Sinking feeling

Our freedoms are in danger
I ask you, heed the call
A handful are funding censorship
and ruining it for us all

It isn't just the pirates
or those who traffic in IPs
But legitimate folks will lose their rights
Don't believe? Ask the Chinese.

So please talk to your Congressmen
And tell them "Don't you dare"
It's by the people, for the people
Not just those with cash to spare.

 Get informed@
americancensorship.org

In a Mood

"You spoke to Anne last night, huh" asked Alex. His calm gaze was leveled on Jack, who stood leaning against his kitchen counter. Jack stared down at the floor, his face grim.

"Yeah," he whispered. His eyes remained lowered, but he held out a notebook.

Alex took it, but never took his eyes from Jack. "What's this?"

"I was in mood," said Jack, looking up and locking eyes with his old friend. "What else was there to do but write?"

He began to pace his kitchen; a caged tiger of emotion. "My love has not faltered in all this time. And the pain of it does not whither. She tells me of exploits without understanding how much it pains me to hear them."

His pacing came to a sudden halt. A kind of agonized reality seemed to have struck him. Grief, like a larval worm, began the slow climb across his face. "Or perhaps she simply doesn't care."

"No," said Alex, his tone firm. "I know how much you love Anne. You don't mean that. She would never, ever do that to you."

"I hope you're right."

"I am. Now shut up and let me read this stuff."

Jack sighed and walked out the door to have a cigarette. Alex made himself comfortable on the floor, opened the notebook, and began to read.



****
Grace

Crimson tears flow down my arms
in memories of long ago
Grow up young man, grow up, grow up
No longer will they flow
Embrace this life you grew to loathe
allow yourself to know
that scars will fade and memories too
if you learn to just let go
Open your heart, forgive yourself
for errors of the past
Allow your soul to move along
the pain it will not last
Pray for me now I beg, I plead
that grace will see me through
For without the grace of heaven I fear
that I'll be lost to you.

Reflections

My doppelganger prays for me
each time that I walk past
I see the worry on his face
in his eyes beyond the glass.

The tears that silently roam his face
are tears he weeps for me
"You aren't as bad as I," he says.
"Why can't you seem to see?"

I look into his eyes for hours
before giving my reply
"It wasn't you who failed them all.
It was my fault. It was I."

Repentance

Apologies to mom and dad
apologies to my brother and son.
Apologies to those touched by my life
and the foolish things I've done.
Apologies to God for being
less that I could be.
Apologies to all of you
but most of all to me.

Forgive

You've blessed me with my life, oh Lord
Showed me love and grace
Put people in my life who cared
And filled an empty space.


But I've pushed them all away, oh Lord
Though you taught me how to live
It's not your fault, it's mine alone
And I must learn to forgive -


Myself for all the foolish words
I spoke without a thought
Myself for all the lies I've told;
I've got me now, I'm caught.


Please teach me how to do this, Lord
Please help me see the way
Forgiving myself is my only chance
To go on another day


I ask this of you now, oh Lord
I fear it cannot wait
Please teach me to forgive myself
before it is too late


Without You

Where did you come from and why now?
Of the billions on the earth, why you?
What miracle brought you to me, love
and without you now, what will I do?


When you are gone the sun won't shine
without you my heart won't beat
You were the missing puzzle piece
that made my soul complete.


There is no warmth within my world
now that you've gone away
And I question my own sanity
for rain tickles my cheeks on a clear, blue day


Where have you gone to and why now?
Of the billions on this earth, why she?
Why did I have to lose such love
and with it part of me?


Simple Rule

Roses have thorns to protect them from
the bumbling hands of fools
But roses can be cradled close
if you follow this short rule:


Treat them with love and a gentle touch
and soon enough you'll see
That roses can be folded close to your heart
when held delicately
****


Jack walked back into his apartment. He took one last drag before casting the cigarette butt out the door. Alex was nowhere to be seen. This wasn't entirely unexpected. The man was better than Houdini when it came to baffling escapes.

The notebook was on the kitchen counter, opened to the last poem. Below it was scribbled a message. Jack sat down to read.

Hey bud,

I enjoyed these. I especially liked the first one because I'm glad that you pick up a pen now, rather than a modeling knife. It also brings me joy to know that you remain optimistic, even it carries a weight of sadness.

