the echoes of goodbye,
cross a yawning chasm of fog and thought
find me sitting in this Darkroom,
the pictures of my life, languid and swirling above me

familiar fingers of blacklight penetrate me,
violating my inner walls of thought,
a fortress once impervious yet fragile, yes, once like me

galaxies of sotto voce secrets, skeletons in my locked closet
seem to drip like candle wax from the hanging pictures
the memories of my sweet by and by
they were prints I lost so damn long ago
souvenirs, as lost as I

this Darkroom embraces its secrets,
never letting go of the subtleties of the ‘why’
some things just simply refuse to let go of me
like the distant echoes of goodbye . . .

~m

*repost of a  dark angel

This post is somewhat repulsive.
Just my own silly little observation…

I do believe I’ve found a job that I would never want, even if it paid some incredible cash, I still couldn’t do it.
I could never be a tattoo artist.
It’s a short story but it starts with a large woman that I saw standing in line at the Coldstone Ice Cream place one hot summer afternoon.
Judging from the shaking of the ground beneath her feet I’d say she tipped the scales at 300 or so.
This was one big, hunk of a woman.
To get by her on a sidewalk would probably require a city variance of some sort.
I’m rambling.
Sorry.
She was wearing a teeny-tiny pink shirt that showed off her impressive midriff.
Her t-shirt said “You can’t touch this.”
I’m thinking, ‘why would I want to?’
The overall effect was—how shall I say it, globe-like?
Ohhbese? (bigger than obese)
Palatial?
I was unfortunately behind her which is where the thought of never being a tattoo artist came to mind.
I could see the small of her back (a contradiction if ever there was one)
and the unsightly crack of her heiny, a good 2” worth.
Plumbers crack on a woman.
Nice.
Real nice.
Rising up out of the murky depths of her posterior was a tattoo of some kind.
I didn’t want to stare for fear of going stark raving mad so I never found out just what it was.
I have a few ideas as to what it could have been but I really don’t want to go there.
She ordered a mountainous vat of 5 or so flavors mixed together with Butterfinger’s and M & M’s and Jimmies and God knows what else; a reasonable caloric addition to her vast temple of flesh.
Maybe they need to implement some type of weight scale in front of the Coldstone register and if you
happen to “pin the needle” you can only have fat-free yogurt in a kid’s cup.
Hey, life’s a bitch sometimes.
I guess I came away from the experience #1) wondering why some people dress the way they do and
#2) wondering who the lucky son of a bitch was that had to spend 4 hours looking at this woman’s vast backside.
I bet his story is really something to chew on.

~m

I’m not sure how or exactly when it happened but I am obsessed with the TV show ‘Supernatural’.
If you like funky horror, blood, violence and humor this show is the perfect alchemy.
I blame my daughters Sarah and Jenna for teasing me with owning all 4 of the full season DVD’s.
Whenever one of them is watching an episode they know I will inevitably sit down and watch.
Yeah, I am a sucka.
If you’ve seen my Facebook you already know of my unbridled love for Dean (Jensen Ackles).
As a happy and fully functional heterosexual male, I feel odd and a bit freakish telling you that.
Yeah, I got a Dean ‘thang’ happening.
By ‘thang’ I mean nothing whatsoever sexually although shock was probably your initial reaction.
Hey, listen . . .
I wouldn’t rub his back down with lavender oil or suck on his toes for a squillion dollars.
Maybe 2.
I just happen to think the man is quintessentially cool.
And if there’s such a thing as reincarnation, please, Dear God, bring me back in his body.
The man does things for a pair of blue jeans that some women lust for.
My daughters will read this post, roll their eyes and say, “Dad’s lost it.”
I think of it like this:
Women will look at another woman and say, “Good God, she’s beautiful!”
As guys, we don’t bat an eye, do we?
If it’s a girlfriend or a wife we understand that she hasn’t turned lesbo, she’s just admiring awesome beauty.
But if a guy happens to comment about the looks of another man (as I have done here) most will give you that ‘gee, you’re really queer, huh?’ stare.
Kind of a double standard there, capice?
Dean Winchester is one fine looking man.
There.
I’ve said it.
And I still love my wife.
And breasts.
And nice bums.
And flat tummies.
Writer’s block can really suck sometimes.
Holy freekin’ Moley.
Got salt?
It does a body good . . .

