Great Phone Conversations 11

"I cannot believe that the police have not caught up to you by now."

"Well, actually, they did. I got arrested about an hour ago."

"You did? And you are out already?"

"Well no, not yet. They told me that I had one free phone call, and . . . "


February 28, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


It Happened at Voodoo Doughnuts

The next to the last day of February 2009 found me playing trusty sidekick to the boss lady on a jaunt to Portland, Oregon, city of the perennial cloud cover, and this day was no exception: chilly and cloudy, like a gin and tonic with too much lemon juice. We were there conducting a day-long series of workshops and seminars designed to help searchers be better searchers when the at-risk are missing and in grave danger. Tough duty to pull, and just as tough to teach, but the boss lady is a pro like few others, and she knows her stuff cold. Me, I carry her bag and drive.

So an early morning start leads to a long day, and then finally at 5, a two-hour dinner break before the closing talks and the obligatory question-and-answer sessions, followed hopefully by sales of the pamphlets, books and DVDs. We walk out of the hotel lobby into the moist chill and head to the rental.

"So, Kay, where you wanna go to grab a bite," I say.

"Eh, I don't know, Ari. Let me see what my crackberry can lead us to." We get in the car, and I start it as Kay begins surfing the web for someplace. Even though we have only been working together for a short time, we fill in each others blanks, and we work well together. She never misses a detail, and I never stop reminding her that it is always all about the details. And though we are both single, and have known of each other for a year or so, circumstance conspired to keep us involved with other pursuits, and other people until one day I needed work, and she needed a hand with a growing operation, someone who knew the law enforcement community, who knew their way around the English language, and who could be, well, counted on. She picked me, and we clicked from day one.

"So does that thing tell you anything besides the latest bad news from Wall Street," I ask, knowing that she is one of the most addicted crackberry fiends on the planet.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it does, Mr. Smartypants. Why don't you do something useful too, and just turn right here, and drive west," she tells me with that characteristic twinkle in her eyes. An old trail guide, Lupe, down in Ramona, calls her "La Chica de los ojos," and a more fitting moniker is probably not possible: when she hits you with those eyes, she either makes you follow or sends you away. No in-between with Kay.

I drive, and for some reason, for the first time I think, I notice her perfume, and I think to myself, damn that smells nice, why have I never noticed her perfume before? She is absorbed in that infernal little box, that overgrown calculator, and does not notice my stare. She is a looker, and this is not new information to me, but today is the first time I can recall noticing that she is.

"Okay, we are looking for Voodoo Doughnuts. Should be a big sign out front. And the motto: 'The Magic Is in the Hole.'," she laughs, unexpectedly, and looks over at me to see if I am laughing too. I am, and she seems relieved.

"Um, Kay, seriously? We are looking for Voodoo Doughnuts? What do they come with little pins in them or something?" I say, looking for the sign somewhere ahead. "And why, may I ask, are we spending precious time of our dinner break looking for a donut shop? I was kinda thinkin' New York strip, baked potato, ya know?"

"Because, Ari," she said, "I have been told that Voodoo Donuts are the best in all metro Portland, and that we can't leave without trying them. Besides, we may be retired, but what are two cops without some donuts?" She laughs again, and this time, I notice that she has a wonderful laugh, musical, not very tough-girl at all. It is a side of her that I either have not seen before, or not noticed, and it is disarming to me. She is a real girl, deep down, not just an ex-cop trying to make a buck and raise two kids on her own.

"And it says here that not only do they create gourmet and custom doughnuts, but they have their own wedding chapel, where they have been uniting couples in marriage since 2003. We have to find this place, Ari. Keep looking," Kay says to me, and I must have quite a look on my face, because she giggles when she looks over at me. "Come on, Ari, let's have some fun. We've been workin' hard all day," she says, crossing her legs and showing those sexy new boots she brought on the trip. Eh, I'm a foot guy; shoot me.

Then, a few minutes later, she spies the sign and the ominous logo with the dude with spooky eyes. "There it is, there it is, Ari. Over there," she points as if I am not looking out the window just like she is. "This is great," she says, and pulls out that ever-present camera. Even though she shoots photos all the time, for some reason the camera goes off prematurely, and she takes a photo of her boot. "Oh, no big deal, I have a friend that I have been meaning to send a photo of these boots to. Just send it to the crackberry, and click, click, and it's on its way," she says, as I pull into the parking lot.

We get out of the rental, and go in. The place smells like heaven inside, and there are doughnuts, doughnut t-shirts, and doughnut everything everywhere. And these are expensive doughnuts too. We take a seat and start looking at the offerings. Suddenly, I feel Kay's hand on mine, and I am a little startled.

"Ari, you know, you are really a very attractive guy," Kay says to me, and I feel like I have just been hit by a stun-gun. Something. Very. Heavy. On. My. Chest. Am I having a heart attack? "And I was thinking, after we wrap up tonight, maybe you take me out for that New York strip steak and all the trimmings, and we have a drink or two, and a few laughs. We can skip the Wedding Chapel, ha ha, for now. Whaddya say?"

And I pause for a pregnant moment, look her in those eyes, and say, "Of course, Kay baby. The magic is in the hole."

February 27, 2009, for Kimberly, on demand, which I hardly ever do.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


listen to me now, for just a little bit:
what I tell you may have a little truth in it;
always be careful in your struggle to win,
so that you skin doesn't become so thick
that nothing worthwhile can get in;

protecting your heart is a fine thing to do,
but just be sure that your shield doesn't isolate you:
"better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all"?
well, those words sound smart until you take that fall;

then they become just one more lance,
piercing that shield, and erasing that chance,
the chance that someone might really reach you,
while you hide and huddle and try to sneak through.

February 27, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


imagine my luck:
with all the words
at my service,
all it takes
to make you blush,
to make a grown woman swoon,
is simply to tell you
that you are cute,
or tell you that you are

damned good bargain.

February 26, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


somebody told me that a few lines
that I had scribbled down once,
might change their life,
and that surprised me,
and then it scared me:
that's a lot or responsibility, I thought,
plus I had only hoped that
those lines might change mine.

February 26, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


there is always a boundless joy in newfound love,
that surges through the veins like direct current,
sparking some nerve endings to life, once again,
maybe even teaching an old dog along the way,
and killing off, quickly, petrified memories
of all that was ill-gotten or just fouled,
that rush to the head the superheated blood
that, just like bleeding, reminds of life --
life, to be lived, not merely embraced,
kiss it, hug it, devour it, even lie to it and
tell it that it is the only one, the one true
and inescapable Life of Lives -- and then
fall onto the mattress, sweating, spent, and
dream of where all of life went;

I only wish that now I were not so constrained:
keeping my candle under this bushel,
and that this silent, secret love could be proclaimed,
for all of the boundless joy it has obtained:
but it is only for us,
only for us,
and that is good enough.

February 26, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

hard times again

torn shades and broken glass,
and paint jobs sorely needed:
results of dreams that never came to pass,
signs that signs were never really heeded;
the crushed milk jugs give way
to the bleak beginning of a bleaker day,
as small town America tightens its belt,
and remembers all the feelings felt,
as yesterday fades into tomorrow,
and all around there is mostly sorrow:
black nights followed by dark days;
the shelter of sadness in so many ways:
"We're all in this together" was heard loud and clear,
and for comfort, only collective fear;
shutters shut and dogs left loose,
as small town America feels the noose,
and remembers all the dreams left behind:
as echoes echo, "oh well, nevermind,"
as echoes echo, "oh well, nevermind."

February 26, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


no list required

you make me a better lover and a better man, baby:
I'm just a guy who knows a few words;
and I have this heart over here,
that is now yours, to do with as you please:
this thing that we have discovered here,
that we have finally acknowledged here,
well, it's a little like going to the grocery store
without a list;
and you usually leave with what you went for,
but you always come out with a bunch more:
that you just had to get.

February 25, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

all in

Don't be alarmed, baby,
but I can't think of a better thing
to blister and bleed for than the fire
that is you, slowly smoldering,
searing me within an inch of my life:

two minutes in, and we are
in the backseat of the Chevy,
pawing, pulling, ripping, tearing,
swearing, sweating, screaming,
grinding, grating, pushing;
and the whole world, spinning
out of control around us, and
it's a wonder that no one has
found us, but we don't know a
thing, we only know each other,
off on a quest to discover all we
can find in between the space that is
no longer space between us, and
our eyes lose focus, and our hearts
take flight from us, and everything
else disappears, and sound is only
a hum of two breathless bodies
colliding, and all around us the world
is subsiding into something we once
knew, a place we used to be, way back
before we were all in.

