Sunday, January 31, 2016

Tokyo Tower (…and an old Phobia)

The Tokyo Tower is not so unlike the Eiffel Tower
But taller at its summit!

At its very roof if one can get a standing space
S/he can overlook the madness of the city’s face!

Going to its top, I practiced deep-breathing,
Relaxing therapy—

Not wanting to show the world my anxiety!

I do this whenever I go to such places as:
Kyoto, Tokyo, Seattle, New York City, Lisbon, Paris

And other such cities, with grand towers…

To bury my thing, that has no justification—
To escape the tell-tale fate, lest the thing follow me.


Note:  The author visited Japan in July of 1999, and during his visit, a few nights in Tokyo, and one trip to the Tokyo Tower.
(Again thanks to dear friend, Kikue Nishihara)   

To Man’s Evil!

It is apparent—inferred Pope Francis yesterday:
He who is corrupt, feels no need for God, and God’s
To fight his corruption so as to become free, of his

Note: Inspired by Pope Francis’ January 29, Speech, 2016 (CNA)

Old Soldier Friends

“When he left it was like a train hurdling away— I and Butch
McGee, on opposite tracks, into different dark tunnels;

In West Germany, in those far-off days of the Iron Curtain.
That was back in’76,” said the Buck Sergeant of the Corporal.

“He was restless, sedate, and never late, life stared straight
Through his eyes! And his youthful insight.”

Before they’d connect again, four-decades would pass them—:
No light would have entered their unbreakable bond.

Hence, upon their tantalizing reunion, neither one had lost the
Sky or the ground, but rather found it was all quite natural.

#5042/1-30-2016/ For Butch McGee

Drama of the Insect (Out of the Peruvian Jungles)

The singing of the mosquito is worse than its bite—
Should you try and swat him he will taunt the ear throughout the night!
The bedbug, is not so unlike the mosquito, or his mate the fly—
He will bite you first, then sing his song, and should you try to stop him
Beware, he will bring all his friends.
They are all long-night intruders, sent from hell!
Some even perhaps from heaven.
They can make a man haggard and worn-out looking, just thinking of going to bed in the Amazon and Satipo jungles of Peru—
A distraction a best! With their havoc and insect rituals.
Revenge is sweetest when you bring along a can of insecticide, thus the drama of the insects fade like: winter to summer.


Saturday, January 30, 2016

Trusting like Mary (The Poet’s Rebellion)

My first reaction to my Illness was rebellion…
(Fear, questions, desolation…)
Why me?”
“All is lost!”
“What now can I give meaning to?”
From this comes one’s faith in God:
Tested and revealed…!
“Don’t disparage the day that still has an hour of light…”
Who whispered this in my ear?
Jesus, or was the key given to Mary?
What I learned was this:  “Do whatever Jesus tells you,”
Or what you know He’d expect.
And I know that came from Mary’s lips.

No: 5039/1-28-2016

Note 1:  Inspired by my illness, in 1994, a stroke, two heart attacks; and 1996, MS, recovery was slow; and side effects of Agent Orange, from Vietnam, 1970.
Note 2: Inspired by a speech by Pope Francis, 1-28-2016, and the writings of Chinua Achebe.

The Enmeshed Age


Washed clear by tears
The door of memory unlocked
The stylized face of a young man, fades;
No old, broken now and again—he
Finds himself more often than not,
Dozing off…
Falling indeterminately into unformed
His heart thumping like heavy knocks of a door!

It skips a beat, jumps some, now and then.   

President Bashar al-Assad’s War!


President Bashar al-Assad of Syria
(like so many hot-headed, firebrand demagogues)
Now responsible for 260,000-deaths, eleven-million homeless…
In his self-inflicted, Civil War
Is looking inside another man’s pocket for something which He does not have—
He is an unhampered dictator, digging a hole to get sand to fill an old hole.
He has been for five years, like Daesh, who cares not whose head goes in the wheelbarrow.
He is part of the signs of the times, the end times called the Sorrows yet to come, before the apocalypse.


The Account of – Guadalupe and Little Coyote ((A True Story) (In English and Spanish)) English Version Revised (1-2016)

English Version Revised (1-2016)

Advance: No one noticed her disembark the airplane in Tijuana, Mexico, in the ambiguous crowd, as twilight descended over the city, no one saw her sister either, they simply sunk into the multitude of people, but in a few hours that would change, as days turned into months, and expectations and anticipations turned into a maze. She, I should say they, came from the south, that is, South America, Peru, from Huancayo, a small city in the Andes, to Lima Peru, and now as you know, they are in Tijuana. This is a true story, the names of the persons involved have been changed, but this is really Guadalupe’s story as well as her sister’s story, Rosaria, as she told it to me one afternoon. 

       The year is 1998. Normally the fees involved to fix an escort from South America to North America can range from $3000 dollars apiece (per individual), to $30,000-dollars depending on what part of South America you are coming from, and your connections in trying to get into the United States of America illegally, it can be extremely dollar costly.
       Mexicans of course do not wish to pay these horrendous fees, but do not mind collecting them to bring their neighbors across, and in the process many things can happen: rape, robbery, even murder, and this story you are about to read involves all three of them.

