Silly Talk

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

It was the sunset which did Fred in. He often overstayed, it was his unfortunate bad habit to be the last man still present long after all other guest had politely departed. He had mistakenly thought he was so witty and clever hosts wanted him to themselves, thus never requested his departure, when it actuality Fred was just too dense to pickup on their subtle shooing.

This time it was not like that. For Fred had been clued in by a friend of courage just that morning, about not borrowing trouble. To start being the first to depart, that is if he wanted to quench the rumbles of weariness his lingering was generating; if he still wanted to continue to be one of the lucky privileged ones with access to the soirees of the rich and famous.

So that twilight when Fred wandered out onto the kitchen porch of his latest social obligation in search of some solitude, he set to pondering whether he did want to be invited and tortured with artificial friendliness for evermore. He gleefully came to the conclusion that he didn’t really like parties much, that it was his estranged wife¬†who did, not himself. With this happy release of expectation,¬†Fred found himself waiting for a lull in arrivals, so he could slip away, unassailed by the inbound, to freedom.

But then, the sun set, darkness ensued, Fred tripped, choked on the olive in his martini, turned bluer than the sun, and with borrowed sorrow was celebrated in posterity as the life of the party.




Cindy is clueless. I mean really, had Luke not just told her that he couldn’t do this anymore, that she had stood him up for the last time when she did not show last Friday, and this after having a conversation just days prior regarding the fact that she had left him hanging not once, not twice, but every darn tooting time it was he who had made the arrangements for a date.

Now, against his better judgement, here he was out with Cindy, she had wanted another chance, and amazingly she had managed to show up. Sadly as Cindy is causally dismissing Luke’s hurt and distrust with a flippant, “Of course I care. You mean the world to me,” her telephone rings, she answers it, and then proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes talking with her friend David, and doesn’t get it when Luke stands and departs. For Luke, with long overdue clarity, accepts that perhaps theirs is a relationship run amuck, and well beyond the time¬†to¬†Heal.



Luke¬†was excessively warm and did not want to be. However, Cindy, the love of his life, was cold as ice, through and through. Therefore the heat was set to roast me already why don’t you, and Luke, the dear, was just going to grin and bear it, for he would not, could not, conceive of a reality where compromise and communication existed, and for sure and for certain, Cindy was not going to enlighten him. Well at least not for today, maybe on Valentines Day, she could¬†have it be her special gift to him, this one day of reciprocation.

How sweet.



A small tale of woe for sure and for certain is the one of Ralph and Diane. For empty heartfelt promises was their modus of relationship killing operandi, and it must be known that they shared equally in the execution. Hence disillusion and regret with a liberal sprinkling of anger was all that was left when they finally crept away from the rotting corpse and parted ways.

Only to be swept up into the arms of the One whose promises are steadfast and eternal, thus receiving peace and healing in His veracity, surety, and unconditional love, guaranteed eternally by the resurrection of his Son. A treasure worth all costs, even years of walking through fire and ice.

Still, it is not a case of alls well that ends well, for the still small voice of the One was not heeded before the multitudes of killing thrusts were administered to what could, and should have been, thus, even though Ralph and Diane are happily alive in Him, they remain today, and forever, uncharted universes apart.

The End


Journey’s End

The dark monsters grip was suffocating her spirit, and causing a lack of blood flow to the brain. Thus she was continually falling asleep where she stood every time she paused the battle long enough to be still. And even when she was lucid, the deceptive weight of her visiting oppressor, managed to compress what was left of her joy into the tiniest of spaces. So, for survivals sake, she paused, and wrapped herself within and proceeded to wait, quietly, patiently, for this unwelcome presence to journey back into the hell hole it had crawled out of in search of who knows what. Praying when she remembered to, that this would not go on forever, for she was so very much afraid that she would forget what outside looked like as she waited, and thus would by default, opt to pass on into the warm and comfortable, slumber of dreams.



Doubting Thomas

Well, Thomas chose poorly for sure and for certain. He chose by his inability to choose, or act beyond his imagination. Thus he remains on the speeding ship, held fast by doubting gobs of mire, which will hold him steady to the gangplank, whilst all the while sucking him deeper and deeper into a sea of tension and unbecoming behavior, altering him permanently into a bitter rancorous old man, sucking all the life out of him, particle by particle through his cracked and neglected toenails, in an agonizing slow soul sucking whirlpool of stress. Oh where is the pleasure in that I ask.