Forgiveness will come in time. Whether you believe it or not, I can assure you that it will.

I will say that your writing is improving, though it is not without its flaws. I'd have chosen some different wording on a few of these, but I realize that when you let your thoughts flow from the heart, word choice isn't always what matters.  

What matters is that you started writing again. I think that it's a kindness to yourself, and to any who might read your words and know they're not alone. 

And you are not alone, either, my old friend. I love you dearly and wish for nothing but your happiness. I will always be here for you. No matter what.

- Alex

Jack mulled over the words of his oldest friend. A slight smile touched his lips. He closed the notebook.

Fall asleep with me again

I fall in love with you each time I hear your quiet voice
An ache inside of me, a hope that
maybe someday
you'll realize what you mean to me
or perhaps simple grace will lead you back
understand that I didn't mean to cause you pain and
remember that my promise to you is complex, yet completely
simple.

Always

Divine Prerogative

Sono il tuo schiavo

In the candle lit darkness of the small room, he knelt at his altar in worship. The marble Goddess, unmoving and cold, gazed down at him with dead, eyes. In the stillness of the night, he offered a prayer.

There, on his hands and knees, he began first by kissing her feet. With a gentle touch of his lips he kissed each toe. A light touch of his finger tips massaged her ankle, her calf.

His kiss made a slow ascent, following his fingers' touch.

"You are my Goddess," he whispered after each soft kiss. "Sono il tuo schiavo."

His breath was soft, slow. To breathe otherwise might make this apparition fade away. Become a memory.

He rose with slow purpose, to his knees while kissing those of the Goddess. Embracing her legs, caressing her his lips glided to her thighs. Soft and quiet were his breaths onto those thighs.

Was it his imagination? Were those goosebumps on his Goddess' legs?

His prayers were being answered. This deity, this idol was coming to life. With each kiss, each loving touch of his fingertips, his Goddess awakened.

As his lips moved with love up her thigh, he whispered, "You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

Still on his knees, but upright, he breathed in the scent from between her legs. His pulse quickened but he maintained his deliberate pace. He planted quiet little kisses, little sparks of love. After each press of his lips, a light flick of his tongue. And as his hands traced the gentle contours of her thighs and rump, he spoke his mantra.

"You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

He raised himself up now, and pressing his lips against her soft stomach he felt the Goddess shiver. A gentle sigh escaped from her lips. She was coming to life.

His arms embraced her cold waist, then he began to rise up. He stood now, staring into those eyes and thought he saw a spark of life. His hands glided up her sides, making their way to her shoulders. His thumbs felt the suppleness of her breasts ans they eased past.

With a light touch, one hand rested on her shoulder. The other hand he raised to her face, caressing her soft cheek. He ran his fingers through her silken hair, hooking it behind her ear.

She had come to life. His prayers had been answered. He smiled and in supplication spoke again.

"You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

Down her arms his fingertips slid. The very light touch caused the Goddess to close her eyes and tilt back her head. A quiet moan of enjoyment grew in her throat. She shivered just as he took up her hands.

He raised her hands to his lips. He kissed them, one after another. He massaged the joints of her slender finger just as he had massaged her ankles, her knees. And he praised the divine flesh between each finger with a tender kiss, a light flick of his tongue and a soft breath.

Lowering her hands, he wrapped her arms around his waist and moved close. Releasing her hands, he entwined her in his own. He kissed her shoulders, her neck. Each peck planted was one of pure love, love that he hoped would grow. Sighs of pleasure escaped her lips.

They were pressed together now, looking into each others eyes. Running his fingertips along the back of her neck, his hand made its way through the soft forest of her hair. His touch was soft as he held head, when he spoke once more.

"With every part of me, I worship you. You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

He began to inch his lips toward hers. Anticipation of the flame that would erupt inside of him made his heart flutter. Love for the Goddess was an addiction for him, a need and no drug made by man was comparable.

She was the most loving, the most beautiful thing on this earth or in heaven to him. She was the sun, moon, stars, and all of the cosmos wrapped into the perfect form. A form made just for him.

He thought.

As their lips neared, he felt it. The warmth seemed to fade. Her hands came away from him and her head tilted back.