February 25, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Self-Proclaimed Experts.

One thing about the Internet is people can still write with a fair amount of anonymousness. So you pretty much have to take them at their word at first and read their stuff before judging if they are full of crap or not.

One dead give away that someone is full of crap is if they proclaim themselves to be an expert in some subject that not even the most z-listed community college would offer classes in.

The funniest thing is the Self-Proclaimed Experts don’t even think about what a normal person would think about the title they’ve given themselves. Here are six of the funniest ones I’ve found.

Infidelity Expert.
This is the honor that Stephany Alexander has bestowed upon herself without thinking about what it sounds like. It sounds like she has gotten the practice of cheating on people down to a science and that she hops in bed with any married man or woman who is willing. I haven’t checked further into her site because I’m sure it isn’t as exciting as I’m imagining.

Drug Experts.
There are many of these, and some of them probably actually have degrees and stuff, but they never thought about what it sounds like. I sounds like a person who has smoked, popped, shot up, snorted, drank, and used suppositories of every drug in the world so they can tell you which will give you the exact high you are looking for, sort of like Timothy Leary combined with Jim Carroll.

Culture Expert
You expect these guys to be working at Yoplait and Dannon working on the next greatest batch of yogurt, noble work but not the kind of thing you would think would make great TV or Radio.

Moral Experts
You would expect them to be a real life version of Stan Marsh from South Park. Able to take the strangest adventure or story and boil it down to a paragraph starting with “I’ve learned something today…”

Polling Experts
I found out the hard way that this does not mean Stripper, I was very disappointed. Nuff Said.

Posting Expert
Despite what the name sounds like, these people will not help you much when you are putting up a fence.

Project Savior: After Dark

As anyone you has followed my writings that I have plastered over the Internet for the past year or so knows, I write a lot. I also just write whatever about whatever stray thing goes through my head.

Being a human often times this involves sex.

What I have been doing with my sex articles is carefully looking them over and if possible editing them to be PG-13 and posting them on writing sites to have them immediately taken down.

If I couldn’t get them to be PG-13 I would set them aside, usually before I was done writing them.

Then I wondered if there just might be a market for sex on the Internet. A quick google search confirmed this suspicion and several hours later, (I always like to do through research) and after a quick shower, I was ready to start a blogpage were I could put up my sex writings.

So please come visit Project Savior: After Dark.


your laughter

your laughter bursts out
when you least expect it,
but when I have worked a little to get it,
and it is quite a payoff:
it leads me to the joyous part of you,
of childhood dreams,
and mysteries;
of passion's screams,
and your histories;
and it gives me just a little bit more
of you:
to know,
to consider,
to imagine,
painting in the spots
that you leave blank on your canvas,
so that only someone like me,
with patience and inquisitiveness,
will study
and complete the portrait,
with what is still the best camera:
the mind's eye,
capturing you,
and your laughter.

February 24, 2009, for Kimberly.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

A Penful

Over 200 poems,
and four or five news stories,
plus countless notes,
and good lines to be used
in the sprouting of poems:
not bad out of one little ballpoint pen;
to look at the thing,
you probably never would have guessed
that all those things
fit into that slender plastic tube,
just waiting for me
to let them all fall out,
one by one,
onto the paper,
and present themselves,
like tiny etymological troopers,
standing at attention
(okay, a few slouching slackers),
ready for your inspection,
or whatever it is,
that you don't really understand,
that got you to read
this far.

February 24, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


the candystriper
(do they still call them that?),
smiling broadly at each arrival,
works diligently in off-moments
on her math homework,
which looks like Algebra II;
you have a daughter about her age:
the time when girls' handwriting
is round and plump on each line,
pregnant with possibility,
filling even wide-ruled filler paper,
pulling the blue lines down
with their weight,
and holding half-thoughts
on any given line of script:
not yet shrunken by the heat of life,
not yet compressed, to get it all in,
her words are expansive,
yet short,
made more precious by the knowledge
that they are so fleeting.

February 24, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

out there, where You are

I was at the hospital where I was born
earlier today, and it was windy,
and the bright winter sun
beat down on everything and everyone,
and it came from the West, of course,
which is way out there,
the Left Coast,
where You are,
having meetings
and holding seminars,
while I sit here,
thinking more and more
about You,
and your laughter;
outside, perfect stone walls
with flat sides and tops,
carefully crafted,
with tiny little pieces of granite
tucked into every crevice;
they still are polished by
the wind and baked by
the sun, which comes to them, and to me,
from out there, where You are.

February 24, 2009, for Kimberly.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Great Phone Conversations 10

"So you are going to stop calling me? I don't get it. What brought this on? Did you finally get arrested?"

"No. I didn't get arrested. My therapist recommended it."

"Well that is good news. What did your therapist say?"

"That I should let some of my other personalities out once in a while, you know, for air. So expect a call from Jerry any time now."


February 24, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Fidelity Credits

Adultery is part of our society according to Infidelity Expert, Stephany Alexander.(How one becomes an Infidelity Expert as opposed to just an Amateur Adulterer she doesn’t explain).

According to her 14% of women and 22% men have been unfaithful. She doesn’t say how she arrived at those statistics, I figure she just keeps a tally pad by her bed.

As a public service I’ve decided to solve the problem of Infidelity in this country and possibly the world. I will do it through Fidelity Credits.

Fidelity Credits work similar to Carbon Credits. Although complex in practice (well not really) they are simple in theory. If you plan on cheating on your spouse simply let me know and for a small fee I will have sex with my wife. I am happily married so my faithful married sex will offset your infidelity.

Naturally, this is done on a sliding scale, if you have an affair and do it doggy style or missionary the fee is quite small, (And you’re not very imaginative). For the more elaborate forms of Infidelity it will naturally be more. For instance if you plan on being unfaithful by doing your partner reverse cowgirl style while a stripper performs oral on the female, then in order to offset this, I will need the money to cover the stripper up front.

I’m sure that there are people out there that think I am a hero for taking on the burden of solving the Adultery Problem upon my self. But I just think I’m doing my part towards making the world a better place.



I thought I might just sit here
for a hundred years or so,
and feel sorry for myself;

but then I decided that it was
more important
to feel sorry for you;

because I didn't give up on me,
you did, and now you're history:
just like the Civil War,
and who killed JFK;

no need at all for me to feel bad,
since you're the one who should be sad;
I know you thought that you'd be glad,
but when it hits you, you'll be mad,
when better turns out to be a fad,
you'll remember just what you had.

February 23, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

That Train

That train never intended to take on any passengers:
it just sort of arrived, empty, a little forlorn
and worn, worn out, filled with doubt, and in need of
some life to fill it up with happy, smiling faces,
people itching to really go places once again,
those tired souls who paid twice: once for love,
and once for vice, the ones left to float to sea on a
block of ice; and then there at the station, standing
with tickets, just two such folks, listening and
wondering, considering each other and pondering;
and just as that train began to sound its whistle,
they threw caution to the winds and let it fly up like
a thistle, and they hopped on board, just as skeptical
as weary, and the train slid forward, but was in no
hurry; and then on and on that train it traveled, and
one by one the two found mysteries unraveled, and
they found, much to their surprise, that their smiles
smiled more widely when they looked into each
others eyes; and though bumps in the track sometimes
conspired to derail, that train chugged on, leaving a
memorable trail; a trail full of laughter and hope and
of love, and a story that delighted and excited the
crowd, a love that was proclaimed and exclaimed out
loud; but then something reappeared and changed for
the two, and things long ignored became impossible
to do; and what had seemed to be a story without end,
one that finds everyone happy in the end, well that
story, sadly, it had to stop, broken, frozen, like bent
hands on a clock; yet the two, for all of the sadness
surrounding the sorriest ends, had enough love left
to remain forever friends; for they cared, each of them,
about the other so deep, that forever was a rather simple
promise to keep; and yet as one stood on the platform
alone, and that train left the station with a whine and a
groan, the one left onboard did send one last kiss and
wave, to the one with empty hands, the one being
brave; and as that train gave it's whistle one last blow,
the two surely wished that that train didn't go; so when
you hear that train whistle calling out sweet and low,
remember that the joys are wherever you go.

