Science fiction author Michael Casher dusts the cobwebs off previously unused sections of his brain.
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Allegheny Plateau Blues: Director's Cut


Headphones will enhance your viewing experience.

Want to know what kind of man I am?
Read the related Background Story:


Did you like that video? I;ll bet you did. I'll bet it amused the shit out of you. You lurking bastards and bitches. So, what would you care that it's That's right, it's impossible for me to write and blog anymore, living in a noisy hell-hole like Snow Shoe, Pennsylvania, especially with a crazy people-hating German shepherd bitch howling and screaming and wailing and carrying on like a f*****g goddamn coyote/wolf hybrid bitch beast (which is what a German shepherd is and why the cops and the feds use them against people). You goddamn sub-life fuckers are the PITS of humanity. You care more about DOGS and MACHINES than you do people and YOU are the reason the human race on Earth will be EXTERMINATED very shortly. Good riddance. You miscreants can stick your fucking mutts up your goddamn asses. What's left to say isn't much. That there are some local people — so few I could count them on one hand — whom I like and talk to on a regular basis, or occasionally, and you know who you are by now. Nothing's changed there. Keep being who you are because they're aren't nearly enough of you in the world. But, if others see me in public (unless it's for conducting business, and you think for one f*****g minute that you can come up to me and ruin my day with your hateful hostility, just steer clear of me. You'll be better off if you do. Trust me on this. Do your bitching about me on your own time, not mine. Trust me on this.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Patina

When I was a young man full of high hopes, and piss and vinegar, and all the other things that make a young man want to see the world and maybe even conquer a piece of it, I used to daydream about walking on a moonlit beach somewhere in the South Pacific with a beautiful Polynesian woman on my arm and an umbrella drink in my hand.

Now that I walk slowly and a little crooked like an old dog and have seen and heard far too many terrible things to have much of a wanderlust left in me, I still daydream about places. But not so much about people.

In my favorite daydream I'm sitting on the front porch of a log cabin somewhere deep within a wooded hollow on a starlit summer evening. I am not alone but with someone I care about, not someone I desire. We watch the sunset, feel the warm breeze, smell the honeysuckle, listen to a whippoorwill and sip our coffee.