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Thursday, February 16, 2012

Sarasota Fl

Sarasota FL

This land of the first people, the native Indians, was called Sarasota. Today the city dwellers call it “Paradise.” It is a cruel joke flaunted by the city wanabees, and social climbers, who clambering to get their mug shots, in glossy magazines. With all the greed, avarice and under handed deals in this town, it is the devils playground, and many a souls depart, as the corner pronounces death by misadventure.

The origins of this sweet, innocent town called Sarasota are unknown and shrouded in the fog of the bayou backwaters. Historians think the word Sarasota is part of an American Indian language, which meant Point of rocks. It sounds dangerous, if you are on a ship or on shore.

Another old legend suggests that Sarasota means “Place of the dance.” I wonder who all were dancing at this party, I wasn’t there. On the map of 1763 this land mass was called “ZARAZOTE. “ The name itself sounds even more dark, threatening, and very ominous. It could be anything but friendly and inviting.

The medicine man called it where “THE DEVIL DANCES.”

No wonder why Sarasota, has such a bad reputation, year after year. Newspapers have labeled this town as the meanest city in the USA. Many powerful people with influence in this town are heartless towards the downtrodden and homeless brethren. Whenever a homeless shelter is proposed the good citizens rise up in revolt, and say not in my backyard. Homelessness is considered an eyesore, and before you know it, laws are enacted to curtail the movement of this silent minority,and the police are being bestowed with special powers to remove this silent majority from area where the affluent dance with mask of impunity.

Sarasota is truly a porous city devoid of any feeling or love for its own native sons and daughters.
Sarasota FL, comparison to Paradise on earth is full of collusions and a very different from what  I envision from the good book.
Sarasota was founded May, 14t 1921. If you care to know.
How far have we come ?
Matt 8:20

Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."
God bles you
May all be well with you

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


Love for humanity
Gentle reminder of the Lords extreme love, grace, forgiveness of our sins. One was the defiant, the other was repentant, and the son of God forgave them both.
Because he loves us so much.

God Bless you.

Friday, January 27, 2012

The Ferryman on the river Styx.

Once when I was young, long time ago, I waited on the coarse and rocky shores of the river Styx with the funeral cortege, and strained my neck to see the boatman. The elders said, young man you do not see the boatman do you, but we do. It’s not your time to the cross the river of despair. Now I fear the night and I fear the deep sleep, that insomniac craves for. I am happy when I open my eyes and the boatman is nowhere in sight.

 From the distant shore the river Styx looks a very dark, forbidding, almost colorless city on the waters with hues of grey and black. Fires burning everywhere, winged birds with scary large beaks, and many gruesome headed animals howling about, on the isles in the river, and multitude of restless souls looking for coins.

But now that I am old and the world has grown weary, and indifferent of me. I see the ferryman , and he sees me ever so clearly, waiting alone with no funeral cortege, to bid me farewell, clenched in my hand my fare that I need , the coins for the boatman, must he row so fast and so eagerly.

God Bless You

May all be well with you


Wednesday, January 25, 2012



The villager trembled, as death walks with four paws under the forest canopy, it’s the season of death. When the night is king and the queen and daybreak is very, very far away, the sky isn’t blue and the green trees have turned into color noir. This is the time, when sometimes the hunter chases the prey unlike any other; it’s the time of the man eater.

Many a times the prey becomes the hunter, it’s a nightly game that is played out, and the tiger uses all his instincts of million years while the hunter uses his five senses. Only the gun and your heart beat are your companions. There are no shadows in the pond, no birds fly the very blue, and the whole forest watches the hunter and the prey play their role only the end is bloody. The forest has become very foreboding place, and the bear has gone to sleep. Only the owl is the last guardian of wisdom.

In the teepees of the first people, they dream of forest, lakes, no boundaries and endless horizon, but they live on the reservation, on the desert floor and not by choice, and the world as we know it has forgotten them, just like in the forest. One society became the hunter the other a prey, in the end the owl saw no more, and said no more.

God Bless You

May all be well with you?


Monday, January 23, 2012

Love mysterious love.

A Letter to my ethics and my morality, what else is left?

Why stand at the edge of anything?
Leap, leap into the abyss of love and embrace it fervor thusly, and meet someone at infinity and oblivion at river they call emotion.
Why go to the ocean edge and not even wet thy feet
What’s the point of it all?
Fill thine ears with wax, and hear no mournful cries, of lovers past.
Hear no tales that might lure you away. ‘’ Do not be lured away.”
I pray thee, to hurry and take flight in the bosom of a sirens sweet song.
Fly as this might be the very last time you may cross the impassable reef, the thin veil of unfaithfulness.
Kismet brings strangers together so they can love. Kismet makes strangers into lovers.
But fate does, and has the final answer.
God Bless You
May all be well with you?