February 23, 2009, for all my fellow passengers.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Obama’s a Homosexual Darwinist from Outer Space

The main talking point that Conservatives seem to have these days is that Obama’s birth certificate is a forgery. The only one’s who seem to dispute this is pretty much everyone who has looked at it. With only little known sites like Snopes and The Associated Press doing vague stories like: "State Department of Health Declares Obama Birth Certificate Legal." - Honolulu Star-Bulletin. 31 October 2008. The lack of rebuttals to this talking point must mean Obama was not born in the United States.

Some Conservatives even use this as proof of the media’s liberal bias. After all if the press didn’t have a liberal bias they would ask would ask the Hawaii Department of Health to check to see if Obama’s Birth Certificate is Legal.

This reminds me of another story that Conservatives use to show the media’s extreme liberal bias. “Little Green Doctors” beating up Conservative candidates wives and the press not investigating it.

Back in 2004 the Honorable Senator Bunning (R-KY) was unable to go to Political Rallies due to the fact that his opponent had sent “Little Green Doctors” to assault and harass him. He said that the “Little Green Doctors” were not only after him but they had once beaten up his wife at an event that she never attended.

It was obviously only the media’s liberal bias that kept an investigation into his opponent’s connections with these “Little Green Doctors” a secret. If Dan Mongiardo’s connection to the “Little Green Doctors” had been reported in the press he never would have become Lt Governor of Kentucky.

It’s this extreme liberal bias that makes the media refuse to report on the militant Homosexual/Darwinist Agenda to stop people from saying “Merry Christmas” in retail stores that Senator Butters is proposing legislation to stop.

Looking at these cover-ups by the liberal media it becomes obvious that it is all part of an even greater conspiracy to hide the fact that Obama must be a Homosexual Alien from Outer Space.

The fact that the media doesn’t investigate this story proves that it is true.


Your Pillow

me and your pillow,
we conspired early this morning,
to rouse you
from your muffin-warm slumber,
your legs all tangled in sheets,
and your head laying still,
with your thoughts on idle;

and while I confessed
that my motive was pure:
just so I could hear your voice;
you may be forced
to strangle such a confession
out of the pillow,
since being inanimate,
he's just not talking.

February 22, 2009, for Kimberly.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

A Moment

In the perfect stillness
of a quiet moment,
as I feel your acquired warmth
nestled softly against me,
your head resting on my chest,
breathing steady, deep and slow;
it is then that we come to know
the peace and comfort
of two souls at ease,
of two hearts beating,
of two sets of limbs, set to please,
at rest at once,
and that nearness
fills the room, fills our heads,
and fills the whole world,
even if only for a moment.

February 22, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


these waves do not care;
don't care for any man or woman
passing weakly by on the shore:
they have run past for a thousand lifetimes,
and will still do so,
through all of our little dramas,
our Most Important traumas;
the tides will move on,
to such inconsequence
upon which we put so much
we, for all our hopes and intentions,
are simply not much at all:
neither the answer nor the call;
and the tides move on.

February 22, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


tears fog my glasses,
and I sit here at the lip of the ocean,
and recount all of life's losses,
replaying again in slow motion;
and this place that was so special
carries memories to watery graves:
songs of warriors,
songs of simple knaves,
songs of you,
carried off by surly grey waves;
down through time,
all down the line,
you may remember me,
sitting alone by the sea,
wondering and wishing
sitting and thinking about
doing some fishing,
trying the tide,
and hoping on the side,
hoping that maybe
I made a small difference,
somehow, a long time ago.

February 22, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

a RANT! Regurgitated - yes, but it still hurts!

I'm in "an angry place" right about now. I'm wondering when the hell (or "if" is a more accurate descriptive of my confidnence on the thing coming forthwith!), I'll EVER receive the benefit of the doubt and the chances for success and happiness that come with it.

Yeah - that's vague. If you've read my previous blog, though, this does tie in. I mean, what the GOD DA//...DFJLMOTHER...cut...cut lut dfut kldut cdut cdut cftu ctu tcdutc cut cut cfut dfugt ctuuc u cuttt!!!

I'll at least stop myself, but I will NOT censor myself tonight! I will not do any editting of this entry, because I know myself well enough to know that if i do any editting at all this time around, the thing won't get done! I have fought long and hard with that spineless little monster that tells me ahead of time what criticisms await, and thus thwarts any and all effort to put forth a damned thing whatsoever.

And I'm even white-hot boiling with rage that I should even have such discretion be an enemy because I know for others it maybe gets them out of hot water. Well let me tell you something, impulse has it's opposite. And that opposite is pressure. When you wait and wait and wait and you don't know when the answers are going to come and you know everyone else is waiting AND WORST OF ALL THEY ARE WAITING ON YOU!!! - it's not an impulsive motivation that glides that knife over your wrists - it's the GODDAMNED pressure!!!!!!!!!!!!

But - when you fold under that pressure in everyday life to the point that you cannot answer simple questions or even make a simple decision - thus rendering you motionless in your car and silent as you try to answer a dumbass cop's dumbass questions about why you're sleeping in your car again and you can't tell him shit because he's already decided to nail you for something.

And then how the hell do you "advocate" for yourself when you are not the lettered-lawyer who has the alphabet soup after his name that declares he has such access VIA - VIA!!!!!!!!!! - his expertise - to the law. This sacred and special putrid pile of society's spewtum that is supposed to codify and idealize and represent all that is right and good. YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TO HAVE A PH.D IN JURISPRUDENCE TO HAVE ACCESS TO THE PROTECTION OF THE LAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And yet, the bullies in blue can write you up an EX POST FACTO chumped up no trespassing charge, when there is no law forbidding the body's presence anyhow! That not even being my gripe - a simple SPELLED OUT explanation or warning would have been f/ing nice!!!

Even a neuro-typical would have appreciated that! But, for me - not only was and is it an essential component of my citizenship and access to the protection of the so-called law, it NEVER CAME TO BE!!!!!!!!!!

I was inspired tonight to write this because a very, very dear and sweet and "till I die" friend of mine accidentally belittled me. She was explaining how to "load" or "play" or whatever a youTube video. Blah blah...she was going through the steps and then said "just click play".

I said "where does it say 'play'"?

"Just hit the play button, silly".

As I'm frantically and angrily (not at her) looking all over my screen for the "play" button, several minutes pass and she types in 'the arrow'.

Another several moments....then I type back, having almost "gotten it"...

"Ohhh!!!!!!!! You mean that triangle?"

That's what she meant.

I can forgive her because she's a sweetheart and would never hurt me on purpose and listens when need a friend and I'm there for her just as so. She has "earned a pass" to sometimes forget how hard stuff is for me - because I know she doesn't take me or anything for granted. I love her. Purely. No - not a wife or girlfriend or anything in that realm. But, yes, I do love her.

I can trust her and I can be vulnerable to her and I would (and have) directed that SHE be the one who would decide on my behalf, should such an awful time ever come, whether or not to pull the plug on the ventilator or life support or what not.

But, for the myriad arrogant slobs and jerks out there who judge sight unseen, I hate you. I do not know if I will ever receive justice for the despicable abuse I suffered at the hands of the Massasoit Community College Police Department and the Brockton Court system - which will "dismiss" the charge of trespassing in May if I "behave myself" and stay off of Massasoit property.

I've complied - out of self-preservation. But why the God/////d f// hell should I have to?!!! I didn't do a G//damned thing wrong! I NEED THINGS SPELLED OUT AND HAVE EVERY GOD-DAMNED RIGHT TO HAVE AND EXPECT AND RECEIVE JUST THAT!!!!! Screw your wheel-chair ramps and your braille elevator buttons!!!!!!!!!!!

No, no, no!! What I mean is not "junk 'em". No. I mean it isn't nearly enough! You can't just put a band-aid on SOMEONE'S problem and expect A.) that that person is living a whole and full and integrated and fair life now, or B.) That "somebody else" must have already addressed it - 'cause, Jack, I'm here ta tell ya, he *HASN'T*! C.) That "it'll all work out". Yeah. That's the mindset that's tempting some folks, now, isn't it. They think, well, now that there's a black man in the American presidency, all discrimination and abomination and segregation and humiliation has met its swan song here in the U.S. Nope. It's a wonderfully new day, YES. But the world ain't fixed yet.

It does not mean D.) That if you cannot see the problem with YOUR own eyes, that it doesn't exist in GARGANTUAN proportions, or that it doesn't or shouldn't matter to you. It matters to all of us because it matters to each individual ONE of us!

