Heavy hands Brutal feet

The wheels in the tidy little recess machine

Recess was fun once

Back in school

You know that school that they went to

Not so fun for me that recess thing

With that recess lady

With her recess whistle and stern shouts

Stop that!

Recess was the place where they lurked

The shining ones

Having the new shoes and well styled looks

With recess lady beguiling personalities

Sharp wit and evil words Heavy hands brutal feet

And willing followers

Oh yesss the followers

The wheels in the tidy little recess machine

Chewing away at the resolve to make it through another day

Recess was fun once…for you maybe

Not so much for me.

Chris McQueeney 2/28/12  10:12 PM

Who among you were afraid to go out on the playground as a child? Did tetherball ever turn into a nightmare for you, the twirling ball of death? Were you ever chased down and beaten by the students you were forced to spend your days with? Did you dread the places that others had fun with, because you knew that you probably were going to be tortured by the kids that smelled that your life was already hard enough?

That is it, I think; the dirty little bastards could smell the torment I was going through. And like animals they would pounce. I went through years of almost daily torment in school, before school, during school, and after school. Let’s focus on recess. I was the typical picked on kid, socially awkward, short, skinny, and had huge ears. Perfect target!

I think in the long run the emotional abuse that was piled on me was much more destructive in my life than the physical, I’ll explain why. Every confrontation started with words. The name calling, incessant stream of catcalls and hurtful descriptions were the intro. I could pull out the laundry list and go into detail on what they said, but I don’t need to; you can provide them for yourself, either you heard them said to another, said to you, or you were the one doing the calling. Early on this was followed by the physical assault.

I said I would tell you why the verbal was worse than the physical, here’s why. I may have been short and skinny, but I was no easy meat. I could fight, and fight well. They could smell that I was tormented, but they didn’t have the ability to know that it had created in me the capacity to endure a lot of physical pain in times of anger without feeling it. What would happen is they would start to hit me and the next thing I knew I had hurt them, sometimes badly.

I got in a lot of trouble for defending myself.  And the smart bully’s learned that they could only use the taunting; if they had disposable followers they would use them against me, but even that got less and less. The words continued well into high school and they left their mark.

The reason recess was so hard was there was no escape…and the teachers did nothing about it. I went to Lincoln Elementary school in Nampa Idaho. I will write, and have written about things that happened to me there. People should know what went on, what that school created….

Note to the reader: this happened to me a long time ago, I am not a victim of this anymore. I grew up and had challenges due to my life experiences but I survived and know now that the world is not out to get me, at least not in this sense. I am now an adult, a father, and a man. No longer am I the wounded child without a defender.

Chris McQueeney  3/1/2012    12:08 AM

Last night I was at another poet's blog and his poem sparked this in me. The subject matter in my poem and story in no way reflect the content or intent  of  his work, or his blog. Brian at Waystationone is a very skilled poet and writer. The posts of his that I have read, having only found his blog in the last few months, have been well worth my time. Here is a link to the post that inspired this piece, Off the wall is its name.

Sleep dep

I had to add a video at the bottom of this post that I got from Christopher at View from the northern wall  http://northernwall.blogspot.com/    I commented on his post and had to edit my words but this is my blog so here goes...This is a fucking amazing performance. Fucking brilliant! I think the song is called Sombody I used to know by Walk Off the Earth.

It is only a sheet of paper anyway

The nights were long back in those days

Time trickled slower the longer

I went without

Sleep eluded me

Not strange at all

To stand still, absolutely quiet

Outside the closet door

Because I know someone is hiding there

Driving past picturesque tree lined parks

Everything is two dimensional

Thinking I can drive off the road

It is only a sheet of paper anyway

One night I found my self

Staring at a can of Campbell’s

Creamy chicken condensed soup

Thinking this is how Andy must have felt

I went through a period of time where I didn’t sleep for months at a time. This was brought about by natural causes, weather stress, or genetics is up for debate. Towards the end of this particular bout of sleeplessness I was doing things that I knew were not rational. One night, actually more than one night, I spent the entire night standing outside of every closet door in my house knowing someone was hiding in there waiting for me to go to sleep so they could come out and kill me and my wife. A week later I knew that there were people creeping around my house, so it made sense to go outside with a butcher knife and a club to catch them or to scare them off. The last straw for me was when I was driving down 99E by Eastmoreland Park just outside of Portland Oregon, and everything appeared to be printed on a giant sheet of paper. Suffering from that level of sleep deprivation everything loses its depth, becomes two dimensional. I knew that I could drive off the road and I would drive through a piece of paper with no worries. Shortly thereafter I sought the help of a doctor, but that is another story for another night...