He saw in her eyes now a look of recognition. Sadness, mixed with fear perhaps, filled the void where for a moment their had been life. She began to stiffen; transforming from that soft, cool flesh he loved into the cold, hard marble once again.

Tears began to fall down his cheeks. They matched those upon the Goddess' face. With the last breath that would escape from her once living lips, she whispered her eternal, damning judgement.

"No. Not for us."

He fell hard to the floor, pain blazing fire through his knees. He pounded his fists on the ground until they were bloodied and broken. His face was covered in tears as he raged.

Denial.

"No! No, no, no no no no no no no no no no no no no," he screamed in bitterness, clutching his head and pulling at his hair. He had been so close. He had almost had the Her in his life. He had almost had the impossible. Forever.

As the truth began to sink in, his scream became broken sobs. Blood from his knuckles blended with his tears; an offering of pain upon the altar of his Goddess, his love. He sputtered and shook as he curled up at her feet.

His face wore the mask of pure agony. His hair, in mere moments, had begun to grey. He threw up and lay there, to defeated to care.

Covered in his own blood, tears and filth, he clutched at her cold stone feet. Shuddering, he whimpered his mantra. His prayer.

"You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

And his prayer had been answered.

what to do

I can't stop shaking
from the dream that I had
woke up without you
and I'm feeling so bad

oh no
I don't know what to do
my heart is broken
from the memory of you

Thinking of walking
and holding your hand
dipping and turning
while we dance to a band

oh no
I don't know what to do
my heart is broken
from the memory of you

a broken smile it crosses my face
do you think about me at night alone in your place
and you don't know what to do
pick up the phone
and call me back to you

Call

I dreamed that I upset you
Awakening I reached for the phone
I pressed the number to call you
not remembering you're gone
the message of the call remains
and it's one I need to tell
you tip-toed around me for so long
it's my turn to walk on egg shell
I know it doesn't matter now
and perhaps my chance is gone
but I have a lot of love to give
and I'll get things right on the next run.

I love you, Always, You're my favorite

She wrote her "I love you" on a small block of ice
It was kept in the freezer as long as I was nice
But when I let her down, when the honeymoon was done
She removed the block of ice and left it out in the sun.

She wrote down her "Always" in the snow, in the cold
I hoped winter would last til we were both old
But the sun it came out on the sad day in spring
And melted the "Always" until there was nothing

She burned "You're my favorite" into my soul
With her by my side for once I felt whole
But now she's forgotten and it's frozen my heart
I'm no longer her favorite, I'm just broken apart.

Heart in a Cage

"Jack," whispered Alex, his voice shuddering. "What have you done?"

Jack looked up from the table with a weak smile on his face. There was pain etched on his face. His cheeks were streaked with tears.

"It hurt, Alex," he said. "It hurt so much. I had to cut it out."

On the table, covered in blood was Jack's still beating heart.

"Will you take if for me, Alex? Just for awhile?"

Alex looked at his old friend and shuddered. His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head.

"I can't, buddy. I'm sorry."

Anguish covered Jack's face as stood abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor. He rushed toward Alex then fell to his knees. Grasping at his legs he pleaded to him.

"But you're strong! I can't do this anymore," he cried out. "Please, Alex. I can't do this anymore."

Alex looked down at his old friend and tears fell from his eyes. He reached down and gently took Jack's chin, making him look up.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," he said. "I've been trying to help you for so long. But I can't do this for you. I can't."

"Please," cried Jack. "Please help me. I know you can handle it."

"No."

The finality in Alex's voice brought a look of surprise to Jack's face. He fell back onto the floor of the kitchen, staring up at him.

"Why," Jack whispered.

Alex wanted to choose his words carefully. Saying the wrong thing would be like a nail in the coffin. He loved Jack dearly, and didn't want that.

"Jack, your heart is broken. It's weak. If I were to take it into me, it would never heal."

He crouched down beside him and looked into his sad, confused eyes.

"The only way it will heal is with time and care. But you have to do it," he continued with a grin. "I've been there my friend. I know how much it hurts. But you can do this."

Jack immediately began sobbing. He shook his head violently. "No I can't," he screamed. "I'm not as strong as you. I'm not!"

