Tickle my fancy come play with me
Hug me squeeze me come sit on my knee
Make me tingle lets have a fling
Stir my emotions, make me Zing
Kiss my neck and whisper softly
The things you want, to do with me
Take me to Rome

Wine and dine me

And then take me home
Wrap me in lace and Broderie Anglaise
Bath me in milk and polyurethane foam
Fly me to Rio lets dance in the streets
Make love to me Beneath silken black sheets
Tell me you love me in French and Italian
Call me a Puppy-dog and then a white stallion
So tickle me baby lets have a fling

angel said:
no more lies
there is no heaven on earth
that there is only happiness alone
who is ready on leave at any time

devil said:
please take my hand
I show you something beautiful
and only in this world

angel said:
please hold my wings
I’ll show you
what is not there forever
include yourself in this world

and i said:
I leave everything to god
because it is his
I just run in command
trying to live the best
and try to be the best
grateful for everything that god gave me

and then both creatures are gone
left to pursue my own path

                                                                                        I never thought I was ever ready to die. But you know what they always say.  When your time is up, it’s up.

I’m David Fighter. And I’m in a whole load of trouble. And so is Tim my friend.

We thought this was an easy task: Enter steal the money and run so we thought. The abandoned chamber containing 500 pieces of gold coins turned out to be a ambush plan by our boss Joe in the business to snuff us out, once and for all. You can say we’re a pretty big threat to his survival. Now our survival is the major threat of all.

I can remember the first time I met Tim. He was really a stranger in a strange place. He was picking up any odd jobs he stumbles upon. He found me, and stuck with me since then. Or you could say it was the other way around. Now, he’s stuck with me with a hundred crazed Mexicans out for our blood.

“This is all Joe’s doing. He planned this all.”

“You think?  You sure this isn’t one of your old friends you ditched back in the town?” Tim was teasing me.

“Oh I’m as sure that old fat Joe planned all of this” I said.
                                                                                “Then the 500 pieces of gold coins aren’t nothing but the same damn myth it was before.” he cried.

“I am not sure of that, but I know that if we don’t gun ourselves out there we will become another myth. A duo that never existed.” I answered.

“I really wasn’t looking forward to this job. Damn that fat Joe. Damn him and his evil eyes!”

“ What do you say we stay alive here then we’ll worry about the gold and Joe later?”

Several shots rang out, and splinters flew just above our heads. They were starting to flush us out.

“You know, David. It has been fun with you.”

“I know. It always has been.” I cracked, smiling wide.

Several Mexican voices yelled out. There were many of them.

“Is it a good day to die, David?” Tim asked.

“With you? It’s always a good day to die.”

We jumped out from behind the crates, my trusty Silver Swords shining in the noon sun.  Two against a hundred.

 “Should we run for it?” Tim suggested.

“That a good idea if you can make up a plan in 2 seconds.”

“There look!” shouted Tim.

There was a rope dangling above the roof. We were in luck. I started climbing along the wall and I made it on the roof alive. Tim was right behind me. Few Mexicans tried to climb the rope but I cut the rope and they fell off.

“Ouch, that must have hurt.”

“Yep” muttered Tim. 

“So well what do we do now?” asked Tim.

 “We could hunt down Joe and find out if he set up this trap.” I mumbled.

“We still need to get off this roof.” Tim pointed out.

I looked down and saw the Mexicans still trying to climb the wall.

“They never give up do they.” I laughed.

We jumped off on the other side. We looked around. The Mexicans were nowhere to be seen.

Two days later we found a rusty typical Mexican hotel. We went in and payed for a room with my few leftover coins.

“Ahh, my feet are killing me.” I barked. 

“So are my.” Cursed Tim.

“We’ll rest for an hour or two and then we are going to find out where the hell is that bloody man!” I exclaimed. 

I was taking a cat nap and Tim was on the toilet when suddenly a stranger ran in and stole my bag and ran out.

“Is that you Tim” 

“I’m on the toilet you idiot.” Snapped Tim.

“Oh god.” I cried.

I ran out the room and down the stairs to the lobby luckily the robber tripped. I grabbed my bag and something fell out of his pocket. He ran away and I didn’t get time to catch him. I went up back to my room.

“What was that all about.” Complained Tim.

“Some kid came and stole my bag, he must have wanted my swords.”  

“Well you got it back” muttered Tim.

“Yea and I have this too.”

 We looked at a map of Mexico City. There was a circle around one of the street on the map. On the bottom there was a name.

“Joe.” I cursed. “So that Mexican kid was working for damn Joe.” 

“Well at least we have found Joe’s hideout” exclaimed Tim.

About 15 minutes later we were outside looking for some type of transport. We found two motorbikes nearby and stole them.

Two hours later we arrived in Mexico City. We followed the map to our location. It was an abounded old rusty, smelly factory. We walked inside and it was jet black. I turned on my torch. We checked the first few rooms.

“There is nothing here.” I muttered.