Chris McQueeney  2/27/12   10:17 PM

Courticy of Utube

Photo prompt brought to you by Tess At the Mag 106

photo credit: Bob Adelman, 1965 of Andy Warhol      

We are not above what is

Walk with me

Hold my hand I’ll lead the way

Walk with me I’ve much to say

That life lead it’s done today

No need for tears don’t look away

Let go my hand it’s time you lead the way

Walk with me we’ve no need to stay

Wipe away the tears walk through the pain

That life you lived is done today

The sun streaming through the windows had a dingy tint. Not comforting to the eye, grim. A young man sits, fists clenched, face contorted in anger. He appears to be on the verge of striking the man across from him.

The color of his collar the only thing at odds with the rest of his appearance the man stood easily, not wilting under the glare. With a look of understanding the man spoke patently. “You do not understand, this anger serves you no purpose. You cannot stay, cannot stay. Would that it were otherwise but we are not above what is.” Taking two steps forward the older man offers his hand to the younger.

Snarling the young man struck the offered hand away and jumped to his feet. “NO”, he screams “you don’t understand they need me, Amy needs me! How can you ask me to leave, tell me I cannot stay? Who the hell do you think you are? I can’t just leave, I can’t!”

Bowing his head the young man’s voice took on a pleading tone, almost desperate. “Please, please, she won’t be able to make it without me, she’s only nine. Who will take care of her, keep her safe? I have to be here for her.”

Offering his hand the older man steps closer to the younger, his eyes soften even further. “Take my hand son, we need to go. Where they have gone you have no power to help. Take my hand and walk with me. Hold your head up, and wipe away your tears. You have to be strong for them. That is what they need from you now”

The sun streaming through the window had a dingy tint, grim. The young man places his hand in the elder’s grasp, and walks. From his other hand falls to the floor a crumpled and smoothed paper….

With love and gratitude we remember and celebrate the lives of

Emily Ann post, Donald Ray post, and Amy lee post

The lord has taken them home

May they rest in his hand

2 PM April 9^th 2001

Saint Paul’s Catholic Church

1203 11^th ave

Bethel landing Oh  

In lew of flowers the church has asked for donations to the orphanage

Chris McQueeney  2/18/12    10:25 PM

*The above poem, story, and notice are works of fiction. Any resemblance to actual places or people is completely unintentional*

My friends....

Run with me my friend

Run with me friend

Laugh with me

Until the end

Zombie robots my friend

Not quite living

Surly almost dead

Live with me friend

That kindles death

Will never end

Endlessly craving my friend

The life that breathes

Their souls defend

Die with me friend

Purification and fried circuits

Will be our end…...

They are a plague rotting the core of our society...You think that man sitting next to you on the bus just had a rough night? No my friend, you couldn't be more wrong! That is a symptom of early zombification due to anti-zombie medication failure, the next stage is robotification, and then things start getting bad! Beware friends, don't say I didn't warn, and for gods sake don't come to me for comfort when the rot hits you.....

The above poem and journal entry were found Early yesterday morning by the Cambridge police department at the home of a local man, Thom Ethridge. Witnesses to the gruesome scene say Mr. Ethridge, guidance counselor at West Burg Academy of Science and Industry, had his walls covered with what appeared to be pictures of the students and faculty of WBASI taken without their knowledge. Also A large stockpile of weapons and explosives were found in Ethridge’s RV.

More info will be released in this evenings Cambridge Press.

Chris McQueeney 2/12/12   4:35 PM      

*The above poem, Journal entry, and article are works of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people and places are purely coincidental...All were written by Chris McQueeney*






                  

A gnome among men

 

Summer gnomes



This is a winter Gnome, not to be confused with a summer Gnome.



And the dross

Makes snow for the little

Summer gnomes scampering

Around your feet

Blooper reels make for

Winter fun

For summer gnomes

Too fragile to handle

The reel thing

Chris McQueeney 1/30/12 2:21 PM

The Red Sands Of Gnome
The gnomes under me
have stirred and clatter awake,
troubled with your scent
much like we dislike
the signs left by hissing cats.

They are the displaced
river gnomes they dumped
here last time they rumbled by
in their dwarf humvee,
all militarist
in their latest grand pretense.
They do hate the dry.

By Christopher Hileman, February 10, 2012 8:00 AM




To see the dry one walk by

All the little gnomes
Ran out from their little homes
To see the dry one walk by

“I have a responsibility
Given directly from you to me
Without care or concern

That day you drove by
And gave me a thorn in my side
As you threw them from your Humvee

All those river gnomes
You drove from your homes
Can’t abide the dry!”

All the little gnomes
Ran back to their little homes
With shouts of glee for the search

"Has anyone a match?" one said
"He wouldn’t burn" shouted another
"If he wasn’t dry" they screamed in chorus!


Chris McQueeney 2/10/12 11:00 AM

Pened in responce to Christopher at http://northernwall.blogspot.com/


Had I known

He’s got a gun, and a nicely swollen eye. Had I known he wouldn’t drop when I hit him I would have split.

“Did you hear me dick wad, I said I’m gonna kill ya”

“Yeah, I heard ya Razz”

At this point you might want to turn away or at least plug your ears……….