Lost Love

Love mysterious love.
As I sat next to mans closest family member on earth the monkey, we both had the same idea, and without encroaching each other’s space we both sit in a cool mountain spring pool, and contemplated. This town was getting up, and preparing for the challenges of the day. Temple bells harkened the arrival of the new day, the street sweepers swept, the shopkeepers hawked their wares, and the housewife’s stroked the fires for the family breakfast. The holy men chanted and meditated, and traveled light; it was their dream prayer time.
In the distant a very friendly volcano, growled and murmured as it has done for a millennium and thought it was the mouth piece for mother earth. The clouds travelled ever so slowly as they kissed the rim of the crater, and headed east by southeast, they harkened the coming of something wet, yes very wet, it was the coming of the monsoon season.
I looked, for love, but only found regrets, and was consoled by a lost dog, with a smiling face and a wagging tail.  I remembered love, the comedy of love and how I was led astray. What good are guardian angels, you are better off going down the lonely alleys of love, and betrayal yourself, even if you are in a dream. I trust in love and cling to the sweet memories of yesterdays.
I still remember love, it still bewilders me.
Till we meet again, on paradise road.
God Bless You
May all be well with you?

Sunday, January 22, 2012

How was your summer

How was your summer?

My summer was like a long never ending walk thru the desert of endless, useless repetitive motions. Thanksgiving, 4thof July had no meaning, but left me staring at my shadow in an empty room with no life, and memories with no emotions just waiting for another day.
 I hear laughter, jubilation and sounds of joy on the other side of my door, but it’s quiet as cemetery on the inside of my door. Let the children play and be happy and the community rejoices its repose, as I slowly wither away from myself, my family, my people, and my nation that is far away. My loneliness envelopes me like whirling dervish in a trance.
This was the devils anvil, all retreats are cut off, and this was my winter in the summer of my life. So drink sparingly from the chalice of life as journey is long and arduous, make all thy decision early and wisely.
God Bless You
May all be well with you?

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Our Nuclear Sea.

Our Nuclear Sea.
No white sails of peace, and tranquility against the backdrop of the virginal sea.
A sea with no boats, big or small, and no fisherman young or old.
No one to harvest the bounty of the sea, as there was no harvest in the sea.
Waters looked so blue but it was only a mirage, it’s the reflection of the sky.
But the sea is black, like china ink black, and the sands are the same that glow in the midnight black. They build it for peace for humanities sake, but nature has its own will, and destiny for mankind.
God bless you
 May all be well with you

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

First Kiss

First kiss, do you still remember?

Do you still have the sweet memories of you first kiss, not the experimental kiss on the mirror.

Yes I  remember I was in church, there was a kind angelic nun who tickled me, and then there was the priest who shook  his finger around my face and strokes my forehead.

So I kissed the nun and bit the priest finger that will teach him not to point his crooked finger with dirty nails near an innocent, almost sinless baby in church.

That was my first kisses, how about you?

God Bless You

May all be well with you?


Paths of the wanderer

I am never ever too long in a place to call home. Walking where ever there is a path, made by humanity in a city or somewhere out there, a path made by peasants of a village.
Sometimes the path is long and so arduous that it would literally ground you down like an eraser at the end of pencil.
If fate is kind and your side, the path brings you back to your birthplace, where you find solace, and comfort in the familiar. After a brief spell it is time to go again, the paths to the unknown come calling.
The feet are yearning; the blood is thirsty with wanderlust, till it’s time to sleep and dream of wandering even as I put on the akasic veil
 God Bless You
May all be well with you

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Regeneration the hope for mankind

Regeneration the hope for mankind.

When a storm uproots a tree or even a mighty oak.
A fearn takes its place.
In its rebirth there lies the hope for mankind.

God Bless You
May all be well with you

The Thief and the Policeman

The Thief and the Policeman.

I see you, and you see me, we have never met each other formally, but not for very long.
But we know of each other’s intentions. People in the day recognize me and want to be my friend, but you shun the very sight of me, and hide in the shadow even when the sun is out
Guess who am I?
I am your consciousness of innocence before you got corrupted.
I walk between the veils of right and wrong I walk all day and all night long.
Who am I?
I am you and you are me, we just have different friends.
You have larceny in your heart.
All I have is an ounce or two of prevention.
God Bless You
May all be well with you

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

The King and the Clown

Kings Clown.
Once upon a time long, long, time ago.
The court jester asked the king for some money.
The clown was a very treasured courtier of the king’s court.
And because of his friendship, loyalty and years of making the king laugh.
The king offered this friendly advice to his favorite clown.
“Don’t ask for money from a beggar or a holy man, but give generously to them.”
The clown said, “What other choices do I have?”
The king said.
“The choices are clear, work hard, work the land like the native that you are,
Or join the fraternity of any religious order of men in the world, with sincerity.
Then everything is free, there is no initiation fee and no entrance fee.”
The clown said. “So do I get the money or not. “
The King said. “You make me laugh.”