Alex suddenly reached for him, gripping his jaw. It was a firm grip, demanding his attention. There was a fire burning in his eyes that Jack had never before seen on the usually calm face.

"Yes you can," Alex growled. "I wasn't always this strong, and as much as I love you man, I'm not going to risk falling down again."

"You...fell?"

"Yes," said Alex, releasing Jack's face. "A long time ago. But I worked through it. And as impossible as it sounds right now, you will too."

"How?"

Alex's smile was broad. "I'll help you of course! I just can't take it for you."

A little smile was beginning to crack on Jack's pain ridden face. He knew his old friend would have a solution.

"It'll be difficult. But believe me, sport, it'll be worth it."

Alex stood. He reached down for Jack and helped him to his feet, then back to his chair.

Once he was seated, Jack looked up at Alex and asked, "Where do I begin?"

"Well, if it hurts too much to have it in you, then the first thing you need is a cage." He looked around the apartment for a moment, then spotted the old birdcage Jack had kept his parakeet in years ago. "This one will do."

"Now, you place your heart in the cage and lock it up. This will keep it protected. And don't let anyone but you see it for awhile."

Jack was nodding as he made mental notes.

"Your heart is like a bird. Sometimes, it will be scared or sad and just plain old freak out on you. At other times, it will sing," said Alex. "When it's singing, sing with it. And when it's freaking out, reassure it.

"And everyday, every single day, you need to feed it. Start with a little bit at a time, just to give it its strength back. Within a few days or weeks, it should be strong again."

"What do I feed it," asked Jack.

"Love, of course."

Jack slowly nodded his head in comprehension. After everything he'd been through, he had a feeling it would take at least a few weeks just to get some of its strength back. Could he wait that long?

"And yes," said Alex, reading his face. "It might take some time, but you can do it."

"How will I know that it's got its strength back? When do I let it out again?"

Alex smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "That's the best part. You won't know. It will."

"It will?"

"Yes. And when it's time, you won't need to let it out. It'll burst out of the cage, singing, on its own!"

Jack smiled at the way Alex mimicked an explosion of sorts with his arms. The pain that his heart had been giving him was nearly too much to bear. Now he was seeing that his heart just needed strength and proper care.

"When do I start?"

"Right now," said Alex. "Get off your duff, put that thing away. And remember, sing when it sings. And when it's freaking out, calm it down. It won't help if you freak out too."

Jack turned away from him as he carried the heart and the cage over to the counter. He smiled as he placed the little heart inside and locked it up. He hummed quietly to it.

"Alex, I really want to thank you for this," said Jack, turning back toward his friend. "I was at my whit's end and..."

Alex was gone. He did that a lot. Jack just smiled, shook his head. He turned back to the heart.

Quiet as a whisper, it began to sing.

1000 photographs

i have 1000 photographs of smiling faces
yours and mine
we love one another
it wasn't just friendship at the time

i am still your friend you know
and you are still mine
but deep down we are lovers too
i hope you realize in time

sick

a hand reaches into my guts and clenches into a fist
and i am sick
sick of this pain
sick of this loss
sick of this love
sick
of your denial.

i wear my heart on my sleeve you say
but you refuse to see
that my heart is only for you

and it is your hand that reaches into my guts and clenches into a fist
and i am sick
sick from your denial
sick from this love
sick from this loss
sick from this pain
sick
am i?

you keep your heart in a locked box
and refuse to open it and see
that your heart still beats for me

unclench your fist and take your hand from my guts
i don't want to be sick
i just want you.
stop this pain.
end this loss.
embrace this love.
deny your denial.

Lone Wolf

I stand under the full moon
sniffing at the cold night air
My louve, my one love
she is somewhere out there

She has gone out hunting
in search of new game
leaving me howling
lonesome, in pain

I let out my love sick
moan to the moon
in the hopes that she'll hear me
and come back to me soon

My louve, my dear darling
We take our mates for life
And I pray to the moon
return my louve, my wife

My Miss

Hello my dear miss
you
the way your hair smelled and
the soft touch of
your hand
holding mine
and the smile on your lips
like a
happy birthday
everyday

I'm sorry I can't be
there
beside you in the future
but mine is done
all done

I have no hope
my hope
was
you.