       Once in Tijuana, Guadalupe was introduced to Little Coyote, her Mexican representative. She was given a new Passport, and Little Coyote was to be her husband, Guadalupe was twenty-eight years old at the time, had two children in Peru, a husband who tried to make it to the United States, but was apprehended and turned back at the Mexican border. Thus, it was her turn to try.
       Guadalupe knew this city was the place required for her unshakable intent, the place where she had to succeed, yet two months went by. Her obligation was to insure the folks on the way, —that they’d get paid; this was done by phone, via, Portland, Oregon, to Mexico, and San Diego, California. The money was guaranteed, if indeed these two women were delivered to their family members. The total cost would be for both, $6000-dollars.
       Guadalupe felt a chill of fear, as they drove through the boarder gates from Mexico to the United States, country of opportunity.
       Now in another unfamiliar city as it was, and still dependent on the goodwill and consciousness of Little Coyote, she waited in San Diego for her sister, they were previously separated, as planned and now would be reunited once she crossed the border.
       At this point, Guadalupe felt she was halfway to her destination, unhindered thus far, and soon to be reunited with her sister. It suited her quite well, and in the process (with twenty other migrates) Little Coyote provided some frugal needs.
       She had noticed from time and again, the Mexicans were eating out of their hands, and she asked for a fork (not the thing to do), and they looked at her as if she was asking for the moon, as if she was an elitist, and consequently she passively accepted their style of primitive eating, and ate out of her hands likewise—a monkey see, monkey do thing.
       The former group she and her sister belong to, were brought to a house in San Diego, a new Coyote’s house, as Little Coyote had to leave and return to Mexico, for his next group. Here six of them had to fit into a compartment or platform underneath the car, where she had to push her nose close to a hole for air, and a fat Mexican next to her whose armpit stink became intoxicating she physically got sick, but she told herself she’d survive.

       As she arrived to the second location in San Diego, a house with two Coyotes whom were waiting for the six individuals, she dismissed the vast illusory bodies that cramped her in like a sardine. Here things would drastically change.
       As she must have felt, to stay alive she would have to outlive her present annoyance.
       Thus, in this new location, they were told they’d have to stay a while, perhaps four days, because no one was available to pick them up. As far as family members go, it was out of the question, their family members were in Portland, and to be frank, the two Coyotes, they didn’t know were Portland was, —perhaps didn’t even know how to read a map, to look it up. But once finding out, they put the two girls into an isolated room knowing they’d not get paid for a while and bared the windows, as a result, there would be no escape, until payday.
       Nonetheless, a catastrophe was building up, in that, throughout the day, the Evil Coyote, fought with the so called Good Coyote, over the two girls, he wanted to rape one, if not both. All day long this intolerable lucidity of insomnia fell upon the two girls, who found out there was no escape from the room, and that their family members in Portland were reluctant to come to their rescue, in San Diego, lest they be captured for being illegal immigrants themselves, and with a crazy Mexican outside their doors, what in heaven’s name could be next?  Could things get worse? Was a question on their minds?
       Guadalupe could hear them swear, at one another, and as night had fallen into early morning, it being 2: 00 a.m., things would change again.
       Prior to this, the Evil Coyote was pounding on the door of the girls, trying to get in. And then the harsh pounding stopped, at which time the girl’s hearts started throbbing for the unknown was bleak at best, then a silence came about. Next, another knock on the girls door sounded, a softer knock this time, it was the Good Coyote, “Come, come quick…!” he said to the two girls, carrying a sack outside to his car. He was exhausted, and as the two girls got into the car, they noticed a body lying by the sidewalk; it looked like the Evil Coyote’s.
       “We are going to Las Vegas,” said the Good Coyote, there you can take a bus to Portland, after you pay me! And so they drove all that night long.

       Once in Las Vegas, the Good Coyote deliberately gave his black bag to Guadalupe to carry (as he went to clean up, after buying himself some clothes, shoes for him and the girls); then she, Guadalupe put her hand into the black bag as he was changing his clothes, hence, discovered there was a gun, and she quickly dropped it back down into the sack, aghast at what she had discovered; alas, she had left her fingerprints on the gun.
       Guadalupe made a phone call to Portland, telling her folks, the Good Coyote had paid their fair on the Greyhound Bus to Portland, and they’d be there shortly. Prior to this, the Good Coyote had asked them if they had any money, Guadalupe did, she had $200-dollars, but said: “No, we are broke…!” Well, that is the Peruvian way is it not. Anyhow, the Good Coyote (Mexican by Birth) perhaps was not as good as we’d like him to be, he took the $60,000 dollars that he and his partner had collected in San Diego, for the twenty or so clients they had taken across the border. So he was of course far from being broke himself and perhaps a little greedier than even the Bad Coyote—it’s all proportional I guess.