"Now go forth through the field without scaring the women folk and children, and dont be afraid of the scarecrows they will not eat you they only like insects and worms, sometimes clowns."

God Bless You

May all be well with you

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

The End Game

End Game.

Death in all it gore and splendor, has the end game all ready written for all of us. The end game plays out every day from the beginning of time it’s the same for some, different for other on distant continents, as we all   know today.
The fortunate one, go to the other side in their sleep with loved ones, at their side awake and some asleep at the soon departed.
Who are those few rare individuals who have escaped the mundane way to the grave, and escaped the grasp of death, and cheated it more than twice?
And as precious gift of life they get to see thru the veil of the unknown and get to peak and come back to tell us all about it. This anomaly has baffled the world’s theologians, medical professional, and thinkers of our time.
Were all these incidents, a freakish joke of nature or was it all part of an elaborate “End Game “written exclusively for the fortunate few.
God Bless You
May all be well with you

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Eternal Right Born To Die

Eternal Right: Born To Die, Summer or Winter.

Angels ready, take all comers.
Humans cling to life, never give up
Grave diggers hate winters ground.


Saturday, January 7, 2012

Haiku: My winter

Haiku: My winter. 

Round up all night long
Early winter there is Hoarfrost underfoot
Paddy wagon empty of love nears

Thursday, January 5, 2012



The sea sings and sooths the soul of humanity, dolphins serenade ammophila, the sand lover, she holds back the beach with a gentle hand and sand dunes are at the whims of the ocean winds.

The weak hunter sits on planks of wood he calls it a boat. He holds in his hand, wrought iron with flint, he calls it a gun. The hunter hides himself under nature’s canopy only to kill his prey, by ambush. He knows he is weak, weaker than the reed in the pond.

Across the marshland, the oceans are full of hunters and the hunting grounds are open all year long, there is no refuge. But yet man must conceal himself and play this game, against the fowls of nature as the bunny tails sway in the fountain of moonlight, till the sun kisses the moon adieu. The hunters, summer has past and autumn is at his doorstep, he has a tear in his eyes he knows he is the weak hunter.


May all be well with you


Monday, January 2, 2012

Blog it , but keep it short

I blog, because I don’t understand me,   let alone you.
“Yes that’s true, very true, someday it’s like a river that burst at its banks, and then some days it is, like I am frog in dry well.”
“It is okay.”  If you don’t understand my blog, some of my thoughts will tickle you as time goes by, but I am always thankful to those who stop by. Sometimes I wonder, what people are thinking when they read my blog, is Doug BLOGGING FROM OUT PATIENT PSYCHE CLINIC for the down and out blogger, or he still needs a few more session.
So dear, brethren saddle up and buckle up for what’s its worth, keep an open mind for a ride in the world of fiction. Where the fantasy is jealous maiden, she does not share, she lays down and bears its self in deserts blinding light, is it hallucination or a peak into next world , as you know ,” Fiction is lonely rider and the horse is a filly.”
Keep blogging
May all be well with you.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Two hobos on a motherboard grid, in Silicon Valley.

Two hobos on a motherboard grid, in Silicon Valley.

“Hey Yahoozi, I have found a new love and misplaced the old one in this age of internet shuffle.”
“Good for you, Googly, lucky since you just lost your J.O.B.”
Googly said,
“I told her, I can give her all she wanted of true love, if that all she wanted, with all the caring, sincerity, humility.”
“But what I cannot give her is a palace, full of riches and the comfort zone she is use to.”
Yahoozi said, “True True.”
Googly said,” I am poor man with a big heart, loving a poor man should not be a big challenge, if all you want is pure love...”
“Some out there has the capacity to love a poor man or women, then the love will tumble in and fill my begging bowl, and the rich shall shrivel up from the lack of love.”
Yahoozi said, “So what are you saying you want free love with low overhead;  Googly When were you born?”
Googly said, “I was born in 1960 my name use to be Woodstock,”

May all be well with you.

Saturday, December 31, 2011



In the cities of this world, one theme runs the same over and over again. A young man, women or a family enters the city gates with enthusiasm after burning all the bridges behind them to conquer it all.

And on the other side the same numbers, give or take little exits the city gates, and vows never to return as they have plowed this concrete farmland to no avail. The bells toll for both, who come and go.

But never for the ones who stay behind to endure.


May all be well with you