And a big and unambiguous HELL NO to letter E.) that you can now pat yourself on the back and tell us to "pick ourselves up by our bootstraps. Go f/ yourself for thinking like that. No - even better, chief. How 'bout YOU go walkin' around in them boots you think I got it so easy wearin'. See how you do with them straps for awhile, 'eh? Then come talk to me, you smart ass son of a bitch. And if you're still not on your knees at that point and eatin' your humble pie without a fork, lemme help you. I'll crush it down your pompous throat right past that badge you think entitles you to be a mean little prick.

Justice denied to ANYBODY for ANY REASON is an affront and a threat to ALL OF US!

I should NOT have to be rich to be represented and protected and heard in my country. I should NOT have to be "normal" either!


not quite Icarus

with dark hair kickin',
and fishnets stickin'
to all the places fishnet should stick,
she was more than just a vision,
more than intermission,
as I prayed this wouldn't be too quick;

then, of course,
I was not quite Icarus,
as I flew too close --
too close to becoming
someone she could not let go,
someone she might have to know --
not just another ditch,
but one who came with a hitch;

so she left suddenly,
for a reason that was, well,

February 21, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


the next call

talked of cheeseheads,
you betcha,
and people short on
but long on talent;
and the road,
and the 24/7 of
working for yourself;
and about the new boots,
and how time
shoots right by,
when you're having fun;
and then,
we were done;
and I wished that
it could have gone
on forever;
but I'll just keep that
to myself for now.

February 21, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.



runner's legs,
dancer's thighs;
plenty of bounce
to them stems:
a little leg
goes a long way,
baby, and
a lotta leg
goes forever:
my ear muffs,
your tenderness;
soft and warm,
soft and warm,
strong and firm:
oh to be crushed,
so slowly,
so slowly.

February 20, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


reasons to be ravenous,
all that we have in us:
like lightning in a bottle,
baby, you hit the throttle,
and we're gone

gone to explore some distant shore,
the rest of the world we will ignore:
only you and me, soaring free,
seeking only our noisy ecstasy

bang the drum steady,
let me know you are ready:
like lightning in a bottle,
baby, you hit that throttle,
and we're gone

February 20, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


the longing seeps through every word,
and another secret that wasn't so secret,
is secret no more, at least that's what I heard;
I heard it just the other day,
when I heard myself turn to me and say:

I need you
I want you

Two very different things
Yet both what my heart sings.

February 20, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Some Atheist thoughts on God and Religion.

I find it interesting that any public discussion about god and religion, is dominated by the small group of people who claim to believe in a Superior Being, yet their God acts like a spoiled, abusive, bastard.

In any private discussion on the same subject people will tend to talk about a Superior Being that is better than themselves even in temperament.

Consider this thought experiment: Let’s say your version of a God is real, and there is a person who has helped others all his life, on a few occasions he even directly saved a few peoples lives (Although he doesn’t consider it heroic just something anyone would do in his place). He totally believes in a modified version of “Do on to others as you would have them do on to you.” He has added “If you were in their place.” Because he knows not everyone likes the same thing he does.

Now let’s say this nice person who has never intentional harmed anyone goes to Red Lobster and orders Lobster.

Would your God turn him away from Heaven because eating shellfish is a sin?

Would you consider him a wicked person that shouldn’t be entitled to the same respect you give others, because he eats Lobster?

If you said yes to both you are a mean and petty person.

If you believe that your God would turn someone away for not following some arcane rule that you yourself wouldn’t punish someone for, then congratulations you are better than the God you worship.

If you believe that your God isn’t interested in those little things and only cares about if a person has intentionally done good throughout their lives and intentionally avoided harming anyone, then congratulations you are following a God worthy if your worship.

In a completely unscientific survey of people I know most Protestants (and all Catholics) believe in the second type of God. Although they are unsure if an Atheist can get into heaven. But in an equally unscientific survey of preachers on the airwaves they seem to all preach the first type of God that is so unsure about himself that he needs people to follow strange and arbitrary rules to “prove” they love him or else they are punished.

To make this thought experiment even stranger, lets pretend that you want the same qualities in a mate that you envision your God having.

There are boyfriends that insist their girlfriend follows strange and arbitrary rules to “prove” their love. They set up a system of arbitrary rewards and punishments for not obeying those rules or proving their love well enough. The name for those boyfriends is usually “The Accused.”

The point I’d like to make to believers is to think about the message that the preachers on the airwaves are sending out about your God. If they are right and your God is petty, abusive, spoiled bastard do you really want to spend eternity with him, because if he is this bad during the courting phase imagine what he’ll be like during the sit around the house in soiled underwear phase.

However if your God is better than you, all you have to do is do as much intentional Good to others as possible and as little intentional bad as possible and your God will welcome you with open arms.

And what if there is no God? If you believed in a God that was better than yourself then you’ve gone around a helped a lot of people and haven’t done anything that would cause you major regrets, and that is justification within itself.

Why Obama’s healthcare plan will mean worse treatment.

Many of the Conservative Pundits are talking about how under Obama’s healthcare plan faceless government bureaucrats, whose only concern is seeing that the maximum number of people get some treatment, will interfere with the decisions made by faceless insurance industry bureaucrats whose only concern is spending as little on treatments as possible.

What they most of them fail to mention is how this will affect individual treatment.

It comes down to basic medical research, which is handled through Government grants to the National Institutes of Health and to Universities. The money allocated to research comes from taxpayers so it is independent of the amount of people who get healthcare.

By not having to do research on the diseases that effect 16% of Americans (the 44 million uninsured) but still taking their money, more research dollars per person can go to those who are insured.

By only having to cover 84% of Americans but taking money from all Americans means better research for the diseases that hit that group.

A simple plan to provide better treatment is to allow Health Insurance Companies to exclude more people for pre-existing conditions. This would narrow the focus of research without decreasing the amount money that goes towards medical research.

The ideal pre-existing condition to exclude would be a person’s financial status. By eliminating anyone who made under $250,000 we could get the entire country paying for the research to cover only 5% of Americans (probably less after the last 8 years).

With only 5% of Americans reaping the benefits of medical research that is paid by all Americans, the amount of research money per patient would be phenomenal and they would receive the best treatment in the world.

Of course, some people might complain about their money going to support medical research that they personally will never benefit from, but those people are just being selfish. After all shouldn’t Americans be able to get the best healthcare in the world.

Paint Me Blue

Paint me blue!

I don’t mean some contrived, cool and creamy calm
composed to quell loquacious psyches’
sappy compulsion!
I don’t mean no half-assed, think fast
cause you ain't gonna last
your time has passed,
you been out-classed

Paint me blue!

I'm talkin' about that fresh and frigid, roaringly rigid
and lung-clearing bridge between living and dying!
I mean such an absolute zero-nearing,
either you're God-fearing
or you find death endearing,
or maybe your doubt's disappearing
deepest dark before dawn
that flows and swells, spacious and mighty!

YES! Paint me blue!

I don't want some cocky crimson, flimsy whimsy, feigning
some waxing and waning for weary want of choice
and screaming "Look at me!"
I will not be a washed up and wayward wanna-be
who cannot see
beyond the tree.
I don't need an audience.
I need a voice!

Paint me blue!

Tattoo my skin, yes, but in that artist's muse
I do refuse the merely shallow boarding of wanter's wagon.
If I'm a canvas, then let it be so
but not of posturing,
You use this chance
to embrace and enhance
the truth to be told by metaphor's AND literal's dance!

Paint me blue!

I don't mean no quiet and cool placater's tool
designed to calm the savage beast.
I won't hear "obey the rules" from feckless fools
inclined and disposed and plain ol' tempted
to sedate seditious sentiment
out of man's original sin
of terror, that is,
that his own nature will be found out!

Paint me blue!

No clunky cliche'
for some "true blue" segue
which begs to bestow
a hypocritical oath that,
with tongue firmly in cheek,
still harbors a Freudian green
of he who can do no harm
despite bearing no serious clout.

Paint me blue!

Give me the deepest and truest
that is passion's bluest
reward for the guts to taste
and touch
and feel what all is up to
and past hypothetical borders.
I have but one life to live, and live it I shall!
These are *MY* marching orders!



Choice (for Geneva)

fanatic and fool both start
with F for a reason,
and morally-superior morons
just seem to be in season,
whether invading my screen,
or arguing against reason:
it seems that they have really been breeding;
yet another reason to cut back on their feeding.

hear this you sanctimonious little cretins,
you twisters of words,
and oppressors of women,
the right to life includes
the one that one chooses,
not the one dictated by you Dudes,
and Choice is here to stay.