(The innumerable variables of this journey, which Guadalupe had to endure were not over yet, a most difficult task still resided in the future over this drama, and unwinding of events.)

       Once in Portland, neither of the girls could find a job for three months, and so that was not a good start, but her family provided, as often Peruvian families do. And in due time, they both did find a job.
       It was shortly after she got her job, the mysteries of the murder that took place in San Diego, made it to the steps of the house Guadalupe and her sister were living in. The police, Federal Agents knocked on their door, and gradually, the door was opened. It was to her surprise, the agents knew her full name, real name, and almost everything she knew about herself, they knew. What they really wanted though (the Agents) was cooperation, and so both Rosario and Guadalupe gave them as much as they could, and wanted, lest they be facing murder charges, in consequence, I repeat myself by saying, the Good Coyote was not as good as he tried to pretend he was, in essence he was perhaps the most shrewd of the lot; lust can  blind the mind of a man, and it evidently did with the so called Good Coyote’s partner, and there was an opportunity that went along with this, and the Good Coyote saw it.
       After a certain amount of time, and movies on the two girl’s testimony on what took place in San Diego, the Good Coyote was picked up, and put into prison. And the Girls got a nice letter from the Federal Government, and a work permit—of all things.


      El Reporte de: Guadalupe y el “Coyotito”

(Una Historia Verdadera Sobre el Cruce de la Frontera de los Estados Unidos)

Avance: Nadie en particular la notó desembarcar del avión en Tijuana, México, en la noche sombría, tampoco nadie vio a su hermana; es decir, ellas simplemente se hundieron en la multitud de la gente, pero en unas pocas horas, días y meses, las cosas serían diferentes. Ella, o debería decir ellas, venían del sur, es decir de Sudamérica, Perú, desde Huancayo, una pequeña ciudad en Los Andes, a Lima Perú, y ahora como lo sabes, ellas están en Tijuana. Esta es una historia verdadera, los nombres de las verdaderas personas involucradas no van a ser mencionados aquí, pero los nombres que ellas eligieron para usar en esta aventura de drama, lo compartiré: Guadalupe, era el nombre que ella eligió, y su hermana, Rosario.

(La Historia:) Aquí—en Tijuana—ambas vivieron durante dos meses (en la casa del “Coyotito”), su objetivo, y la premisa de esta historia son simples, ambas querían los beneficios que Estados Unidos tenía para ofrecerles: dos mujeres de Perú, buscando una nueva vida en Norteamérica, y sus luchas para llegar desde Huancayo, Perú a Portland, Oregon (que nadie piense que fue fácil).

Era el año de 1998. Normalmente los honorarios implicados para fijar una escolta desde Suramérica a Norteamérica pueden ser desde 3000 dólares americanos por persona hasta 30,000 dólares americanos, dependiendo de qué parte de Suramérica vienes y de tus conexiones tratando de entrar en Norteamérica ilegalmente. Los mexicanos desde luego no desean pagar estos honorarios horrendos, pero no les importar recaudarlos para llevar a sus vecinos a través de las fronteras, y en el proceso muchas cosas pueden pasar, violación, robo, aún asesinato, y esta historia que estás a punto de leer implica todas las tres cosas.

Ella, Guadalupe sabía que esta ciudad era el lugar requerido para su intención invencible, el lugar donde ella tendría éxito, pero aún dos meses tuvieron que pasar. Su obligación era asegurar que las personas que le harían pasar la frontera serían pagadas; esta coordinación fue hecha por teléfono, vía, Pórtland (Oregon), a México, y San Diego (California). El dinero fue garantizado, si de verdad estas dos mujeres serían entregadas a sus familiares.

Una vez en Tijuana, le presentaron a “Coyotito”, quien sería su representante mexicano. Le dieron un nuevo pasaporte, y el “Coyotito” sería su esposo, Guadalupe tenía veintiocho años entonces, tenía dos hijos en Perú y un esposo (o futuro esposo, quien trató de cruzar la frontera de Estados Unidos, pero fue capturado y devuelto a México) Así que, éste era su turno para intentarlo.
Y así en un carro, y por la puerta, Guadalupe y el “Coyotito” se transportaron, Guadalupe era treinta centímetros más alta que su supuesto esposo, ella se sintió rara, eso ella me dijo, pero era como era, con mucho respecto era su nuevo protector, y una vez que ellas llegaran a donde se suponía tenían que llegar y entregadas a sus parientes, esto costaría 3000 dólares americanos por persona, en total 6000 dólares.

Ella sintió un escalofrío de miedo, mientras ellos condujeron por las puertas de México al país de las oportunidades; ahora en una ciudad desconocida mientras ella dependía de la buena voluntad y conciencia del “Coyotito”. Ella esperó en San Diego por su hermana, ellas habían sido separadas antes, tal como fue previsto y ahora serían reunidas; así, una vez que cruzaron la frontera, ella descubrió que no era imposible cruzar las fronteras sobrenaturales entre la tierra de menos y la tierra de abundancia.