“Listen.” Hissed Tim.

“Who the hell are you.” Shouted Joe.

“We came to kill you.” I shouted back.

“Look who’s here, David and Tim. I can’t believe those Mexicans didn’t kill you.”

“So it was you, the ambush and trap, you going to pay for this.” I swore.

“Let him have it.” Shouted Tim.

“Are you shore about that, it driving a sword into real flesh.” Said Joe.

“I am shore.”

I drove my sword into his chest. I didn’t feel guilty because I knew he deserved it.

In few days Tim and I were across the Mexican border and in USA.

It always a good day to die.                  FIN

copyright            

(comment plz if it was a good story)                                               

Ever would be drenched in treachery and lies

Could this be a sign meant for me to be alone?

Remembering the name of my love in stone

Others would forget and leave, but not me

People would believe if this they could see

Here in the darkness I searched for my heart

I must take it back before forever we must part

Life is a memory that in death you must erase

It sings to you and asks of you to give that last embrace

And if these clues still make no sense to women and to men

Carefully look at the lines’ first letters to know what I really am

Every time I cry at night it’s all because I don’t have you anymore

Pain tearing through my heart every time I see the picture of me and you

Wishing the car crash didn’t pin me to the ground so I was able to save you

Battling each day with thoughts of suicide just to be able to hold you in my arms.

Standing thoughtlessly at your funeral before collapsing down with countless tears

Fighting relentlessly while being pulled aware and screaming “I want to be with her”

Spending weeks locked away from others while mourning for my lost one

Trembling when I see a car cause I remember my horrible night.

Nightmares fill my head with the car crash and her last screaming breath

Looking at other women and not even feeling any attraction at all

My love for you is written across my heart and attached onto your headstone

Always in my heart you will remain even though I broke the promise to be with you.

Allan Harlem trudged through the thick woods of Vietnam; he humped more than 15 miles that day with his brigade through mud and forest before they stopped for the night. It was a day like any other for him he was talking to his friend John Sharp sitting next to a tree going to bed when it happened.  He had seen his fair share of death but none had been as gut wrenching than that of Johns. He was talking about what they would do when the war was over one minute and the next his friend John was laying next to him dead shrapnel in his chest with the smile that he had been wearing when hit.
          Allan couldn’t stop dreaming of that day for more than 15 years. Now one of those crusty old men living under a bridge going to the freeways with a sign that said  “Vietnam vet please help.” He often wondered why the grenade hadn’t hit him “if only it had landed a few feet to the left” he would tell people that would listen to his story.
          He had been drafted with his friend John in 1969 in the first U.S lottery held in 20 years. They were both born on September 14th and were the first dates drawn. They were terrified to go to war but they were scared to let down their country.  They were shipped out December 30th 1969.  After weeks of humping through the woods Allan grew used to the death around him, he grew to accept being a killer and he grew closer to his friend John.  On one day they had been walking for hours and had stopped for the night. The area was dryer than any place they had stayed. John always slept near trees and Allan was always right beside him. That night a fire fight erupted and Allan was saved by John.
            Five days after John died Allan got shot in the back during and intense fire fight he had the luck of living but secretly wished he could have died so he could go and see his friend once more.  Before he was shot he had killed five enemy soldiers and wounded six more saving the lives of three men in his battalion. After healing from his wounds he was not only awarded a purple heart but also a Medal of Honor.  Even after being shot and seeing his friend killed he wanted to go back to Vietnam but the military wouldn’t let him for he could now not move his left leg.
          Sometimes people asked him if he was really a war veteran and he would tell them he was. They might ask him of his experiences and he would tell them of his times with John. He’d tell them of how he received a Purple Heart and the Medal of Honor.  Sometimes they would listen and give him some money other times they would laugh and tell him they liked the story. He cried under his bridge at night for his lost friend and the naïve people around him. He cried for his paralyzing wound and he cried for his family.
            The date was September 17th, 1970 and they were going to be leaving back home in one
month. The night was dark and warm and dry. John sat there and laughed with Allan about all the things that had happened to them throughout the war. They smiled at the time they had both almost shot each other at the beginning when they thought they were the enemy. They giggled remembering the firefight they saw between to Vietnamese villages wanting each other water. The almost died of laughter when they remembered Jacob Grisham the man who on his first day with them shit himself when Allan fired a round in practice. Allan smiled over at his friend after a time of laughter and his friend grinned back. Allan saw the surprise in Allan’s eyes when they heard the solid clink of a grenade bounce of the tree behind them. John pushed Allan away just before the grenade exploded and took the full force of the blast. His intestines’ laid on the ground his mouth in the smile he had a few moments before his death. Allan screamed an pulled out his weapon firing into the trees. He killed five Vietnamese soldiers before they ran back through the trees. He looked down at his dead friend and cried. His battalion mourned the man for a minute before moving on.
            Allan was back under his bridge after a day of begging dreaming of the war and his friend again. He remembered how it was when he first got home. His mother telling him how sad she was for john, his father telling him how proud he was of him for getting the awards.  Allan just stared blankly at them and walked on. They didn’t know how it was to see your friend get killed how it was in a war. Allan left his family and went to New York to live on his own and be by himself. For the first few years he was able to hold a job but he often had flashbacks and broke down in the middle of his job. He became a beggar and left everything else behind.
            After John’s death the battalion humped for five days through the forest. John stayed completely silent for five days quietly remembering his friend. He thought of what John would never be able to do, what his mother would never be able to say to him, what would happen to him. On the fifth day Allan was shot, he killed five enemies and wounded six more saving the lives of his battalion members.
         The date was September 14th, 1986 and Allan thought back on the war and his life and his friend and stood on top of the bridge with a rope in his hand and around his neck. He realized the mediocrity of his life, he was a war veteran, with two of the most prestigious awards you could get in the military but it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things he was still just a paralyzed forty year old bum. He sighed and jumped off the bridge seeing his friend Johns death for the last time.

