Where did it begin?

The weekend of April 9th, I had the chance to be in New Orleans. Well, anytime you can visit New Orleans, you really should go. The opportunity allowed me to visit friends, do some research and visit the radio show I do some work for as they entered their new studio. If you are in the New Orleans area you can hear on 99.5 WRNO on Sundays at 7 or catch them on podcast as The Week in Geek.

Opportunity arose for an impromptu, mini-interview. One of the questions Brian asked was where did it start for me?

I gave a quick answer on air, but the question has lingered. First, one of the things I am grateful to my grandmother and my mother was they did manage to instill a love of reading. That was the start. I could fairly well before I started school. Some of those early books I recall were Babar, Robin Hood, Paul Bunyan, 20,000 Leagues under the Sea and of all things, I fell in love with Edgar Allen Poe through The Gold Bug.

Once I was hooked, I found all I could at the library. I devoured Poe. By the time I was in third grade I had read many of his stories. Poe was stirring, and amusing. And all was well.

Until third grade. Not sure what possessed her but she thought reading The Tell-Tale Heart and Cask of Amontillado to third graders, even if it was Halloween, would be a good idea. Still, she did not reckon with me.

As she read them, many did get scared. Except me, having read them, knowing what was coming and watching the others get scared, I giggled.

Yeah, third grade and I was giggling at some of Poe’s scarier stories. It actually seemed to unnerve the teacher. I was sent to the principals office where I had to explain why I giggled.

My humor has always been a little dry and often dark, sometimes a gallows humor, this was probably some of that origin. But I also think it was what made me want to start writing. See, I liked watching the others react, and I wanted to make other react. Put words in front of them and pictures in their mind to which they would react.

Thank you for reading,


My Lover, My Friend

Once I was lucky enough to live in New Orleans. I visit the city often as I can, and this weekend I was finally able to put into words what I have long known.

New Orleans is an entity; some cities have a soul. Those that do look you over, deciding if it likes you, if you belong. If it does, it will find ways for you to stay. If you need a job, someone has a friend who needs help. Place to stay? Suddenly there is a room available.

Whether she likes you or not, New Orleans has a way of sinking her hooks in you. She latches onto your soul and becomes an ache, a yearning for her. Are you a Tourist? Fine, you get home and within a week you are planning that next trip. Each time you visit, it’s a little harder to leave.

Oh! You lived there, got to know her a little, and had to move? How many nights do you dream of her? If she likes you her siren call is strong.

If you fell in love with her you search the job pages, maybe you’ll find one. Maybe you wonder if you dare step out to live on that edge.

We flirted this weekend. I think she likes me.

Cycles of Circles

This weekend has been spent visiting a town I left almost ten years ago. I lived here almost 20 years. Has been wonderful catching with some old friends, old haunts and introducing my partner to some favorite restaurants.

It got me thinking about this piece.

In chaos there is meaning.

The meaning is there is no meaning.


The weirding of the word

Is a lie to its content.


A portion of the great Ain Soph.

The mind grapples what it cannot conceive.

In the no-thingness of chaos

Is contained the birth of all.



Born of chaos,


Kicking and screaming

As chaos


It home.


All cycles,

All possible,


I climb the tree to live.


Looking out

Over the great mass of non-being

I see

In the distance

Another tree.


Looking out from the tree

Is me…