Y como corresponde, ella sintió que estaba en la mitad de su destino, libre hasta ahora y reunida con su hermana, como acabo de mencionar. Esto la satisfizo mucho, y en el proceso (con veinte otros inmigrantes) el “Coyotito” les ofreció, o les proveyó, debería decir, algunas necesidades frugales, comida en particular. Ella notó que los mexicanos comían con sus manos sin cubiertos, pero ella pidió un tenedor (fue un error), ellos la miraron como si ella estaba pidiendo la luna, y consiguientemente ella pasivamente aceptó su estilo de comer, y comió con sus manos como ellos.

Ella y su hermana con un grupo anterior, fueron traídas a una casa en San Diego, la casa de un nuevo “Coyote”, mientras que el “Coyotito” tuvo que marcharse y volver a México para traer su siguiente grupo. Aquí seis de ellos tuvieron que caber en un compartimiento o plataforma debajo del auto, donde ella tuvo que poner su nariz cerca de un agujero por aire, porque al lado de ella había una mexicana gorda que casi la asfixia con sus axilas malolientes. Sin embargo, ella sobrevivió, como que no sería capaz de escribir este reporte, si ella no sobrevivía, ¿no?

Mientras llegaban a la segunda ubicación en San Diego, una casa con dos “Coyotes” que esperan por los seis individuos, ella se libró de los enormes cuerpos que apretados fueron mantenidos como sardinas en el compartimiento del auto. Ella estaba feliz de salir de allí, aunque fue necesario, porque había funcionarios de inmigración a lo largo del camino que ellos tuvieron que recorrer para llegar a la segunda ubicación en la ciudad. Aquí las cosas cambiarían drásticamente.

En este nuevo local en San Diego, les dijeron a ellas que tendrían que quedarse por un tiempo, quizás cuatro días, porque nadie había venido a recogerlas. En realidad sus miembros familiares estaban en Portland, y según los dos “Coyotes”, ellos no sabían dónde quedaba Portland, pero una vez que lo averiguaron (a 1,502 kilómetros de distancia), ellos pusieron a las dos muchachas en un cuarto aislado, que tenía ventanas con barras de metal, por consiguiente, no habría ninguna fuga. Con todo, una catástrofe se iba construyendo. En el transcurso del día, el “Coyote Malo”, peleó con el supuesto “Coyote Bueno”, sobre las dos muchachas, en el sentido de que el “Coyote Malo” quería violar a una, o talvez a ambas. Todo el día esta lucidez intolerable de insomnio cayó sobre las dos muchachas, que encontraron que no había ninguna posibilidad de escape del cuarto y de saber que sus miembros familiares en Portland estaban poco dispuestos a venir en su rescate, hasta San Diego, por temor a ser capturados ellos mismos por ser inmigrantes ilegales también, y un mexicano loco afuera de sus puertas.

Guadalupe podía oírlos hablar malas palabras, es decir maldiciéndose uno al otro, y mientras había caído las primeras horas de la mañana, serían las 2 de la madrugada, las cosas cambiarían de nuevo.

Antes de esto, el “Coyote Malo” estaba golpeando la puerta del cuarto de las muchachas, tratando de entrar. Y luego los fuertes golpes a la puerta se detuvieron, en aquel momento los corazones de las muchachas comenzaron a palpitar por lo desconocido que era desolador a lo mucho, luego vino un silencio. Después, sonó otro golpe en la puerta del cuarto de las muchachas, un golpe más suave esta vez, era el “Coyote Bueno”, “¡Vengan, vengan… rápido!” les dijo a las dos muchachas, llevando un saco negro afuera a su carro. Él estaba agotado, y mientras que las dos muchachas entraban en el carro, ellas notaron un cuerpo inerte por la acera; este se parecía al “Coyote Malo”.

“Estamos yendo a Las Vegas”, dijo el “Coyote Bueno”, allí ustedes pueden tomar un autobús a Portland. Y entonces ellos condujeron toda esa noche.
Una vez en Las Vegas el “Coyote Bueno” deliberadamente le dio su bolso negro a Guadalupe para que le ayudara a llevar (mientras él iba a asearse, después de comprar ropa para él mismo, y algunos zapatos y ropas para las muchachas); entonces ella, Guadalupe puso su mano en el bolso negro y descubrió que había un arma, ella rápidamente lo soltó de vuelta en la bolsa negra, horrorizada por lo que ella había descubierto; ¡ay!, pero ella había dejado sus huellas digitales en el arma.

Guadalupe hizo una llamada telefónica a Portland, diciéndole a su familia que el “Coyote Bueno” había pagado su pasaje en el autobús “Greyhound” a Portland, y ellas estarían allí dentro de poco. Antes de esto, el Coyote Bueno les había preguntado si ellas tenían algo de dinero; Guadalupe tenía, ella tenía doscientos dólares, pero dijo “¡No, estamos en la quiebra…!” Bueno esa es la forma peruana, ¿no? De todos modos, el “Coyote Bueno” (mexicano de nacimiento) quizás no era tan bueno como nos gustaría que él fuera, él había tomado los 60,000 dólares que él y su compañero habían recolectado en San Diego por los veinte y tanto clientes que ellos habían llevado a través de la frontera. Entonces él estaba desde luego muy lejos de estar en la quiebra el mismo.

