Today is my birthday.

My mother’s voice sings,

“Happy Birthday” from my voice-mail.

When I was a child, she said

“You don’t get older until someone

sings the song,” and I

fight the absurd urge to shout,

“Stop!  You’re making me older!”


Such is the weight of a mother’s words.

My sons sing, “Happy Birthday” to me,

their three wee voices

intertwined in disharmonic joy, and I

clap, joyful…thankful, with

the weight of my power coiled peacefully,

for now, in my gut.


Fabuspam 4.20.2010

Because I get my work email messages in text, rather than HTML, I get to read text that is created to fool the spam filter. Sometimes i get what I call FABUSPAM – text that is intriguing and/or amusing. Here is today’s fabuspam:


Alls to open, a police detail broke in and shook me roughly. “The air ball,” I moaned, pretending to regain consciousness slowly. “It came in from the corridor. Look what it did to the guard. It must have grazed my head. Where is it?”

“Gone,” muttered the under-officer, looking fearfully around. “Yes, undoubtedly gone. These men have been dead some time. And this pistol. The ball got him before he had a chance to use it. See, it has beamed through the wall only here, where he dropped it. Who are you? You look like a tribesman. Oh, yes, you’re the Heaven-Born’s special prisoner. Maybe I ought to beam you right now. Good thing. Everyone would call it an accident. By the Grand Dragon, I will!”

While he was talking, I had staggered to the other side of the room, to draw his attention away from the couch where the ball was concealed. Now suddenly the pillows burst apart, and a blanket with which I had covered the thing streaked from the couch, hitting the man in the small of the back. I could hear his spine snap under the impact. Then it shot through the air toward the group of soldiers in the doorway, bowling them over and sending them shrieking right and left along the corridor.

Relentlessly and with amazing speed it launched itself at each in turn, until the corpses lay grotesquely strewn about, and not
one had escaped. It returned to me for all the world like an old-fashioned ghost, the blanket still draped over it (and not
interfering with its ultronic vision in the least) and “stood” before me. “The yellow devils were going to kill you, Tony,” I heard Wilma’s voice saying. “You’ve got to get out of there, Tony, before you are killed. Besides, we need you at the control boards, where you can make real use of your knowledge of the city. Have you your jumping belt, ultrophone and rocket gun?”

“No,” I replied, “they are all gone.” “It would be no good for you to try to make your way to one of the breaches in the wall, nor
to the roof,” she mused. “No, they are too well guard…..