February 19, 2009. Had you worried with the title, eh?

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


the distance

I thought for sure that I always knew
about the distance between me and you;
used to be that I was so certain,
but baby that was before I started hurtin';
you know, back when you pulled the curtain:
all those alarms that you heard alertin'.

I thought that true would always do,
no matter the distance between me and you;
but all the stuff that gets in the way,
well all of that came back today,
and days like this seem different when
viewed from some distance, but
up close they are bigger and scarier;
now, with some time, I am warier:
no longer stuck in a trance, I find
myself asking someone else to dance,
and I really wish this was just a bad
dream, but it is just what it seems:
nothing more, baby, nothing more;
no more resistance, out of persistence,
and I see that all that's left is the rest of
the distance between me and you,
even though I thought I knew.

February 18, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

just a call

mind races,
heart pounds;
other faces,
not around;
room smaller,
nerves abound;
will falters,
little sound;
wits return,
image burns;
risk taken,
hands shaking;
find voice,
make choice;
now or never,
must be clever;
flip the phone,
is she alone;
and just call:
it's just a call,
that's all.

February 18, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.



I have a friend with too much that matters
on the line;
I worry that he has left her in tatters
on the phone;
I hold my hands out in case she shatters
way over there:
because I don't know what to say,
because I don't know what to say.

February 16, 2009, for FT.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

on track

chained to this sorry destiny,
what I'd give for a kink in the track,
something to vault this train over me,
a way to set everything back,
set everything back
a lifetime or two;
back to when life was still spooled,
not colored black and blue;
when I was too young to be fooled,
when I hadn't yet ruined you.

so now you just take the rest of me:
it was years ago, I know;
you laughed, you took the best of me:
what I would give now,
to yet live somehow,
unchained from this speeding train.

February 16, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

It's hard to write when not inspired.

So with the final and total demise of the original TIBU, I really haven't written that much. I really want to change that. Before TIBU1 made its last gasp, I had copied all of my files from there, and I intend to put them back online again. Using Blogger, I've created two blogs. They will be linked to each other, but because I do not want one flagged as containing adult content when I expect that only a paltry percentage of my writing on it will be "adult content" in nature, I opted instead to go with one "adult content" blog, and a much larger "general purpose" blog. So far, I've worked out the basic layout on both, and I have added an introductory post on one. You can check me out here.

I don't know how much I will be writing for TIBU2. As much as I love this group of people, I sort of feel like it is time that I try to write for a much larger audience. Some of you may know (as I reported on the original TIBU) that I have launched my own business. I hope that will be successful for me, but the real challenge is in the marketing at this point. SO....if any of you are interested in such a service, or if you know somebody who might be, I'd be delighted to hear from people.

I'll try to keep checking in here periodically, but I feel like my personal focus and energy are currently better placed towards trying to find a suitable economic nitch for myself, and while communities like this one are wonderful, a business endeavor of professional writing really needs to be undertaken mostly alone for it to be successful, I think. Its a "Too many chefs spoil the soup" type of problem, I think.

You're all wonderful, but I feel like I have the skills necessary to make this happen, and I really need to make something happen at this point anyway. I won't bid you farewell as I'll try to keep checking in, but I do feel that the focus of my time and energy is better spent elsewhere at this time. Hopefully I can come back and enjoy the TIBU-like community for what it has meant to me all along, a great community to share both writing and experiences with.

Keep in touch. I will make a sincere effort to try to remember to do so.


she was somebody's only bright light,
and so I handled her with care;
she bruised easily in the dark of night,
while I was just happy she was there;

no match made in Heaven, that one,
wrought behind the closed door,
plastered with playfulness and fun,
what two bodies, somebodys, were for:

too much, never enough,
time spent, not tough;
easy goes as easy flows,
tending another's garden,
making sure it grows;
basking in its glows,
basking in its glows:
we too, we two, who knows?

February 16, 2009, for Tina.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


Double Edge Publishing

I recently had one of my short stories “Long Term Thinking” accepted by Ray Gun Revival a science fiction magazine that is part of the Double Edge Publishing family.

This was the third story I had submitted to them and the first one to be accepted. Having had both acceptance and rejection from Double Edge, I feel I can confidently talk about some of the pros and cons of how they treat new writers.

The biggest plus for a new writer is they have three editors who will inform the writer what they did and didn’t like about the story. For a new writer this feedback is great. Just a sentence from each one, but because they are literally “putting their money were their mouth is” I greatly value that feedback.

I get great critiques of my writing from my friends and from online writing communities that I am part of like TIBU2, Associated Content, and Xomba and the critiques are great, however the difference is with the writing sites the commentators only have to like my writing enough to want to see more, The editors at Double Edge are betting not only the money they pay for the story, but the limited space available in the magazine so I will give their comments more weight.

This feedback not only helps the writers it helps them as well, with the first story I sent them it had a “Lady or the Tiger” ending, a type of ending I personally like. In their feedback, one of the editors said they didn’t like that type of ending. I had another story on hand to send as soon as it was rejected and it has the same type ending. Needless to say I didn’t bother sending them that one and typed up a different story that they did accept. So they were spared having to read a story that they would reject, and got a different story that they liked instead.

The funny thing about editors reviews it doesn’t take them that much longer to jot down a sentence as to the main feature they liked or didn’t like than the personalized form letters other magazines send out.

For example, one magazine “Fantasy & Science Fiction” sends out formal rejection letters with my name and address followed by
Dear Mr. Nelson:
Thank you for submitting “Name of story” but I’m going to pass on it. This just didn’t grab (me or my interest), I’m afraid. Good luck to you with this one, and thanks again for sending it our way.
Followed by their signature, in ink not photocopied.
For all that effort they could have sent me a post it note saying “Not this time, didn’t like the (Whatever they didn’t like) and I would but sure not to send them something that had that same element in the next story.

The other thing I like about Double Edge is their on-line contributor tools. After submitting a story the author can go to their submissions and see what is happening with it. Most of the time it just says received, but at least the author can see that they are doing something with it.

As far as response time, for my stories they have taken a little over two months. Other magazines I’ve submitted to have a response time of anywhere between two weeks and four months.

Naturally as a writer the sooner the response time the better, but two months is definitely acceptable.

As a new writer, I definitely recommend Double Edge Publishing as a place to submit your stories. They really seem to know what it is like being a new author and have set themselves up to be as writer friendly as possible.

Double Edge Publishing offers the following magazines:
Ray Gun Revival: Space Opera Science Fiction.
Fear and Trembling: Horror Fiction
Mindflights: Fantasy and Speculation
Haruah Breath of Heaven: Inspirational
TeenAge: A magazine for Teens.

sunrise on a new day

she seemed always to be my treasure,
and regularly I told her so, for good measure,
and she reminded me
that the space between
two loving hearts
cannot be measured,
no matter where they happen to reside:
they are separated only by
skipped beats,
and cold sweats,
and paces marking the floor
from the window to the door;
by drumming fingers,
and by all that lingers,
when they seem far away,
but are as close as tomorrow,
as vivid and touchable
as sunrise on a new day.

February 16, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.



I close my eyes and
she is here with me;
she waits, not silent,
but noisily her curves
call to me, they awaken
all of my nerves and
there is a solid, certain
verve to the electricity
flowing between us,
arcing over this quiet,
this place of no secrets:
the disrobing of two
naked needs, hungry,
consuming us both,
rendering all reason
simply worthless, a mere
convention, dispensed with,
dispatched into a corner,
made to sit and watch
while we find that divine,
that feeling sublime,
that is all that two need to be.

February 15, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


The Rose

never a web of any special design,
the ones I am caught in, time after time:
first, she loves me, then she loves him,
as I strangle slowly on her every whim;

it's my lot, at least that's what I suppose,
that the sharper the knife,
the sweeter the rose;

never a different choice that I can see,
only the one, staring right through me:
take me or leave me, just say it so
I will be free when I'm ready to go;

it's my lot, at least that's what I suppose,
that the quicker the slash,
the sweeter the rose.

February 14, 2009.

Copyright ♥ 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

The Queen of the Lies

conceived with lies,
and raised on promises,
and yet you wonder
why sunlight hurts your eyes;

close shutters and doors,
spackle cracks far and wide:
yet your broom misses floors
that your dirt cannot hide;

you don't need me, baby,
for more than a prop,
in a portrait so hazy,
that your charade will not stop;

all the dreaming, just
petrified scheming:
a bucket of flies for
The Queen of the Lies.