(Las innumerables variables que Guadalupe tuvo que aguantar no habían terminado aún, la tarea más difícil todavía residía en el futuro sobre este drama y el desenrollo de acontecimientos)

Una vez en Portland, ninguna de las dos muchachas pudo encontrar un trabajo durante tres meses, de modo que no fue un buen comienzo, pero su familia proveyó, como a menudo lo hacen las familias peruanas. Y a su debido tiempo, ambas encontraron un trabajo.

Fue poco tiempo después de que ella consiguió trabajo, que los misterios del asesinato que ocurrió en San Diego, hizo sus pasos a la casa, a la casa en que Guadalupe y de su hermana vivían. Los Agentes Federales de la policía, tocaron a su puerta, y gradualmente, la puerta fue abriéndose. Fue para su sorpresa, que los agentes sabían su nombre completo, su verdadero nombre, y casi todo que ella sabía de si misma, ellos lo sabían. Lo que ellos realmente querían (los Agentes) era cooperación, y por eso ambas, Rosario y Guadalupe, cooperaron al máximo, por temor a ser acusadas de asesinato; así, el “Coyote Bueno" no era tan bueno como él trató de fingir.

Después de cierto tiempo, y de películas con el testimonio de las dos muchachas sobre lo que ocurrió en San Diego, el “Coyote Bueno” fue capturado y puesto en prisión. Y las muchachas consiguieron una bonita carta del Gobierno Federal, y un permiso de trabajo.

(Escrito 24-Junio-2007)
Reedited and Revised English Version 1/2016

The Doomsday Clock, Stopped! (January, 2016)

In plain American English, Obama has brought the Doomsday Clock, to a stop!
What is that?
It is a clock, of nuclear arms and its climate, created by Atomic Scientists, to measure the world’s potential for catastrophe, Armageddon, the apocalypse!
They say it is not good news, the clock has stopped at three minutes to twelve, midnight!
This year of 2016 A.D., is more vulnerable than ever before, with the proliferation for nuclear perils:
Now that Iran has been cut loose, and North Korea has got the H-bomb, and America and Russia are at odds again.
China is setting up military sites all over the South China Sea!
Should the Islamic State, or Boko Harm get a nuke, then what?
They will be weighed by the mercy they give, so shall they receive, these catalysts of doom! But until then what?
Should the hands of the clock get much closer to Midnight, we will need no Doomsday Clock at all, we’ll be in the middle of it…!


Note: In 2015, the clock was five minutes to Midnight! It now remains the closest it has been in 20-years.  The Atomic Scientists were founded in 1945, University of Chicago. Prior to 2015, it of course was lower, but with the modernization of nuclear weapons and the new and old and growing nuclear arsenals, point of fact, the climate is not good. In the Middle East we have Pakistan and Israel with nuclear capability, as does India, and Iran on the Horizon, and perhaps Saudi Arabia.  In Asia, Japan is thinking hard on the subject of arming themselves should there be a showdown, and America hightail it out of the Japan Sea, for calmer waters, as we recently did in the Persian Gulf, facing Iran; Japan does not want to be at the mercy of North Korea.  And President Putin, is a dangerous demigod, as is Obama (God help us all should he become after his prudency, a Supreme Court Judge). There has been 260,000-syrians killed in Syria’s recently civil war. Boko Harm has killed over 20,000-individuals in Africa.  IS, is responsible for a genocide, and the ruin of humanity’s cultural background in the Middle East. 

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Moments in Time (a poem)

Babenhausen West Germany, 1975

In my time, I’ve learned most recently,
Per near now, seventy…
An impression can last forty-years;
That is, as one old friend said:
‘…how a moment or moments in time
Can leave a lifetime (impression) on people.’
The proof is in the pudding, when he wrote
Back again, “In a way we are all a product of
Those we…come in contact with on
Our journey through life. …and for that I am
Forever grateful (to you).”

#5030/1-26-2016/For Butch McGee

Note: Inspired by two letters from Butch McGee, after having no contact with him for four decades (1974-1977), Letters received in January of 2016, where upon the poet called him from Lima, to Alabama. Mr. McGee being an old soldier friend from West Germany; where they had spent 30-months working together, per near every day, for 8 to 10 hours a day (which comes to about, 6000-hours). Thank you Butch for your insight!  

Sunday, January 24, 2016

The Sempiternal World ((Worlds Beyond) (with Dr. G.B. McGee)) #5 In Poetic Prose


Dr. McGee, lost, I mean really misplaced,  on this new sphere, rather I should say trapped on what he originally called the Dark Planet, after the Galaxy burped all its guts, and gases up and out of its black hole, to form this new world and tiny galaxy, was at this point not a happy camper, not completely.

