Friday's Children by Afzal Moolla

Stones.

Making tea for two,

alone.

Desolate tears mingle with the Earl of Grey.

A heart shredded,

leaving only wasted murmurs,

wasted breaths.

A soul hardened,

all alone.

A heart aching,

to beat.

The heart slips,

among scattered stones.

Copyright © 2012 by Afzal Moolla

Purple Words: Darkest Jokes And Poe-Bells

The Darkest Jokes And Poe-Bells

This is a Dream, of course:
    An ongoing Movie,
        An old Job
            of Contract Storytelling
            with a few private jokes
              worked in,
    But the darkest jokes can have
a secret truth to them.

This comes from a fictional account
    about James Whale,
        The Father of Frankenstein
    who had his own secrets revealed in the Dark Jokes sprinkled throughout
    Frankenstein, The Bride Of Frankenstein, The Invisible Man.
   

He and most of his Actors
    were Gay at a time when it
             wasn’t a accepted thing.
Like a Dream within a Dream,
    I was asleep and the Bells started.
        They Boomed! for they were
            Poe-Bells...Poe-Bells...
        Bing-bing-bong-BOOM!
    BOOM! BOOM!
signaling some horribleness
    about to descend upon us,
        some Doom about to make
            itself an fit conclusion
                 to this Storytelling.

Purple Mark 062312




Prompts:
1)    “I was asleep, and the bells started...they boomed! Poe-bells...they were Poe-bells...Bing-bing-bong-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!” pgs. 174-5
2)    Edward Albee Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf? Pocket Books 1962.
3)    “This is a dream, of course. It’s a movie, an old job of contract storytelling with a few jokes worked in. But the darkest jokes can have a secret truth.” pg. 134 Christopher Bram Father of Frankenstein Plume Books 1995.
   

Something About Jim Lindberg (from long ago)

Kool Aid

Ever wonder if Jonestown juice tasted good? They mixed the Kool Aid™ without sugar, forced themselves to drink the bitterness of Jimmy’s life.

The end of the world never came:

not for Jim Jones; not for Hal Lindsay; not for David Koresh; not for Heaven’s Gate; not for Jehovah’s Witnesses; not for Seventh Day Adventist’s; not for Pentecostals camped out on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem; not for computer dependent society on year two thousand.

Not for anyone anywhere has this world ended upon setting a date. Not even for me, will this world crash and burn under my feet.

I inherited this stain from my father and he from his as well. My grandfather, who lived through the great depression, spent the rest of his days in paranoia of the crashes second coming.

Every night, for over twenty years, my father would wax poetically gloom and doom at the dinner table always about the second coming; the second coming of the crash! Whereby, on this glorious day, Wall Street stockbrokers would jump to their deaths; yes, they would jump to their deaths out skyscraper windows. As they fell, their finical dreams would flash in front of their eyes before they landed—splat. Each time he told that story, I swore I’d never be like him.

I am the same he. However, I am not seeking economic destruction in America Nor the deaths of a few rich men in New York City. My lament is that the end of this age of violence will not come soon enough to satisfy my theological desires. I am sane enough to know that I cannot simply wish it to be so.

November 18, 1978, Jim Jones at Jonestown, French Guyana, slaughtered the innocent along with the guilty. He wanted the end so badly; he tried to force God’s hand.

It didn’t work the rapture never came. However, Jimmy did stop the world’s turning for an instant, when the news broke on TV. The sight of all those bodies stuffed into Bags strewn across the grounds of his tent church was horrific—one that I’ll never forget.

The irony is that in all the massacres that followed this world keeps spinning at the same rapid pace.

Composed by William James on May 18, 2001, McMinnville, Oregon.