No more surprises or
excited smiles
No more day trips
in the
wilds

Your blue eyes are oceans deep
but I looked into them
and you lied
to me

Grow old together
love forever
I feel old now
and forever
is just a
dream

Goodbye my miss
you
love, me

President vs Super Villian - Excerpt from Sleepless in Sin City: Depressed, Deprived, But Still Alive An Experiment in Sleeplessness and Creative Writing

It all started with a phone call.

“Hello?”

The sinister,high pitched voice on the other end sent a chill down Rick Allen’s spine. “Hello, Mr Allen. My name is...the Phlatulator! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

After the initial chill, Rick burst out laughing. “What? Is this Danny? Did Gail in Personal Banking put you up to this?”

“How dare you sir! I am the Phlatulator, and you will do as I demand!”

“Really? And what exactly are your demands, oh great Phlatulator?” The condescension in his voice was tar thick.

Rick looked at his watch. He had about 30 minutes before his meeting and figured there was no harm in talking to this joker. The prank was fantastic, and when he found out who set it up, he would make sure to get them something special for Christmas.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Mr Allen.” The voice held real menace. Rick was starting to wonder. Either this guy was a great voice actor, or he had something seriously wrong with him

“You will transfer ten million dollars to my offshore account, or face your doom.”

Rick chuckled. It was funny at first, but the joke was already getting kind of old. Besides, he was starting to feel a bit hungry now and if he hurried he could grab some soup at the corner deli before his meeting started.

“Listen, I don’t know who put you up to this, but I appreciate the joke. Now if you don’t mind, I have to attend a meeting in about 25 minutes, so...”

The rage filled voice cut him off. “A MEETING! How dare you! You have a decision to make, Mr Allen. Because if you don’t transfer the money in the next 10 minutes, I’ll be calling on your lovely wife Sissy.”

Now this was odd. Unless whoever filled him in on some pretty personal details, no cut rate hack should have any idea of who his wife was. They were unlisted and on the do not call list.

“Listen guy. Enough is enough.” Rick became all business. “If you want to keep up this charade, feel free. But whoever told you that threatening my wife, even if it’s just for a joke, was a good idea, they were wrong. So fuck off.”

“Wait!” Rick had just pulled the phone away from his ear, but replaced it at the man’s sudden tone of desperation.

“What!”

“Mr Allen, I see that you’ve made your decision.” The voice sounded very understanding. “And you’re right. I should not have threatened your wife.

“After all,” the voice boomed. “You made the choice not to do my bidding! And you’ll be the one to pay for it!”

There was a muffled, shuffling sound. It sounded as though the phone had been stuffed into something. He heard some bumping and rubbing. What the hell?

“Die!” The voice sounded far away.

Rick pushed his ear tight against the receiver. “What did you say?”

Then Rick heard a sound. It started low at first, like someone blowing raspberries through relaxed lips. The sound went from low to high to higher. It almost sounded like someone was ripping a...

Then all was silence for Rick. He was laying on the floor, the blood pouring from is ears formed a pool. Rick was stone dead.

Meanwhile, in an underground lair somewhere off the coast of Washington, DC, the Phlatulator paced, simmering. He cursed and muttered at the unfairness of it all. Why did no one ever take him seriously? He had a bonafide super power, but they all just laughed.

He’d never been able to get a bank president to wire the money. What made him think today would be any different? They always just made fun of him.

No matter. He was a decent looking man who had been able to get by preying on local clubgoers and bar patrons. He could still make a living.

His fist slammed down onto the table. “Ouch! Dammit that hurt!”

He massaged his aching hand, deep in thought and angry at the table. He didn’t want to just make a living. He wanted wealth and power! He wanted an army of slaves, always at his beck and call.

As the pain in his hand began to throb itself away, his mind cleared. An idea formed. One that was so diabolical it couldn’t possibly fail.

If he couldn’t get bank presidents to turn over the cash, perhaps he would just have to go after the real President. The President of the United State. Of course!

Once he had him on the phone, he could hold him hostage. They would have no choice but to wire the money. And if they refused, he would show them.

He would make an example of the President. All the nations of the world would see that no one was safe. Even the most powerful man on the planet would do his bidding. Or die!

There was no time to waste planning out all of the detail. His power to kill would be all he needed. He could waft away the spirit of life with ease.