February 14, 2009.

Copyright ♥ 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights and hearts reserved.

door knocker

you do yourself well
to treat me like a stranger,
since I'm surely no angel;
you could just send me to Hell:
that would serve me right,
for all I withheld, night after night;
conversations for a court,
sad songs to strike a spark,
and when you knocked,
I left you standing in the dark;
not the first to disappoint,
probably not the last, but still
I keep that candle in that window,
hoping for some renewed will,
something that still can glow,
something to let you know,
that next time, next time,
next time, I will answer.

February 13, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


clever things to say

the mask never fit me,
and even if it had,
it would have slipped off,
right when I produced my stickup note
and demanded you on a silver plate;
not just destiny, nothing to do with fate,
just the way my drama unfolds,
the way my life implodes;
just as you are starting to feel compassion,
I break it all up, after a fashion:
spending my time trying to rob you,
trying to steal you away,
trying to think of clever things to say.

February 13, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

silly old romantics

just like all the lines and pretty rhymes
that I string together, one-by-one,
well this one rocks and bops a bit,
but it's meant to be sung like it's written;
maybe I'm crazy, baby, but I might be smitten;
but that won't stop me one little bit,
that won't tear me away from this pen,
and all the things that need to be written,
all the words yet set down, end-to-end:
the short ones, the long ones,
the mirthful and morose;
the ones that say I need you,
and the ones that draw you close;
that's just what
silly old romantics do.

February 13, 2009.

Copyright ♥ 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Our Story

I was reading through our story
just the other day, it was sweet and
sad and lovely and bad,
and all through it, feelings
got in the way, and there was
always way too much to say,
trying to stuff love and life
through tiny little wires,
talk long enough about enough
to feed fading fires;
and the saddest thing
though I heard the voices sing
is that when I got to the end of it,
the last page was ripped out.

February 13, 2009, for You Know Who.

Copyright ♥ 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Intelligent Design

This article was originally posted on Project Savior in February 2005, it still holds up today four years later.

Across the country officials are pushing that Intelligent Design be taught in schools. This push that schools should throw out hundreds of years of logical conjecture based on overwhelming observable evidence is obviously part of a larger conspiracy.

1) "I think that part of education is to expose people to different schools of thought. You're asking me whether or not people ought to be exposed to different ideas, the answer is yes."
--George W. Bush, President of the United States of America.
If part of education is to say that a scientific theory that starts out, “For this scientific theory to work, we have to change what a scientific theory is…” And relies on the scientific proof, “Because I say so,” is valid science, Then I guess he has a point.

2) “This is not a new world, it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has ever planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of history since the beginning of time. It has refinements , technological advancements, and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of human freedom. But like every one of the superstates that preceded it, it has one iron rule: logic is an enemy and truth is a menace...”
Rod Serling “The Twilight Zone”
By changing the definition of scientific theory from “a theory is an explanation or model based on observation, experimentation, and reasoning, especially one that has been tested, gone through rigorous peer-review and confirmed as a general principle helping to explain and predict natural phenomena.” To “a theory is what ever I say it is.” It is the first step in getting rid of logic and reason out of the schools, soon to followed by removing math then the teaching logical fallacies from English class.
With a generation of sheep that have no training in logic and reason the state need not even bother with the truth.
Ultimately this plan will fail because thinking like that is obsolete. “Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights
of man, that state is obsolete.” – Rod Serling, “The Twilight Zone”.

3) The Flying Spaghetti Monster, not only created the Earth and Stars but planted the seeds for the Torah, The Bible and all other religious roots so that he/she (What sex is a bowl of pasta?) can guide his noodly followers to a nirvana that includes a mountain, trees, and a midget.
By extension The Flying Spaghetti Monster also created the Illuminati and Free Masons to congregate the wicked that will lead to the all out battle for human souls. The details of this battle is not known but it is believed to involve strainers, cheese graters, and sliced bread.
This battle, involving strainers, cheese graters, other kitchen utensils, will unite the Creationists who believe that the Flying Spaghetti Monster created all things, with the people who believe that God exists in all things, The latter will convert into Frying Pantheists.

4) One of the major principals of Evolution is that species will involuntarily establish an equilibrium within their environment. You can’t spell equilibrium with out the letter Q. This is one of the many steps towards removing the letter Q from the English language.

5) Evolution relies on reproduction for changes within the species, Without using sex for reproduction, it doesn’t matter if sex is gay or straight, so it doesn’t matter if my dog is gay or not. This is obviously a plan to turn my dog gay.

6) It is part of Senator Chris Buttars’ campaign to become The Global Village Idiot. (http://www.balloon-juice.com/?p=4409).

7) A group of Wacko’s (http://www.discovery.org/csc/) believe that science is responsible for all of ills of the modern world and are using Intelligent Design as a Wedge to start to undo the advances that humans have made over the last 1000 years.
Seriously they do say that here. (PDF)

8) By removing science and math from schools the Earth will be easy pickings for the Reptile Race.

9) By removing the idea of Quantitative Analysis, Studying the effect of something by comparing the results, It will remove the fact that Happy Dairy Cows are more productive milk producers than unhappy Dairy Cows, letting the Reptile race force the Alien Cows into torture camps.


The Horror of Love

It could have been nasty, I suppose;
instead, it was ghastly, like a black rose:
The love affair from the bottom of Hell;
and I let her know me a little too well:
Thorns on her fingers, yet bells on her toes;
and where she dropped me, no one really knows:
But I fell from a height so high you couldn't see it;
and I wasn't meant to fly, not even just a little bit:
So down I flew, straight into the ground;
and when I awoke, there was no one around:
Except for her eerie, scary laughter;
and I heard her say, "You're mine, forever after."

February 6, 2009. Premiered on TalkShoe, "The Sanctuary," Feb. 12, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

never lost to you

he struggled on,
against all set against him,
for a rosy-lensed glimmer
of that future that did shine --
the one with the shimmer --
of hope and more time:
the one that held you,
wrapped in amber,
set off, apart, anew;
and though he tried,
his struggle ended there,
and he died,
dreaming of you,
and hammocks for two,
painted not rosy,
but grey and blue:
lost to time,
but never lost to you,
never lost to you.

February 12, 2009, for star-crossed lovers everywhere. ♥

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


most of the time

she mostly comes for our conversations,
most of the time;
I mostly come for her,
some of the time;
it works out:
mostly, actually, it's divine:
she talks, I listen;
she balks, I'm persistent;
go a few days,
we each know who we're missin';
takes two feathered ends
to make a dovetail joint;
and absence sends a cry out,
a union of two to anoint:
here again,
most of the time,
most of the time.

February 11, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

My Lost Valentine

damned postman,
driving his little truck
from box to box,
carrying news of sorrow,
songs of love,
and word of broken luck;
his freight is the hand
and my forlorn little box
is the glove;
I know he has missed
the message that I know
you sent to me,
a while ago, and
sealed it with a kiss;
he'll find it later, I guess,
while my heart sails
over the equator,
looking for all the rest
of your messages,
out there, in trails,
on their way to me,
to make my heart
skip a beat,
to make me feel like
you are holding me closely.

February 11, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Great Phone Conversations 9

"Of course I know Valentine's Day is coming."

"Did you get me something, then?"

"No. You are a phone pervert. Why would I get you something for Valentine's Day?"

"Um, so I will keep calling?"


February 11, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

So you’ve decided to become a Mad Scientist.

Congratulations, becoming a Mad Scientist is a worthy career path that offers many rewards. However it does take a lot of hard work. While many mad scientists (ie: Bill Gates) got lucky and shot to the top of the Mad Scientist ladder, the typical path is much harder.

First you have to go to a Sinister School (grades 9-12) this is pretty easy, most American High Schools are designed to give anyone with a IQ of over 4 a resentment of the world.

Next need to attend an Ominous University. Universities do not turn people crazy; they just give the crazies a chance to shine. This is the place to hone your philosophy on life, preferably with its own warped and highly detailed moral code. Don’t worry if you have put no thought into the reasons why you have made a rule, the important thing is you believe your rules are superior to societies in general. (ie: Killing is wrong, unless done on alternate Tuesdays, while wearing a bandana).

After graduation you’ll probably have to get a job as Bad Tempered Tech. This is where you will practice the monotonous tasks that are important for the advancement of science, mad or otherwise. You will want to work hard to get passed this phase as quick as possible.