Now on this sempiternal world for a year, an alien planet without an official name, Earth is becoming a formidable memory. But this day his mind is stirred, shadows in his mind stirred are being formed, he sees, not sees, hears female voices afar, he feels a strange warmth to those voices, per near a fervor develops, he drops his fruit, devouring it no more. The closer the voices come, the more aroused he becomes. He now moves branches in his way, the sun blotched his vision, shaking his head, putting an elephant type leaf over his head for a hat, he recoiled his vision quickly, he waved madly as to be seen by the seven shadows, in the far-off distance.  They are females, young and lovely. Without pause, he keeps waving his hands in burning contentment.

(Interlude: McGee would learn in time, there was a village of women, taken from Earth during the 14th century, and these were the remnants of that village, for most all died of the plague but those now who were but approaching shadows, —But by whom?—who is to say? But brought all the same. Brought to his consternation, yet this was his twilight, the reason he was brought, in the first place, for his DNA. It was at this juncture also, he no longer feared the long eared giant flora that seemed to guard this world.  And to be frank, they appeared to withdraw their gloomy look.)

Thought Dr. Butch McGee, “Why did these women survive, I mean how?”
       Always a scientist, he pondered this question long and hard. Did they have part of the Gerome of the Neanderthal like him?   Really all humans did not come from the same ancestors, but yes, all belonged to one family, humanity, he concluded. So they survived from the DNA of the Denisovans. It is hard said, but the truth is the truth, these women survived because of their immune system. Now his question was to his second mind: could a billion years be interjected into a million, in time and space, like injecting an anesthesia into the mouth of a desert.
       McGee cohabitated with all seven women, and it came to mind in those early months, how quickly oxygen became so plentiful throughout the Dark Planet, becoming a part of this sphere, evidently only taking 1.5 million years, compared to earth’s atmosphere that perhaps took four billion years to form. It was a mystery of mysteries, a quantum mystery.
       He measured the air, every five molecules being O2   consequently he knew eukaryotic cells (being a single cell or multicellular organism) had good nuclei, and two sets of walls, a special protein bond and contact with the DNA, this protected the DNA, which protects the chromosomes. Therefore, whoever wanted the race renewed was willing to experiment with tribal interbreeding and those now in place, being: he and his seven wives and his children, were the bottom of the iceberg, the peak yet to be seen.  By and large, his children would have a strong immune system indeed.

#4985/1-8 & 9-2016
No: SF Vignette #5 (with Dr. McGee)   

Strange Swing Planet (Nine)

  ((Worlds Beyond) (with Dr. G.B. McGee)) 2040 A.D.

In Poetic Prose

The Louisiana Space Station had discovered the 9th Planet exact location, tracing its orbit for four-years, on its 15,000-year orbit around Earth’s sun. Being ten-times the size of Earth,  and a thousand telescopes on Earth searching for the new planet alongside its orbit, and Earth’s new outpost on Mars doing likewise, it was  ambiguous, but just a matter of time.
       Compared to the Dark Planet, it was a hope-skip-and-jump, to its forest called the Kuiper Belt, where its orbit centralized, and passed Sedna, a planet nearly the size of Pluto hidden within its channels, and when it did pass Sedna its distinct alignment with the rest of the solar system was mapped out to the least fraction, but only that area of space.
       In the adjacent solar system, objects unnamed, star watchers found the missing planet as it zoomed by, covered by massive debris of asteroids and alike, thus not very visible, and as it rotated on its axes, object swung outward to and fro around the planet, as if protecting it from bombardment, and the large planet had a pull, a dynamic force on its pilgrims as Dr. McGee coined them to be, on these far-flung orbiting moons of sorts, which seemingly stayed in a permanent stage of circling its mass, but also they shed light on the planet, as would a comet. And the closer to Earth’s sun, the more energized these objects came, and a more brighter light did they shed. And the more visible became the Ninth Planet as it was called by the media, or X-planet, which was really out of date.
       Dr. McGee, as usual had ideas, like the one he had for the Dark Planet, if only he could find a way to harness something on the 9th Planet, to explore it on its fifteen century journey, for mankind, the happier he’d be.  The superintendent, Dr. Hightower was of course impressed with McGee’s idea, but as he told me, during our last meeting—on the side—and I shall express it the best I can:
       “We’re still trying to figure out the birth of the Spiral Galaxy, it would seem it was formed like the Milky Way, or started in that manner, from the middle and grew outward, and as small as the Spiral Galaxy is now, in  a million years, it will be ten-times its now size, so I conclude with Dr. McGee.  Stellar Spectra age is difficult to get, even consider, I wish Dr. McGee would stick with that.  This new Galaxy he discovered #79, is starting out as a small disc, and in time will grow, form the inside out.  This we might be able to see in our own lifetime, through the aperture, we’ve discovered.  When McGee saw the black hole before it exploded and hiccupped its insides, we got to see a crescent shape as it swirled around the black hole. We need you, Dr. D. to keep him on track, if only you could!”