Life could be a joke

without a punchline.

Like a rusty hammer

laying next to some dirty magazines.

Magazines covered in mud, dust, and dander.

Popular Science.

Where’s my jet pack?

Time.

Camelot?

I guess that was before the king’s head

was blown across the plaza.

Just a faded memory for me.

One of my first memories.

Field & Stream.

A submarine for $2.95 plus shipping and handling.

Outdoor Life.

A live squirrel monkey for $9.95 plus shipping and handling.

Some things change for the better.

Other things change for the worse.

Do the changes you make within yourself make sense?

Are they beneficial?

Have they made you crass?

Have they made you warmer?

Do they make you the butt of a joke?

Do they make you its punchline?

Do they make you a song?

A song that has the power to heal?

Do they make you rust?

Maybe there is no change?

Maybe there is only stagnation and a layer of dust.

     Looking at the tattooed freak he has become, it’s hard to imagine Mile Tyson as anything other than the sideshow act he is today.  But before he was a wife beating, raping, ear eating monster, Mike Tyson was, once upon a time, a near mythical figure. 

     They called him the baddest man on the planet, and he was.  He was a force of nature; perhaps the most destructive force many of us had ever seen.  Fighters were scared when they got into the ring with him.  And I do mean scared.  Knee shaking, lip trembling, all but wetting themselves scared.  He was that frightening.

     But no more.  His legacy is now more humor and tragedy than legend. 

     And yet the final chapter to his tale is yet to be told.  Because at the age of 43, Mike Tyson is returning to the ring one more time.  And in grand fashion; he will fight, in this most unlikely of stories, for the WBC Heavyweight championship against title holder Wladimir Klitschko.

     Is this for real?  Of course I was incredulous at first.  But this is legitimate, and perhaps the smartest fight in many years for the sport of boxing.  Why, you ask?  Because boxing is dying.  Especially the Heavyweight division.  Did you know that Klitschko is the champion?  Do you even know who he is?  Do you care?  Would you pay 50 bucks to watch him fight?  I wouldn’t watch a Klitschko fight on Youtube.

     But Mike Tyson fighting once more for the Heavyweight Title…. oh, yeah.  That boat will sail.  Granted, he’ll probably get his old backside destroyed, and it probably won’t take long.  But there was once a guy named George Foreman about whom they said the same thing.  And like George Foreman, Mike Tyson can still throw a punch.  So… can you imagine?

     So once that shocked look leaves your face, do what I’m going to do.  Order the fight.  Because, while the fight may not end up being worth 50 bucks… the story will be.

1.   You’re always getting in the way of things.  Why don’t you go fly a kite?

2.   Time to be a hit on the singles scene.  Just don’t flub it up. 

3.   Like a thunderstorm, most of your ideas to advance yourself are all wet.

4.   Love is in the air.  This is followed by dust and pollen.

5.   Beware of the pitbull just around the corner.  He isn’t interested in smelling flowers.

6.   Keep your feet firmly on the ground, but don’t put them in wet cement.

7.   It is better to be stung by a broken heart than to be stung by a killer bee.

8.   You are making a mistake if you plan to get drunk during spring break.

9.   You cannot chase the wind with a butterfly net.

10. If you want to make it in the fast lane, go buy a ten speed bike.

Image via Wikipedia

Never will you find me hot,

No name have I carved,

Nothing matters except disappearance,

Returning to naught.

No photo appears of me,

No-one writes of me,

Nowhere will you find me,

Except in a fading memory.

Fame eludes me,

Flashlights fall black,

No one knows me,

No one remembers my name.

Nothingness envelopes me,

No desire to progress,

Only a thought, “I have to dissolve.”

I am a spectre.

Ghosts have more form than I,

Whispers like valiant foghorns in a deep black ocean,

The illusion I am here; forget it!

Smoke is my mirror.

You will never find me again,

Lost am I,

The only hope for my existence,

Is found in the spaces of your lines,

My spirit returning to null.