Short Story Published at TabooJive.com

•March 31, 2012 • Leave a Comment

My Short story “Havana Corozon Alma” has been published as a featured article at TabooJive.com, a thought-provoking Ezine magazine. Please stop by and have a look, share a comment or rate it.Thanks to the folks at TabooJive for the honor.
JKD

http://taboojive.com/havana-corozon-alma/

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Yankee Doodle Dumbass

•March 21, 2012 • Leave a Comment

We live in strange times. The current climate of our society has Bigots and Racists not only feeling empowered by the political climate to speak hatred aloud, they run for elected office. They have no shame.
Love and respect are values found in books, or lyrics to a favorite song, currently they are devalued as we deny people who love one another the right to marry & live a life of their own choosing. The pursuit of life, liberty and happiness is more a right of some than others.
Rights and civil liberties are stripped away by people from both political parties while waving our flag and misquoting the constitution to suit their circumstance. Civil disobedience abounds, we occupy things and hold tea parties, while the politicians carve up our retirements and fight over a healthcare law. They are divided on whether to keep us alive, or allow the vultures to simply pick over our decaying middle class carcasses now. But I feel so much better as the lobbyists and PAC’S do so under the names of “Americans for Prosperity” or “Patriots for Health Reform.” Not to fret, these things will be decided by a Supreme Court of the land. Oh boy, the very same collection of “Justices”, who gave us “Citizens United”. I’m still trying to comprehend how they cleverly used the word “Citizen” as it pertains to corporations. But I digress…..
What really chaps my ass this morning is how a young kid, carrying a bag of skittles and an iced tea, can be gunned down by a neighborhood watch vigilante in Florida, and not be charged with a crime?
Was he expressing his second amendment rights or hunting quail? “Guns don’t kill people; idiots with easy access to guns kill people.” Admittedly the combination of Skittles and Iced Teas is a frightening one, but won’t we admit it was a race crime, and the killer still walks free among us?
How foolish of me, sorry. I should concentrate my thoughts on paying for the huge deficit with my welfare state Social Security that was involuntarily withheld from my earnings and labeled as Social Security Insurance. I want to do my part you know, I want to pay for two wars that were unfunded, sold on lies to begin with, then carried out without our leadership once looking to the history of Vietnam. Funny, Al-Qaida resembles the Insurgents that used to flood in to Vietnam from Cambodia. I hear the drumbeat now for Syria and Iran…. Jesus.
But what the hell do I know? I should leave these decisions in the capable hands of a government who’s energy policy relies almost solely on the remains of extinct Dinosaur’s to fuel all this prosperity. Some days, I feel like a Yankee Doodle Dumbass.

Author Interview with Dorothy Dreyer

•March 20, 2012 • Leave a Comment

I am pleased to share the copy of my interview with Dorothy Dreyer from “We Do Write”, an Author blog spot. We discuss my soon to be released book, Dark Thoughts & Dark Forces. Dorothy is an engaging person and asked interesting questions. I hope you enjoy it.
http://we-do-write.blogspot.de/2012/03/interview-with-jk-dark.html

Havana Corazón Alma

•January 31, 2012 • 1 Comment

The ceiling fan hummed, it stirred the humid air and provided the only sound in the quiet aftermath of making love. He stared back at her long torso. Erect nipples, and long legs. If he were to close his eyes now, he could taste her and picture her long legs still draped over his shoulders, still picture the contortions on her face, which was framed by her long dark hair, as she had an orgasm. Her eyes dancing as the filtered afternoon light slipped quietly under the drapery.

But these were the quiet awkward moments, when two souls lie exposed and naked to all of life’s baggage. The naked privacy afforded one another to process the culmination of their human instincts, the moment before religion, baggage and thoughts catch up with us all, a quiet time when words only ruin the moment. It was the time when only three spoken words in any language would suffice. They were words, which scared her, more than any other. He did … I Did, Con todo mi Corazón:

They spoke, but only in touch. He kissed her exposed stomach, tenderly and with conviction. Sweet Besimo. He hoped it would suffice. They held hands and smiled as the blades of the ceiling fan now stirred emotion as well as air. They danced a delicate tango as they dressed in silence. They washed from the basin, filled with cool water and lime slices. It was the cleansing of body and soul. and one more step in the dance.

Beans were pressed, and a thick Cuban coffee served in little cups on the veranda. The ceiling fan swirled the air and his cigar smoke drifted. An island breeze blew draperies out the opened windows. They too danced in the wind. A rooster crowed in a courtyard far away.

A tropical storm blew in to cool off the hot afternoon. No words were needed, nor spoken. I held her hand and we watched the rains fall. A young man danced in the rain on the street below. Our hearts danced in the silence of a Havana rain.

