POLLOCK AND THE PORROH MAN It was in a swampy village on the lagoon river behind the Turner Peninsula that Pollock’s first encounter with the Porroh man occurred. The women of that country are famous for their good looks—they are Gallinas with a dash of European blood that dates from the days of Vasco de Gama and the English slave-traders, and the Porroh man, too, was possibly inspired by a faint Caucasian taint in his composition. (It’s a curious thing to think that some of us may have distant cousins eating men on Sherboro Island or raiding with the Sofas.) At anyrate, the Porroh man stabbed the woman to the heart as though he had been a mere low-class Italian, and very narrowly missed Pollock. But Pollock, using his revolver to parry the lightning stab which was aimed at his deltoid muscle, sent the iron dagger flying, and, firing, hit the man in the hand. He fired again and missed, knocking a sudden window out of the wall of the hut. The Porroh man stooped in the doorwa...

This arrogant bird is surveying his kingdom at Conn Harbor, Aransas Pass.  My brother Steve took this picture last Sunday as I chainsmoked and bitched about the manner in which these simply unconscionable birds and blue herons in particular treated humans.  Of course I was ignored although I am a highly skilled and important avian technician.  We had my sister's beyond excited dog Gracie with us and the three of us, my sister Carol, Steve, and me were eating heart stopping fatty tacos from La Guadalajara, which I highly recommend.  Tell them Pablo sent you.  Photo by Steve Davis.  https://www.instagram.com/sdavis.howdy/

  "I believe that the best way to prepare for a Future Life is to be kind, live one day at a time, and do the work you can do best, doing it as well as you can.” – Elbert Hubbard Sleep last night was impossible.  Between tossing and turning, my bastard cats got the zoomies and I kept hearing things crash to the floor and guitar strings thrum as if being pulled by razor sharp pitiless claws, which they were.  At 6 I gave up, got up, started the coffee maker and showered.  Thank God the mirror was fogged up and I couldn't see my reflection, moribund old rabbits are not at a premium here and I get enough of that at Walmart.  I got dressed, selected the day's boots, straightened my ears and tail, and then fed my demon kitties.  I sat down and went through my internet routine, answering messages here on DA and reading the left wing news sites I am so addicted to.  I then went out to the porch and had my first smoke of the day, it was cold and ...

Al Pacino, Thoms Eboli (head of the Genovese family), and Al "Sollozo' Lettieri, Eboli's brother in law.  Ohhhhhhhh! On July 16, 1972, Eboli left his girlfriend's apartment around 1:00 a.m. and walked to his chauffeured Cadillac. As Eboli sat in the parked car, a gunman in a passing truck shot him five times. Hit in the head and neck, Eboli died instantly. No one was ever charged in his murder. The Godfather was released in March, 1972.  Al Lettieri died of a heart attack in 1975.  Al Pacino is still with us, albeit still somewhat puffy from the atropine based embalming fluid used to preserve the illusion of life on the set of The Irishman, one of your more brilliant works of absolute, total, complete bullshit fiction that even the FBI agents who investigated the whole thing laughed at, worst Scorsese movie of all time, including The Aviator and his latest Osage Indian Snooze-O-Rama like, ever .  Ohhhhhhhh! https://youtu.be/j_MMLb2QB5g

After I walked Rocky the one eyed hawk, I found this happy fellow out by my wall.  There was a ring of fire eclipse going on, interesting but not significant.  The snake was a type I'd never seen before, although not dangerous.  Snakes are beautiful and a miracle of engineering.  I doubt he thought that about me.  It has been an unusually hot October and the blackened sun only reinforced the general strangeness about living in the back of a wild bird rescue center.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm the one under observation.  Maybe I'm the last of my race and all those around me are minder robots?  I think I should chop one of them open and see if that's true.  Good idea. Good as done.

“Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it.”   Part one. Outside, the night was cold and wet, but in the small living room the curtains were closed and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were playing chess; the father, whose ideas about the game involved some very unusual moves, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary danger that it even brought comment from the white-haired old lady knitting quietly by the fire. “Listen to the wind,” said Mr. White who, having seen a mistake that could cost him the game after it was too late, was trying to stop his son from seeing it. “I’m listening,” said the son, seriously studying the board as he stretched out his hand. “Check.” “I should hardly think that he’ll come tonight,” said his father, with his hand held in the air over the board. “Mate,” replied the son. “That’s the worst of living so far out,” cried Mr. White with sudden and unexpected violence; “Of all the awful out of the way places to live in, this is the...

I was cleaning out the garage yesterday, we have hundreds of books in boxes out there.  Whilst I was in the middle of this, sorting through my mom's how to write stuff and just scads of popular thrillers, I found a box of faux leather bound books, public domain stuff advertised in magazines and on television to those who wanted to be well read but never got around to it so they would buy these and push them on their spoiled layabout children in the beyond futile hope they would drop their game boys and crack pipes and start reading.  One of those books was Treasure Island, which I have never read.  I've never even seen the movie, I guess I was turned off by it being Disney which I have disliked since an early and precocious age.  I opened it and read the first page. I was absolutely hooked.  Screw the garage, I read the entire book yesterday as the pelicans screeched outside and the waves tongued our dismal malarial swamp of a shoreline.  God ...