Moments later, at the White House, the President’s secretary, Ms Walls, is taking a call.

“I demand to speak to the President.”

This guy was pushy and rude. They did not pay her enough to put up with this kind of behavior. “First of all, sir, you will talk to me with respect. And second, I don’t even know you. Why should I put you on with the President?”

There was a brief silence. Clearly, the caller hadn’t expected such assertiveness. But this woman had no idea who she was dealing with. “I...am the Phlatulator!”

Ms Walls laughed. “Excuse me? Did you just say ‘the Phlatulator’? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Silence replied, and then sound of rustling. A maniacal voice, seeming muffled shouted insanely.

“I am the Phlatulator!”

Raspberries, low now but getting higher, louder. And then there was nothing. Ms Walls fell to the floor behind her desk. Blood drained from her eyes and ears.

Meanwhile, back at the secret lair...The Phlatulator pulled at the back of his uniform. That had been a good one. And now there was one less person in the way of his target. He uttered an evil laugh as he dug around in his desk for the box of baby wipes.

In Washington, DC, the President was taking a walk through the halls. He felt like he was forgetting something, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

He knew it wasn’t his wife’s birthday, or any of the children. A meeting was coming up, but that wasn’t for at least a few hours. He was truly stumped.

With a snap of his fingers, he turned down the hall and headed to Ms Walls’ office. She was a wealth of information, keeping track of all his meetings. If he’d forgotten something, she would let him know.

With a spring in his step, the President walked down the hall. He came to the door and knocked 5 times. Shave-and-a-hair-cut!

He smiled and waited for her response. No answer came, and he knocked again in case she hadn’t heard him. He tapped his foot and hummed a tune for a moment. Finally, he opened the door.

Ms Walls was not sitting at her desk. It wasn’t a bother, as the President knew that she kept his daily calender in the top drawer of her desk. He headed toward it and just as he was coming around, he spotted her.

“My God! Ms Walls!”

He knelt down next to the you woman. Judging from the puddle of blood near her head, it was already too late. He reached for her phone to call a paramedic.

Just as his hand touched the receiver, the ringer blared. The President nearly jumped. Talk about coincident.

He picked up the phone and did his best to disguise his voice. “Hello?”

“I must speak with the President!” The voice sounded excited, almost in a panic. “It’s of the utmost concern.”

“Actually,” he said, speaking in his normal voice. “This is the President. But right now I have a medical emergency here and I need...”

“Speak not of what you need, vile creature! I am the Phlatulator, and you will do as I command!”

“Listen, friend. I don’t care who you are.” The President had know Ms Woods since he’d first moved here and she’d been secretary to the previous President as well. She had always been so kind and this man was making jokes. “My secretary has been attacked and I don’t have time for...”

“SILENCE!” The voice was that of a madman. “Your secretary is dead because she refused to put you on the phone. It’s your fault that she’s dead, and unless you want to end up like her you’ll do exactly what I tell you.”

“And what is that?” He spotted a guard passing through the hall, caught his attention with a whistle and motioned him over. “I’m not sure what happened her, but go get us an ambulance or a doctor or something. If we can help her at all, well...we at least have to try.”

There was an evil laugh. “There is no helping her. Once I snuff out a life, it never comes back. Now. Listen to me.”

The President wasn’t sure if this guy really had anything to do with Ms Walls death. Regardless of that, he seemed like trouble. They didn’t need anymore trouble at the White House today.

“You will transfer ten million dollars to my offshore accounts. You will do this within the hour or you’ll end up just like your precious Ms Walls.”

Unimpressed by the bravado, the President replied, “And what, exactly, makes you think you can do anything to me?”

The guard came back with some of the medical staff and a few interns.

“Put one of your interns on the phone.”

Wondering what the gimmick would be, he called over Daniel. He passed him the phone. “This guy says he wants to talk to an intern.”

Daniel was reluctant to place the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

He didn’t hear a response. Just the sound of someone making the raspberries sound. He collapsed in moments.

Now the President had two bodies and a lunatic on the phone. “Listen, Phlatulator,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what you just did, but I won’t be bullied. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

The Phlatulator began ranting and raving, but the President covered up phone and motioned over a guard. “Get someone to find out everything they can about a man calling himself the Phlatulator. With a PH, I believe.”