I need the sharpest of knives to slice this
epidermal anomaly from the trappings of my weak and aging body
Deep slices to the elbows, slow and tender slices to the knees
please scratch my legs until they bleed, thank you please
this betrayal of skin, the most hideous part of me
is a possession of the worst kind,
an internal itch I will never be physically able to touch
the P takes over my body, the quintessential tired host
it will never be free . . . as the crimson spreads far above the blood that boils deep within me
People will continue to stare,
invisibly pointing to my sprawling scarlet letter ‘P’
just another ugly ducking,
just another ugly waiting stranger hiding deep inside of me . . .
I hate this

THIS post has been generating a serious amount of traffic lately.
I’m always curious as to why.
No comments in moderation and no emails . . .
( And I am so damn accessible)
I’ll take the traffic but I will continue to wonder as well.
It was a fairly personal, albeit cryptic post.
Going to scratch my bald noggin . . .

Something for everyone with this video.
Watch it even if you hate horror flicks.
You will be rewarded at the end.
And somebody, please kill that damn crow . . .

Halloween will be here on Saturday and I have a few creepy and crawly things
to offer you between now and then.
If you are not a horror flick fan, I’m so sorry.
This short clip is from ‘An American Werewolf in London’, a film by Jon Landis.
The clip is pure Landis with musical soundtrack, graphic manipulation of human flesh and all.
At the time it was state of the art.
Still looks pretty damn cool today, methinks.
Check it out.
Oh, and . . .  Booo!
:mrgreen:

It is Malarkey Monday once again. (almost, here in the States)
Where the hell did the week go?
I give up.
I won’t give up on the strange pics, vids and sites I’ve found this week though.
Happy Malarkey Monday folks!
Take the ‘suck’ out of your Monday and laugh a bit, okay?
I won’t keep you long . . .

Never underestimate the power of a good story.
It may save your life.
Or not.

Like Chinese food?
So does John Pinette.
Check it out.

A picture for shits, giggles and some pussy humor . . .

Do you like Halloween Desktop wallpaper?
Click on the pic below and thank me later . . .

Please visit my Malarkey Monday cohorts!
They love the comments!!!!!

*Moe
*Morky

You know you’re getting out there when the only reason you know it’s Monday
is because there’s an NFL game on tonight.
My Tweet this morning was telling to say the very least:
“I’ve officially lost track of where the week ends and where the new one begins.”
Everything seems just so helter-skelter these days and Monday only serves to exacerbate the issue.
For instance; last Monday night, a train I occasionally ride home was dispatched and routed improperly.
Long story short, the outbound train was traveling on the same track as the inbound train.
Never a good thing with that inertia thing and all.
Both were going @ 30-40 MPH.
The phrase ‘as subtle as a train wreck’ springs to mind.
There would have been some serious carnage, folks.
Mucho carnagio, muchachos.
Thank God the situation was recognized and thank God it was rectified.
Still makes me wonder, what if?
Some assflap person was not on their game that day and many people could have paid the ultimate train fare.
The MBTA would have loved that, too.
The money grubbing bastards.
Sad, huh?
It was a small revelation of sorts for me.
A ‘holy-crap-I’m-still-alive kinda thing’  because I rode a different train that night.
( a 25 minute delay, medical emergency . . .  sheesh)
Even the automated train announcements were strange today.
It’s a woman’s voice that tells you what stop is coming up.
The voice sounds like June Cleever from ‘Leave it to Beaver’.
I’m tired but I am definitely not kidding.

“Beave? Wally? The next stop is Framingham. Get ready Beaver!”

(the sampled voice even mispronounces the approaching town’s name as well which adds to my Monday weirdness.
It should sound like ‘Fray-ming-ham’ but the voice says ‘Fram-ing-ham’ God help us all.)

Steve, the conductor, walked by and said to me, “Oh, man . . .  Mondays.”
Oh, man, he is absolutely right.

Mondays at Smoke and Mirrors will now be called ‘Malarky Monday‘.
Adding to the mayhem will be Moe, Morky & Muffy.
Visit all the links for a few chuckles to start off your Monday morning.
Lord knows, we all need a laugh on Monday.
A word to the wise, watch out for Morky,
he’s a sly one.
:mrgreen:

Permalinks for each MM post will follow.

I hate when things just don’t come out right.
Meet “The Brown Note”.
Where does someone get an idea that this was a good thing to photograph.
(And then I go and post it. Sheesh)

The Genesis of a Tweet

Kitty Needs a Shower

Last up, a Jewish phone prank that’s hilarious.

Links you should click to complete your Malarky Monday:

Moe
Morky
Muffy