Hopefully, after being a Bad Tempered Tech, you can get a grant or work for a company that will bankroll the investigation of one of your scientific principals that you will need later when you are a fully accredited Mad Scientist. At this point you will be an Irate Researcher. This is actually a very important time even if it is not terribly glamorous. For instance, if your goal is to be Mad Scientist who takes over the world with a Death Ray that fires Omicron Radiation, it helps great deal if you are first an Irate Researcher who investigated Omicron Radiation.

After this you can move on and become a Deranged Theorist, This is where you can work on the mathematical principals behind the horrendous inventions that you will unleash on an unsuspecting world.

Unfortunately the pay for being a Deranged Theorist is fairly bad until one of your Theories is proven, so you will probably need a job to support yourself in the meanwhile. Most Deranged Theorists work as Evil Professors during this period in their life. While it is possible to become both an Evil Professor and Mad Scientist at the same time, it is almost necessary to wait on your plans to rule the world until after you get tenure.

Once you get tenure as a Deranged Theorist/ Evil Professor you are in a perfect position to gather up all the things you will need to become a Mad Scientist bent on conquering the world. You can make money on the side as a consultant, you can gain access to a large lab with plenty of grad students/ Henchmen. You will probably even be considered an authority in your field.

That is where you run into the final hurdle, as an authority it is hard to unleash your vengeance on the authorities as you are one of them and are on first name basis with many others. If you make it past that final hurdle you can join the ranks of the Mad Scientists.


It's a Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad Dating World Out There

This is so sad, that I am having to force myself to write it. I was listening to Neil Young when I started researching this, but I found him too perky and upbeat, so I put on some Wagner instead. Valkyrie!

I get all these you-too-can-find-the-one-you-are-searching-for spam emails all the time. Once one electron on the Interwebs finds out that you are currently flying solo, the word is passed, and you are entered on everyone's "Single" list. Except try finding something in the grocery store for one person (other than your Aunt Hilda, who likes pickled herring in a can). In many ways, these singles websites and matchmaking services are proof positive that the End Days are fast approaching: there is little other reason that any rational beings would engage in something like this, unless they knew that they were shortly going to be turned into a somewhat gelatinous puddle of goo. Trust me on this one. But since you have trusted virtually no one for the last eight years, proof coming up later. Keep reading.

So finally, in the interest of pure journalistic research (shut up!), I decided to look around one of these sites to get a sense of what was going on. Now I will admit upfront to a bias or two in this: I posed as a 54-year-old heterosexual male interested in dating or a serious relationship with heterosexual women of any age within 50 miles of me; so all of the other possibilities for human encounter do not figure in to this report (i.e., if you are a 25-year-old gay female interested in dating with heterosexual women over 70 years old anywhere on Planet Earth, this report is not going to help you).

I went to one of these websites, and picked three ladies' listings for our examination today:

First up is Kristina. She is 19 years old, and a female. Her sign is Libra (like I know the significance of that). She is 5 feet, 2 inches tall (diminutive) which translates in to 157 centimeters, for those of you with your centimetersticks out already. She is interested in men; Kristina is on a roll here. Then, the wheels start to come off: under "Relationship Status," our fair maiden says, and I quote, "Unknown."

Seriously, Kristina.

Can't remember his name? Okay, that happens. Mix him up with the ex? Sure, we all have our moments. But not sure if he exists? Meds time, K-girl, multiple, 25 milligram meds.

Okay, we move on, maybe there is good news ahead. Under "Children," Kristina says "No." I am not sure if this means that Kristina has none, wants none, knows none or wasn't one. This would require further research.

Under "Ethnicity," she says "other." Since I do not know what the choices were, I cannot offer any criticism here, but with the whole "Relationship Status" thing has me a little spooked, so we are going to have to do 20 Questions on Kristina's parentage, etc.

Under the category of "Education," Kristina says "high school." I am hoping that this means that Kristina attended at least, and hopefully even graduated. Of course, it is possible that Kristina meant that the local high school is just down the street from where she lives with Mr. Invisible. (See Kristina's Story, below.)

Under "Religion," she indicates "christian," although, of course, the purists in that faith would respectfully demand a capital letter "C." She might have missed that day in Sunday School.

Luckily, the computers do not fail, and she is only 32 miles away from me, as the crow flies. Because, upon reading "Kristina's Story," 32 miles may not be far enough away. The icing on the Kristina cake, quoted verbatim:

Kristina's Story
hey, my friends are amazing, i love them 2 death <3 ... they r always there 4 me when i need them and i would give anythng 4 these ppl .... btw if u mess w/ one of them ill pritty much jus kick ur ass 4 messing w/ em !!!!!im an equestrian and i have 2 horses and 2 ponies who r the loves of my life!!!!!!!!im in a relationship, my boyfriend is amazing and i love him 2 death and wouldnt be able 2 live right now w/o him ... im always there 4 him and his family !!!!!!!!!my rents r divorced ... my mom is def. always there 4 me no matter wat i trust her more than anythng ... my dad and i arent really close and we dnt really get along well !!!!!!!!!!!!so yeah u herd bout my life, heres more info on who i am"im very loud and outgoing, i love 2 have a good time, im very friendly and love 2 meet new ppl, im totally in2 trying new things !!!!!!! and if u give me a challenge ill pritty much give it a good try and do my best 2 over come it aswell as possible!!!!!!!!!!so thts it, thts me !!!!!!!!!

Uh-huh. Sure. Well, buh-bye, Kristina. I am sure that there is another Invisible Man out there for you, you just have to keep, er, looking. Just make sure that your amazing boyfriend stays with the horses and ponies while you do.

So next, we move on, with hope springing from our hearts, to Sharon. Sharon's profile does not begin auspiciously, however, as I am greeted with a photo of Sharon, who looks rather glum, seated at a banquette with a man of approximately the same age and a similar visage. They are each holding up toddlers, a boy and a girl. More on the significance of this in a moment.

Sharon says that she is a 36-year-old female, whose sign is Leo, and who stands 5 feet, 3 inches (160 centimeters) tall. She is, happily, interested in men. Unfortunately, notwithstanding the gentleman in the photograph with her, Sharon lists her "Relationship Status" as "Unknown." Okay, Sharon, honey, work with me here: who is the dude in the photograph? He certainly is not Kristina's Invisible Man. Alright, I will stop being unduly harsh; perhaps the gent in the photo is her ex. Fine. We can let that one go then.

Well, maybe I spoke a bit too soon, because under "Children," Sharon says, "No." Okay, now this is different from Kristina's response, which was, as noted, a tad on the ambiguous side. But here, we have photographic proof of the existence of two small children. What are we to make of this? Were these little ones merely props for a photo? This will certainly be a topic of discussion on the First Date, if not on the First Telephone Call.

Under "Ethnicity," she tells us "white/caucasian," which seems putatively true enough. Sharon remains cryptic, like Kristina, on the subject of "Education," responding similarly, "high school." On the subject of "Religion," she tells us simply "other," which of course opens wide the theological door, as it were. Sharon does go a bold step further, however, declaiming under "Politics," that she is "very conservative." Yes, apparently as to relationships and children both.

She is a mere seven miles away, a fact which, like Kristina, may prove to be as much a problem for me as a solution for her.

So, with that, we move on to our third, and final contestant, Karina. Sadly, like Sharon, I am greeted, not with a photograph of someone who might allege to be Karina, but of a 30-something man with a boy about four or five years old. Karina, this is not a great marketing strategy. I am really not interested in knowing more about them; oddly, I am interested in knowing more about you.

Karina tells me that she is a 28-year-old female, whose sign is Sagittarius, and whose stature is a substantial 5 feet, 6 inches (167 centimeters, for those of you who are really keeping score). She is interested in men (and has been before, according to the photographic evidence supplied).

Unfortunately, this is where the Karina train leaves the tracks, much like Kristina and Sharon before her: under "Relationship Status," Karina replies "Unknown." Is this something viral that is going around? Is everyone unsure if they are in a relationship? Or is everyone unsure of what a relationship is? Or is that man with the boy just a figment of our collective imagination?

Well, the boy, apparently, is real enough, as Karina's reply under "Children" is "Yes, at home with me." Yes, at home with you, and with the smiling man, no doubt.

Under "Ethnicity," Karina indicates that she is "latino/Hispanic." There appear to be no tricks at play here. She responds to "Education" with "bachelors degree," although there are no other parameters, such as a bachelor's degree in what, or when it was earned. But, again, this is no time to be splitting hairs.