The guard nodded and was off.

When he returned his attention to the phone, the ranting and raving continued. Did this guy ever give it up? No matter.

“Phlatulator, you give me one hour to see to my people here. We’ll talk more after I get these folks taken care of.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Meanwhile, back at the secret lair...”Dammit! How dare that man hang up on me. Doesn’t he know who I am? I am the greatest killer known to man. I can kill anytime, anyplace!” He paced and muttered to himself.

He would play the President’s game for now. He would allow him the hour. After that, it was his money or his life!

And yet again, back in Washington, DC - The President looked over the rather sparse file. It seemed that this Phlatulator, though typically small time, could pose a threat. A string of recent kills, all investment bankers, showed similar postmortem signs as Ms Walls and Daniel.

Whatever he did, he did it while you were on the phone. This bit of information gave the President and idea. He caught one of the guard’s attention. “Head one office over and bring me the phone. There should also be a splitter in there for where it attaches to the fax machine. We’ll need that, too.”

The guard was quick about returning with the phone and the line splitter. The President thanked him, then set about hooking everything up. He placed both telephones next to each other.

It was so simple. Now, he just had to wait for the call. It came faster than expected.

When he went to answer, he picked up the receiver of one phone and pressed speaker mode on the other. He hoped there wasn’t too much feedback.

“Well, fool. What have you decided?”

“Phlatulator, I told you before. I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Especially terrorist with no real teeth.”

“You dare,” screamed. “I’ll destroy you for this!”

The President chuckled. “And how exactly do you think you can do that? I’m the President of the United States, and I’m in my home turf.”

“I’ll show you how I can do that,” said The Phlatulator, his voice dripping menace. “Listen. Listen very carefully.”

The President motioned for everyone to step away from the phones and cover their ears. After make one final adjustment, making sure the phones were perfectly aligned, he stepped away as well.

There was the sound of shuffling and the muffled movement. A voice from far away screamed, “Die!”

There was the sound of raspberries. The sound started low and began to get louder. The President pressed his hands as hard as he could to his ears. He had a theory that at this range they should all be just fine, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Their was a brief shout of pain or surprise, followed by what sounded like the phone falling to the ground. Then there was silence.

The President had done it.

Later, in an underground lair off the coast of Washington, DC -  He accompanied a small group of Secret Service Agents on the investigation. When they arrived, they found the Phlatulator. Rather, they found what was left of him.

The villain was on the floor, slumped up again a desk. His eyes were bloodshot and a thick string of drool ran down his chin. He rocked himself, but the movement nearly imperceptible.

“This was some crazy super villain?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him super,” said the President. “Especially when you come to truly understand his power.”

“He farted in the phone, right?”

“Well, yes. The thing is, that was the only way for his power to be effective. Had he broken wind with us standing next to him, we might have had to deal with a nasty smell, but it wouldn’t have hurt us at all.

The Service Agent nodded in understanding.

“Something about the frequency modulation on most telephones boosted the power of his blast,” said the President. “And given that nearly everyone has a cell phone, he could have made himself very dangerous indeed.”

“However, when I realized the way that it worked it gave me the idea to hook up the two phones. Because the blast went through two phones it was slightly diluted. It’s the only reason he isn’t dead.”

“Hmm,” said the Service Agent. “Sounds like he got what was coming to him. Man, Mr President. This is a really shitty secret base. One of the worst we must have seen.”

The President looked around. It was very damp, with puddles of water in some areas. Most of the walls were cracked. Mold was growing in many of those cracks.

He absorbed the details of it all, sighed and nodded his head. “Yes. A shitty base for a shitty villain with a shitty super power. It looks about right to me.”

11/01/2011 - Excerpt from "Sleepless in Sin City: Depressed, Deprived, But Still Alive - An Experiment In Sleeplessness and Creative Writing"

I am alive I am
alive
Though my mind has gone
away
I’m coming back I’m coming
back
But likely not to
stay

My site is clear my site is
clear
And yet my eyes are
closed
I see you dear I see you
dear
Your love was just a
pose.

I am alive I am
ALIVE
My heart continues
on
And I’ll be strong YES I’ll be
STRONG
Once all the pain has
gone.