5021/1-21 & 24-2016
No: SF Vignette #5 (with Dr. McGee)   

McGee’s Colossal Shockwave ((Worlds Beyond) (with Dr. G.B. McGee #7)) In Poetic Prose

McGee’s Underground Abode, on the Dark Planet

Knowing all explosions fade, even monster explosions billions of light years away, supernovas that is, perhaps at its surface being 100,000 degrees, this mega-supernova with the brightness of 600-billion times that of Earth’s sun, 10,000-light years away, Dr. McGee standing on the Black Planet looking up at and into the Spiral Galaxy’s far-off darkness, in the constellation #89, knowing it center to be very compact, boosted by a dense highly magnetized, magnate. A sudden shockwave disturbed the space environment around the Black Planet—causing McGee and his family to find shelter underground, thus the atmosphere filling up, and stirring up gas and dust, and blinding the planet from its sun and moon, dropping the temperature to a near freezing level for several months, killing much of the foliage and all the long ear plants that had evolved in the last million or so years.  
         Actually what took place—Dr. McGee explained to me one afternoon, after his return to Earth from the Black Planet, and I shall explain what he said now, the best I can: when this explosion took place there was a temper tantrum, throwing off enough heat and radiation to make today’s sunspots and coronal mass ejections look like hiccups. This radiation vaporized most of the Dark Planets crust, the solar wind had blown the remnants back out into the solar system around our planet. Saving perhaps a good portion of the foliage, but not nearly half of what it was. But for less than fifty-people, it would do.  Had the Dark Planet, had it been a larger planet it might have lost its outer shell, and become like Mercury, a dead planet.  We didn’t have big collisions either during this cosmic shockwave, commonplace on many planets and moons as you know Dr. D., knocking us out of our orbit—it could have done that,, thank God for that it didn’t, we’d have plunged into the sun, I mean the nearest star. But that’s how it was, if that makes any sense. Actually what I remember to be frank was a swirling disk of dust and gas, like a solar nebula, circling the planet, what stuff or material I can’t say, but blinding, hot and scorching.
      With McGee’s seven wives in a warm marble like cave, with grand peaks and towers, carved to the likes of a palace by nature, and with his twenty-one children life went on nearly as normal; a  creek running throughout the cave’s maze, allowed for a good water supply, and fish and other growths that were eatable,  hence, it was under such circumstances, a pleasant, or as pleasant as it could be for those months inhabitants within that hibernation period; and McGee, returned to normal with a tremendously bigger appetite for food than for sex, thereafter.
       But all is not well, that ends well, he was getting tired of living a hermit’s life on the Dark Planet, even with seven wives, in that he could do little, to zero exploration into the cosmos.    

SF Vignette #7 (with Dr. McGee)   

El Chapo (A Drug lord’s Demise)


A short man stands in his prison cell, his back to the two guards, looking at a bare white wall (the two guards are named: Juan and Enrique). They are guarding El Chapo, number one drug lord in the world, they have black masks on. You can’t tell what time it is, there are no windows, only lights. Juan stands five feet in front of Enrique, who stands behind him, both holding M16 automatic rifles, barrows downward.

Juan   Do you want to know something about El Chapo?

Enrique     O.K.

Juan (cont.)    He doesn’t have any idea at all when the American gringos are going to get him, he’s planning his escape as he stands…

Enrique    You really think so?

Juan chuckles.

Juan   (cont.)    that we will see!

He straightens out his shoulder strap of the M16.

Juan   (cont.)    how about you letting me sleep half the shift, and I’ll do the same for you, my feet are killing me.


Enrique     no way!     

El Chapo remains still as stone.

Juan   (cont.)    well, anyhow, here he is, and he hasn’t the faintest idea in 72-hours he’ll be in the hands of the Americans, no more digging tunnels under his toilet. You know his vanity got to him. Thought he was a movie star, he even invited Sean Penn to visit his rancho for a hand shake, and a photo sitting, can you beat that?

El Chapo moves his shoulders a tinge as if irritated with the chitchat, but keeps his back to them.

Enrique     pride comes before destruction. So my wife always tells me.


Juan   (cont.)    Yah, I heard that idiom before, kind of true I suppose.

Enrique moves his feet some.

Juan   (cont.)    what is pride anyhow?

Enrique      it’s got something to do with ego, superiority, arrogance, you know, those kinds of things.


El Chapo twists his head to see the two masked guards, he looks depressed.  After a moment, he straightens back up.

Juan   (cont.)    let me put it this way. He has little idea how watchful the Americans can make his prison stay, they don’t take bribes like they do here in Mexico.


Enrique   I think he does have an idea of how the Americans are and that is why he’s depressed…

Juan   (cont.)    I didn’t think of that, could be. Maybe he’s thinking of his family.

Enrique    Yes. Perhaps, but he should be thinking of all those families he’s hurt.


He shuffles his feet, as if they have fallen to sleep.