Lester James Lindberg Obituary

Lester James (Jim) Lindberg

Dec. 1, 1938 – June 24, 2012

Jim Lindberg, age 73, passed away June 24 as a result of a traffic accident. Jim was born in Portland, OR, attended Grant H.S., and graduated from Reed College with a degree in physics. He served 3 years in the U.S. Army, owned & operated S & C Lumber for 25 years with his brother-in-law, Leonard Fischer. After closing S&C, he worked as a cook at Spirit Mtn. Casino for 9 years. Two years ago, Jim opened “A Turning Leaf” Home Medical Equipment with his daughter, Anne & husband, Randy Turner. He served as CFO for a new company that provided many jobs for the local community of Lebanon & Salem. He loved the outdoors, hiking, picking blackberries, and working with his mind and hands in building, creating, and solving problems. He also tutored math & physics to his nieces and grandchildren. He is survived by his wife of 47 years, Lucie, sister, Suzanne Nelson, daughter, Anne, son, William and six grandchildren. A memorial service will be held on Saturday, June 30th, 11:00am at Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Willamina where he was a member.

Today, I saw his remains. The mortician covered him up so that only the beautiful parts of his face shown. Fortunately, for us only half of his scull smashed against the dash board. I keep on hearing in my head, "OH NO," as he swerved off the highway and over corrected.

I wonder what his last thoughts were of? I sat with him alone in the dark unable to stand. I had to be alone with him. I could not say what I need to say with others present. I've only cried once before as an adult. Crying is painful for men. We don't like to release the din of pain unto the world. The last time I cried was when Kay severed our relationship. Kay was the only woman I've ever proposed to. In some sense, I never did get over her. And I suspect that I never will get over my father. My dad probably never got over his father's passing either.

Lester Leonard Lindberg left his son 39 years ago and suffered a lingering death from multiple strokes. I remember him. Laying in nursing home bed in Seaside. When I went to the clam dig with your cousins. I walked by that care center. I recognized it instantly even though the last time I saw the place I was a little boy. I felt like a little boy again when before your remains, i doubled over in grief.

Yes, dad, I will install that whorehouse light for you. And I will write a poem or short about it. If I am lucky, it will be a slam poem that you can perform through me. I always wanted you to see me perform the love of my life. Poetry.

Do you remember that day we went body surfing down at Newport?

Good Bye Dad, I hope I made you proud

At ~3:10PM today, my father was killed in a car accident. He was 73 years old. I never got the chance to tell him goodbye or that I loved him.

The end for him was just so sudden. And for us as well. Mom said that he woke up happy. He was working on project for a neighbor. He was rebuilding a wood splitter. This was the sort of thing that dad enjoyed. He was a mechanical genius or at least that is what it seemed like to me.

Looking at the pictures of the collision are unreal. I guess, I just thought he was a superman and would continue on forever. Fortunately, no one else was injured in the accident. At least I got to see him for a few minutes today.

This whole day seems like a dream. I woke up after four hours of sleep, drove his truck to St. Michael's, in Grand Ronde, to go to Mass. I didn't stay after very long and then came home. Mom called and was feeling faint. She wanted me to drive in and pick her up from her church in Willamina. Just as I got off the phone, Dad was coming in the house. I said, "we gotta go pick mom up." We drove in together. He snoozed in the passenger seat. I transferred cars and he returned home, but stopped off at the neighbor (whose wood splitter he was rebuilding). When he finally got home for lunch, I was snoozing. At five, I woke to a state patrol officer at the front door. And then he broke the news. Lester, was killed this afternoon.

His last words to me were on Saturday evening, before I left to see a Johnny Cash tribute band play at the Wildwood Hotel, "Bill, I want you to install a whorehouse light on the pump house. I'll lay out the fixtures and the wire. All you need is a ladder and a drill."

Last Sunday, I helped him get the pump going. He put in a huge garden this year. I will think of him when I am out hoeing weeds between the squash, beans, potatoes, and other crap.

I know that I have perplexed him. He was never expecting his only son to be a poet. He was always hoping I would get a real job someday. I always told him this was my real job. This morning when I saw him for the last time, he smiled.

Today, dad as you were released into the universe beyond that which could be seen, I released my first literary magazine into the world too. I only wish that I could have shown it to you. I hope dad, that this venture into the realm of e-book publishing will bear fruit and that I too can stand on my own two feet and take care of others as you did. I never said the words, "I Love You," I was always hoping there would be more time.