She is located a considerable 51 miles away, which oddly is a mile further than my search terms. This may, in fact, turn out to be a bit of blessing in disguise, as "Karina's Story," reproduced verbatim below, puts her candidacy a bit on the edge:

karina's Story
no hablo ingles

So there you have three of the very best possible reasons to stay single that I could find. I did pick up one piece of valuable information from the exercise, though. From now on, I am listing my "Relationship Status," wherever possible, to "Unknown." Now, if only Facebook would give me that option.

February 10, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


Great Phone Conversations 8

"You know, I've contacted both the police and the telephone company about you."

"Oh no, that's terrible. Tell me you are joking. This is going to be very difficult for me."

"Well, you brought it all on yourself, pervert."

"Sure, but still, how am I going to be able to service the police, and the telephone company, and still be able to call you?"


February 9, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.



there used to be a good market
for my words; I sold them
for paychecks for 25 years;
now, in hard times, they don't
bring as much anymore,
but hardly anything does --
today, I tried to give myself away,
for free -- and was turned down:
"no thanks, you crazy old clown,
not now, hell, not even yesterday";
it makes for little wonder about
why I so desperately want to leave town;
nothing here worth staying around;
things are so bad, so down:
there's extra misery,
boxed, gift-wrapped,
and all of it is free.

February 8, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

UPDATE (where is the new site, dammit?!)

TIBU2.com is still in development, but will be going live before much longer. We're sorry that it's taken so long, but a thing like this is worth doing right. Our development staff has been halved, and with moving and houses and babies flying around, things have been distracting.

The site has been tested- and re-tested- ad nauseum, but mistakes certainly will be revealed as more and more people use the site when it goes live.

The initial launched site will be bare-bones, but more features and functionality will be added as things progress, and the creation will be an ever-evolving process in which we encourage you to take part.

We're glad that you all have shown such interest in the TIBU2.

Thank you- for your patronage, your patience, and your ongoing faith.

the last midnight dancer

no one around on that cold grey morning
to hear that single, final sound;
although it came with plenty of warning,
no one saw as he slumped to the ground.

all of life's fears and tears collected:
stored up like sad songs and letters;
too much that died to be resurrected,
leaving seemed so much better.

joy, always a mystery, now history:
the good overtaken by the bad;
an old heart, turned to blistery:
leaving too soon, just too sad.

did not have to be this way,
but maybe it always did echo
silently, while the world went away:
maybe yes was always just no.

questions with no good answers:
sunlight tries in vain to show;
gone is the last midnight dancer,
off to see the rainbow glow,
off to see the rainbow glow.

February 8, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Captured in Blue and Grey

Love gone so very far away,
captured here in this special place:
captured in blue and grey,
yet leaving only a small trace.

And I could sit here forever,
and try to figure it all out,
but today is Day One of Never,
the First Day of Without.

The push that she gave me
was a shove that I needed
to finally let her leave me:
a hand on my back, finally heeded.

Love gone, gone so far astray,
captured one last lonely time,
captured in blue and grey:
she is now no longer mine,

but captured in blue and grey;
sealed, to look at another day.

February 8, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


your eyes

your eyes pierce me,
and I am speechless;
and I do not know
what you are looking for:
so I am not sure
whether I want to have it,
or wish that it wasn't there.

so, if you get a minute,
could you just let me know,
so that I can try
to make the appropriate

but please, whatever you do,
don't stop looking.

February 7, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


I remember now, as I continue to read your work from before,
the ones that you have reposted in the
more hospitable place,
what it always was about your work before,
when I read a piece for the first time, for me:

I tended to read them slowly,
savoring them, like a really good brandy or an aged port,
and let them roll around in my head for a while;
and when I came to the end of any given one,
I would often go back and read again,
anxious that the moments spent with your words not stop,
that they would just go on and on and on;

that feeling came back full force tonight,
as I was reading; while I am not fully gripping it,
it is gripping me, and I am not at all sure of what that means,
but I mean to find out.

February 7, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Great Phone Conversations 7

"Why are you calling me now?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I wrote a new article that I thought you'd like, called 'How to Spread Love This Valentine's Day.'"

"Well, okay, save me some time: how do you spread love this Valentine's Day?"

"Well, you grab love's thighs . . ."


February 7, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

Compromising Reality

In order to get the “American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009” passed quickly the Democratic Senate has reached a compromise with a few Republican Senators cut the amount of stimulus that goes to the Conservative Republican Enemy No. 1: Science.

The proposed compromise includes cuts of $750M from NASA (a 50% reduction), $427M from NOAA (a 34% cut), $100M from the Department of Energy office of science (a 100% cut), and $1.4B from NSF (National Science Foundation), again, a 100% reduction.

These aren’t cuts in these programs budgets, just cuts in the increases to their budgets. So worst case scenario is their budgets stay the same.

However, an important part of the stimulus plan is to try and keep the recovery rolling after the first surge of Federal Money gets consumers to start spending again and that is where science research plays a major role.

For the last 8 years the Conservative Republicans have lead a war on science, slashing research budgets across the board and generally destroying Research and Development in this country. As a result America has stopped being the nation of innovation and become a nation of consumers to the nations like India and China that invest heavily in science.

Investments in science give long-term returns to our nation, in the 40’s through the 60’s we invested heavily in aeronautics and as a result America became the lead in the aeronautics industry and dominated the world in Aircraft production, an edge we are losing to Europe.

In the 60’s through the 90’s we invested heavily in the computer field, making America the leader in Computer Science and making it a large part of the American economy that we are quickly losing to India.

In order for America to remain an economic powerhouse in the world we need to invest now in research into the sciences and technology of the future. The relatively small investments now of $4 billion out of an $800 Billion stimulus package, that goes into finding and supporting the next huge industry, whether it is Green Tech, Hypersonic Transport, Nanotechnology, or something totally unexpected will pay itself back many times in the future.

Unfortunately, on the idea of funding science, something that has shown time and time again as the way to keep our nation economically competitive in the world, the Republicans have drawn a line in the sand and refuse to compromise on the principals that they have adopted during the last eight years: Knowledge is an Enemy and Truth is a Menace.


The Book of Wrongs

While workin' on polishin' a few love songs,
I got a little curious, and then a little delirious,
so I looked you up, baby, in the Book of Wrongs.

Turned out, you were plastered all over the place,
your name, your stats and victims, even your face;
I thought I had turned wrong, to the wrong place.

But there you were, baby, in all your vainglory,
and for each entry, the same sad story,
love extended, a heart distended, no allegory.

And I thought this must be some big mistake,
you weren't the kind to never give, only take,
so I figured the Book of Wrongs was just a fake.

It took quite a long while, goin' down that road,
for me to finally realize I had been snowed,
and that your wrongs were a very heavy load.

I found out too late that the stories were real,
that out there, along the way, you forgot how to feel,
and love became something that you could steal.

I wish I had just stayed workin' on those songs,
clueless that you were nefarious and injurious,
and that you actually wrote the Book of Wrongs.

February 6, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


i never forgot her
that one
who brought something out of me
that I didn't know was there
that one
who had faith enough for me
and her
and more
someone special
a candle burning in the dark night
i couldn't bare to see her go
to see the candle dim
i could not let any more light in
i stumbled one night in the dark
for the light was gone
but in that deepest darkest night
i looked up
and saw a star shining bright
sure she was gone
but in me
in spite of me
her memory lives on

back here

standing here bleeding,
my sad old face illuminated
by your taillights as you are leaving,
I must look pretty mournful as you go,
and I think that you ought to know,
even though I'm fading from your rearview:
my chest is still heaving,
so I have a little while yet to go
before the job is complete:
empty hands,
aching heart,
hollow soul,
standing in this hole,
with wet clay for feet.

February 5, 2009, for You, dammit.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.


my dreams

always wish that I knew
how to make tracks without looking back;
how to burn a candle with no flame,
or maybe how to remove your name
from that imprint on my heart;
slip it on out of my brain --
but it's no use, and my only excuse
is that Now still feels like Then,
and the only difference left
is the size of the noose,
and how much I remain bereft --
ripped, rapped, rocked and uprooted;
if my dreams were more morose,
I'd take them out and shoot them:
that would serve them right,
for being full of you, night after night;
that would serve them right,
for being wound so tight,
for being wound so tight with you.

February 5, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.