Juan   (cont.)    only thing he’s sorry about is being caught, nothing else.


Enrique (quietly)   He’s been in the paper almost every day, and on television.  

He stretches his arms out, his M16 dangles freely, loosely.


Juan   (cont.)    he’s a prisoner with a billion dollars of blood money, Satan’s waiting for him at his doorsteps, hoping the gringos will kill him.

Juan   (cont.)    he’s not a religious man, you know.

Enrique        all Latin Americans, Mexicans included are religious, we all love Mary the Mother of God, even the likes of him…


Juan   (cont.)     that’s nonsense.
El Chapo   what did you say?


Enrique        don’t answer him, we’re not supposed to talk to him, and they got cameras all over the place, hidden cameras.


El Chapo    you said Mary.

Enrique      What? I can’t remember what I said.

El Chapo turns back to his wall.

Juan   (cont.)     asshole, oink-pig.

The two guards pace the hall-way, one on each side, one behind the other, as if to loosen up their muscles, always glancing back minute to minute to see El Chapo, and then back into their position…

Juan   (cont.)       do you know what I find disappointing?


Enrique   What?

Juan   (cont.)      our government’s ignorance. I mean this asshole here, we got to feed him, bath him, dress him, watch him, as if he’s special, why not just hang him, save the government a lot of tax money. The Romans had a great idea: no work no food, and for people like him, meat for the lions.

Enrique   What?


Juan   (cont.)      Listen, you got to define your words, such as: ‘What?’  Twice you said it in a row, what does it mean, nothing, and it’s no part of a discussion, take my tip, define ‘what’…

Enrique    I guess it means I abased! 

Juan   (cont.)      what does abased mean, if it means ‘what’ …

Enrique   it means we are government employees, and I’m humiliated by you thinking we should kill him, we’d be no different than him!

Juan   (cont.)      don’t be so sensitive! Look at this little man here for example, a first class asshole that is ‘what’ he is. I have defined the word what for you, even better than debased!   Now do you see, he has nothing more to say, you’re supposed to say ‘why’ then I say, he’s more or less called it a day. I mean, not long ago this jerk was a man of conviction, wasn’t he? Not of principle, not of values, now he’s empty as if he just vomited it out of him, front and back.


Juan   (cont.)       Mr. Asshole, we’ve just begun.

Enrique       be careful Juan, they got cameras all over the place.


El Chapo puts his hands over his face and sobs.

Juan   (cont.)       you see, he’s really depressed! Poor baby.


Enrique   What? I mean, I guess so, I guess he’s depressed, and it appears so.

Enrique looks as if he is taken in by El Chapo’s depression. Juan gives him a smirk, although his back is still turned to the two guards.

Juan   (cont.)       He deserves it!


Enrique    what?  He deserves what?


Juan   (cont.)       to be depressed, that’s what!


Enrique   I got to tell you, I’ve got to tell someone, and there is no one else I can tell…

Juan   (cont.)       all right. Go on. Tell!

Enrique   I feel safer now that he is behind bars…

Juan   (cont.)       Why?  Did he try to make a deal with you too? 

Enrique    I mean, the world is cleaner of drugs, and Mexico looks good instead of a parlor for drug lords.      

They look into each other’s faces.

Enrique    I wonder if he’d shake hands with the likes of me like he did with Sean Penn, and take a picture with me, he’s famous! Maybe I can sell it on Ebay!

Juan   (cont.)       don’t be so silly. He’ll gnaw your hand to the bone, should you shake it.

Juan chuckles...   looks at his watch

Juan   (cont.)       our shift will be over in twenty-minutes, I need a cold beer!


Juan   (cont.)       by the time El Chapo gets out of prison the rush of water as an old man will no longer splash against the wall, but fall and leak like a ruptured water hose.

Juan chuckles...   looks at his watch again

Juan   (cont.)      he’ll learn like my old man did, life gives old folks things with the right hand and takes away things with the left hand, El Chapo will have two left hands.


Juan   (cont.)       He wants his story to outlive the sounds of his war drums, he’s vain as they come.

El Chapo (back still to the guards)   you understand little about the world. My story does set me apart from you boobs. My story owns you. Directs you, otherwise you’d not be here. My story is different from your neighbors. Whom are all relatively the same?

Juan looking at Enrique, directing his words…

Juan   (cont.)      His story will put him in a wooden box, deep in the ground, swallow him up.

El Chapo (back still to the guards)    you are like a little puppy that wags his tail running in a circle when he sees his master and lets out air as if his back end is on fire.

Juan   ((cont.) (looking at Enrique))      can he talk to us like that?

Enrique   don’t listen to him, he’s smoldering under his own ashes.

Juan chuckles...   looks at his watch once more

Enrique (looking at Juan, looking at his watch now)    we got five minutes to the change of guards, how did they capture him anyhow? 

Juan   ((cont.) (with a chuckle))   they speared him like a fat walrus through a hole in the ice as he came up for air, and stardom!


El Chapo
By Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c. Copyright © 1/2016