 Chris Mcqueeney  2/9/12  11:47 PM

This piece of Flash fiction was inspired by FF55 at http://g-man-mrknowitall.blogspot.com/2012/02/friday-flash-55_09.html

A grave so fine

We will honor you

The stone they said

Is bright and red

And for its finding

We will honor you

A grave so fine

That were it mine

Not in the least would I

Feel slighted

For in the ground

Your body bound

The deed could

Be mistaken

For had you known

That for the stone

Your life

Would be forsaken

Chris McQueeney 2/5/12    2:54 PM

Not often will I explane the words in a poem, and I won’t this time but I would say look up finding for alternate usages, if you do and you think you know what I am talking about let me know….

This poem was inspired by the prompt from Tess At The Mag  please visit and read other poets take on the picture

Also check out poetry picnic at Jingle Poetry where poets and writers share their work for you to enjoy.

The sleeper must awaken

On Fridays I have been invited to write a piece of flash fiction consisting of 55 words, no more, no less-flash 55 at mister know it all's-. Blow the 55 is my continuation of my favorit authors series.

I wasn’t running away….

There is this thing about running away; I thought I wasn’t fast enough. My troubles always seemed to catch up to me.

“We both know I’m gonna kill ya”

“Yeah I know”



What I didn’t see was that I wasn’t running away from a pile of crap, I was running towards a mountain of shit.

By Chris McQueeney 2/3/12   9:16 PM

Favorite author series #4



A later paperback edition of Dune, with cover art by John Schoenherr.



Ok so the last author I wrote about was Tolkien; today I want to write about Frank Herbert. Like Tolkien, Herbert was a master of world building. I think the first time I read Dune was around my eighth grade year. I had the good fortune of finding good authors without trying.

There was this little used book store in in Nampa Idaho across from the Albertsons. I loved the smell of that place. At one point in time it was a doctor’s office, but the doctor retired and the book store came into being. I am not proud to say this…I probably stole my first copy of Dune; I lifted quite a few books from that store, being without money and possessing a flexible character, this didn’t bother me at the time. Now I wish I could go back and give twenty or thirty dollars to the owners (used books were cheap in the 80’s) but they haven’t been in business for about fifteen years.

I got my first copy of Dune there; I don’t remember stuffing it in my pants. but I do remember pulling it off the shelf and looking at the cover, the cover shown in the picture with this post. I had seen the movie and thought it was cool, and I loved the music playing at the end where Paul was kicking some imperium ass, I had to have it.

Like The lord of the rings, and some of the Pern books, I have read Dune about two dozen times, if not more.

Herbert was a brilliant author. He, like Tolkien, could drop hints of a vast history in his stories, and not have it confuse the reader. Where he differed was that he laid an outline in story form for his world and it’s past to be written as a saga even after his death. Tolkien saw into a world where magic and valor and horror was the norm; Herbert saw way into a future where non thinking machine technology, genetic manipulation on a grand scale, and imperial machinations are the norm.

By Chris McQueeney

"Without change, something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens.

The sleeper must awaken."   Frank Herbert

"He who controls the spice controls the universe"    Frank Herbert

Not all who wander are lost. J.R.R. Tolkien

Echoes the best

I do not try to mend the bell

For that way

Lies pure folly

Cracked though the bell may be

From inside that void

Echoes the best

Of me

Chris McQueeney 1/12/12 12:13 PM

Favorite author series #3

In the future you will read from me about authorsthat have brought me here. When I say here I mean to this place in my life where I am writing. Writing has always been a dream of mine...and I am doing it.

For now I am writing short fiction, poems and non fiction. I do have one fiction book in the works, but that one will take some time to write. I decided that my first book would be non fiction, maybe posed as fiction, because not many who don't know me will believe the crap I put myself through...

Back to the topic at hand. Where I want to go eventually with my writing is Sifi and fantasy. The author that I wanted to talk of today Is J.R.R. Tolkien, who's quote is the name of this post and also the inspiration for my blog and blog identity. Tolkien took a style of writing and revamped it by not only telling a story, but by building a world around his story. That is what is so good about his writing. Correct me if I am wrong but I think the whole concept of world building was created by Tolkien. In his writing he is not telling a story, he is taking one thread from a vast tapestry, unweving it a short way and letting you view the images on it with a magnifying glass. So skillfully does he do this He was then able to put that thread back with no one the wiser for years.

This brings me to the reason I am not writing fantasy yet, world building. I don't want to use someone else's world at this time, and I have not begun to build one of my own yet. I want to hone or establish a style, and get more practice before I wander in that direction....but I will!

Chris McQueeney 2/1/2012 10:49 PM

The above poem was inspired by a poem from Erin's In search of white space. I couldnt find the direct link to the spacific poem, but the link I have will take you to a page that has the poem, just scrol down to post from Jan 11th 2012 I was going to write something funny or smart assed but I couldnt think of anything so just click here!