Angels Diamonds & Gems

•January 29, 2012 • 1 Comment

A cold January day, I sit in the food court at the Mega Mall, across from the sporting goods store. And my mind wanders to a simpler time.

I contemplate the death of the returnable soda bottle, and the demise of kids on bicycles, finding a direct correlation to this rotund, little Ritalin laced free agent in his new Pujols jersey. I observe this new little “Angel” fan with IPod headphones protruding from his ears. With food court snacks smeared on his chubby little face. I speculate if he is not better served with a bicycle, a pack of Topp’s Baseball Cards, with the waxy, pure sugar, thin stick of gum found inside every pack.

I surmise he has no measurable value, of a Julian Javier. And thus no understanding of, nor respect for a smoothly turned double play, let alone the hit and run. Lessons learned from the sacrifice of hundreds of Jerry Devannon & Horace Clarke cards to the spokes of a bicycle, along with multitudes of Moms old clothes pins. Baseball will go on.

I listen as the boy recalls Pujols, and bow’s and worships the home run.

I cringe, speculating that he and his friends are sadly tucked in bed by Siri on their new IPhones, never to experience or appreciate the beauty of a KMOX 1120 AM radio, it’s and 50000 watts of clear channel broadcast of a West Coast night game.

I visualize a sad legion of youngsters who will never experience a Cardinal game delivered to the ear and processed by the imagination Never to hear the intoxicating voice’s, served like a shot of Harry Carey. With a tall drink of Jack Buck to wash it smoothly down. To never comprehend the joy, of a virtual ice cold Budweiser so deftly plugged by a Moon Man on a hot St Louis summer evening.

I dream of Gibson tossing a 1 hitter, with a mental image of Willie Davis hitting the deck when he tried to dig in. There was no home run worship that evening, Gibson pitched a gem.

A five year old stands at the entrance of the sporting goods store, crying. I over hear the conversation. “Dad, he said Pujols was an Angel now, did he die Dad?” I see the fathers lip quiver, “Yes son, he did.”

I look out the window, curse free agency and daydream of Jupiter, Old Stars, Moon Men and Gem’s.

Dark Thoughts & Dark Forces

•January 17, 2012 • Leave a Comment

My little paperback of Horror/Suspense is now in production. I have to prepare my order for my own copies. If friends or family wish to pre-order one, please leave me your e-mail address.  The cost is $8.95 plus postage. It will be available via Amazon, Barnes & Noble etc. in late Feb. also available in e-book format. Order your copy today!

The Ghost At Gate Eight

•January 12, 2012 • 1 Comment

I forced myself to come, I sit and I wait, soon they will call for boarding at gate number Eight. I packed up my bag and made all the calls, went through security with this ticket in tow. Sitting here now, I’m lost in a crowd, alone with my thoughts and all of my doubts.

Why did this happen, what the hell went so wrong? I can make no damn sense of it, none at all. We drifted apart as life forced us to. Keeping in touch, though eventually life killed that too. We exchanged pleasantries via a card, the occasional picture of kid’s now so large. But time and life’s challenges made us all fall,like leaves on a tree as November calls. Now sadly,somehow I’m expected to be present as they put you in the ground?

It seems like yesterday, we were there. All our lives were better, we had no damn fears. Business was booming finances were great; we all lived it up and worked hard trying to build things that would last. I fondly remember how we used to laugh. I have such great memories of good times and bad, how we all talked and found ways to cope. And usually the troubles were never so bad.

I remember the trips to New Orleans and New York, your sense of adventure, and your big broad smile. How you cared for everyone and always gave of your time. You always were a true friend to anyone in need.

So I sit here befuddled how you took your own life. My friend now left with two children, but without his wife? I don’t know the circumstances of the last several years, but I could share stories of my own that would bring you to tears. Somehow we got lost, and didn’t get to talk, pride and humility carries such great cost. If this were about money and losing a job, I’m angry at the politician’s with your blood on their hands.

The concept of depression I do understand. There are days I myself fight, just to get out of bed. I just cannot wrap my mind around taking my own life.Not after witnessing sick children who have to fight. I find myself angry and wondering why you too did not fight. Your children will grow up tainted from it all. I shake my head, it just isn’t right. I add this to the mysteries I have encountered in life.

They have boarded the plane, their locking the door. The plane is taxiing down the runway, ready to soar. I sit all alone watching the sky. The terminal now empty, but I’m still inside. Crystal I’m not taking this trip, I just can’t go, for hundreds of reasons or perhaps none at all. Please understand I mean no disrespect, but I’m not going to bare witness to your fall.

So from a friend who loved you so much, I wish you the best, and say a prayer for your soul. And as I look around the now empty gate Eight, i’m again alone, except for the ghosts.