back then. But who cared, a three day concert in California that had all the great bands of the day and David Bowie was gonna do a set. They told me it had been years since he had toured so I was in. Of course I also had about the same amount of knowledge of California as I did of Apple Computers so you can imagine how well this is going to come together.

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Now I would go anywhere for a concert, but California was quite a distance from The Bronx. This was going to require some skillful planning. First up was securing tickets at the closest Ticketron outlet which just happened to be in the Travel Agency located on the ground floor of the building I was living in at that time. Dale, a bud of mine said he would go, and I figured we would be able to get another victim also so I went in and arranged for the tickets to the show along with the required round trip plane tickets. When to my surprise the agent asked if I would be needing a rental car at our destination. I had not even considered that since we just took the subway or busies around the city anywhere we need to go. Turns out it would have been impossible to get around where we needed to in California without a car. In fact it turned out even with the car we almost didn’t make the show, more on that later. But when asked of course I said ‘sure’, mind you now I barely ever drove, just the work van for deliveries, and also I didn’t even have a credit card. After asking all the questions and filling out some forms the kind lady asked for my credit card at which point I replied, I’ll just pay in cash if that is alright?”. Sure, she explained “we will put it on our card, but we will need to get a deposit in cash now also”. Fine, how much, three hundred no problem, but make sure I have the full insurance coverage with that, good another hundred no problem. And with that the deal was done notching to do but wait the two months until the concert took place.

So that’s the lead in, I will try to get the rest written tomorrow if there is some interest. But this one is a real killer adventure, airplane rides on acid, cops holding shotguns to our heads, bloods crips, magic mushrooms, Van Halen, David Bowie,and a rental car disaster. I mean mud and blood and beer, sunburn, lost in the desert, aliens, it’s like Prego…it’s all in there.

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crowd shot from across the lake
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Talking Heads dust storm

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http://ultimateclassicrock.com/the-us-festival-remembered-30-years-later/

http://www.setlist.fm/festival/1983/us-festival-1983-3bd6b840.html