MacHighway - Mac Powered Web Hosting for Mac Users, by Mac Users
Just wanted to plug the guys at MacHighway. I’ve been nothing but pleased with them. I’m also experimenting with Hostgator, and their support is great...I know because I’ve been on the phone with them several times a day since I started with them. On the other hand, I haven’t had to have the guys at MacHighway ever fix anything, because nothing ever doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.

And yes, I’m seriously thinking of changing all my sites to MacHighway.


And, since it’s just that kind of day, here’s a nice soft and happy love poem, just right for this time of year:


killing them wasn’t enough, they
still stare at me blank eyes dark pools of
accusation and reproach they tell
me the same over and over you didn’t
have to
kill us we were no danger to you
but they were, dangereverpresent,
unimaginable fear
so i carried a blade
flexible and I held open
lids and c a r e f u l l y t o o k
their eyes
and souls, i own them now they
dwell on a shelf in my
basement in a mason jar
and green
and some brown

like the marbles i played with
once when as a child i
was safe.

DIED. And Who Cares?


By the way, this is the kind of thing I’m talking about. Here’s someone who’s name isn’t even visible on his marker anymore. And the marker has certainly seen better days. And there’s a flag, crumpled on the ground like a used hankie...and I’m not even sure it’s his, since he died at age 66 in 1864...a little old to have been in the Civil War, and young to have been in the War of 1812.
Once we’re dead, who really gives a shit about us?

I Hate This Time of Year

I really hate this time of year. Everyone’s supposed to be so damn jolly and happy--a bunch of crap foisted on us by Walton’s re-runs and Madison Avenue (nothing against The Waltons).

I’m sitting here alone with nothing and no one save little Maisey (which quite a lot, actually). Tomorrow is Christmas Day, or, as I prefer to call it, Thursday. I have no where to go, no where I want to go, but I don’t want to stay here alone either. My parents are split up, my Grandfather is dead, my grandmother is crazy and mean, my best friends are in Maine and that is...that.

And on top of that, there’s not a drop of whisky (or whiskey) in the house. Which is probably a good thing, because I’m in a mood to do some serious damage to a bottle of Scotch, or maybe some Woodford Reserve or Turkey 101. That doesn’t solve anything, mind, but it doesn’t really hurt either. At least I’m sitting on A CRAP LOAD of good pipe tobacco. I think some of Mr. Greg Pease’s finest leaves would go well this afternoon. Maltese Falcon, I think. Maybe some strong coffee, a couple of xanax and a good pipe. Maybe I’ll find “It’s A Wonderful Life” or something on, and I can heckle Jimmy Stewart.

God I hate this time of year.

Ad For The Heck Of It




Who was the person who lies beneath the stone this is carved into? When were they born? What were there hopes, aspirations, what pain, what suffering did they endure during their lives ? What did they see happen in their lives? Did they have a father or grandfather who fought in the Revolutionary or Civil War? Perhaps they themselves? Did they lose loved ones to sickness and disease, easily cured with modern medicine, but fatal even one hundred years ago? Did they read by firelight, kerosene lamp, or maybe they couldn’t even read? Cemeteries provide me with endless fascination, a mixture of sadness and wonder. Stop and think of what life was like, fifty, one hundred, two hundred years ago, just where you are. History is never more alive than in a cemetery.


New Business!

So today I launched another business, this one is strictly web based, the link can be found on the home page, or you can just click here. It’s a one stop shop for all kinds of tools and accessories, from power tools to hand tools to storage. If you feel like it, give it a look and buy something!

Skeletal Oak

skeletal oak tree out
side my window shrouded
in mist of snow white
against dark against
empty grey sky.



Fresh tracks in wind scarred
snow, I follow them.
Branches creaking and
snapping, frozen beads hit my
face, stinging. Right foot breaks
through spring weakened crust
ahead dogs bark at something.
I hurry to catch up and break
through again and again,
the effort to extricate myself
is exhausting.

New Category

So as you can see I’ve added a new category. I thought I’d put some poems up here. Might as well put them here as anywhere, right?



A waft of summer brushes my
lips. I didn’t know you in the summer,
all there was in the summer were
letters scribbled on scraps of paper, what-
ever was at hand.
I love you, I miss you
I can’t live
without you but I can’t
leave here and
be with you there. But until
I can, here is a picture of what our
bed should look like
, ripped from
a magazine, torn edges and
here, I love how this old table looks,
I can’t wait for the day we sit
at a table like this
and have all the time in the world
for each other. Until then, I’ll put on lipstick and
kiss this page, so you remember my lips, how soft and
warm they are.

I knew you in the fall, and
winter. I knew you in the spring, when
the first fragrant blooms of lilac filled
the air and when you wore shorts again,
long elegant legs creamy alabaster, and the sight
of them warmed me surely as the renewed sun.

Well, what do you think?

Interesting couple of days. Ice storm. Power out for three days. Finally back on, finally can work again. Spent the time reading, mostly. Did a little bit of staring blankly into space (they call that "meditating", sometimes). Did some plotting as well.

Just wanted everyone to know I hadn't flown the coop again. Check out the "leaf" page while you're here. I like it.