Ring Ring Ring

Game of Groans
Think about an object, an activity, or a cultural phenomenon you really don’t like. Now write a post (tongue in cheek or not — your call!) about why it’s the best thing ever.


Remember back in  the olden days when all you could do on a  phone was talk into it?

It just sat on a table or it hung on the wall and when it rang  you had to run to it and hope the other person didn’t hang up  before you could answer it.

Now you can carry your phone around with you anywhere you go.

Even if you are in an accident and  strapped to a stretcher with you head immobilized you can not only answer  your phone, you can take a selfie and go to Facebook and update your status to say something like, ‘ I think my neck is broken and everyone in my car and the other car are smashed to a bloody pulp and they’re all dead but at least the Paramedics are hot LOL.”

You can text message  from your phone too- but those aren’t just four or five sentences forced to exist  together like couples in an arranged marriage. Oh no. Those are literary  gems. If Hemingway were alive he’d die with envy because text messages are so concise so well crafted so alive.  Plus you can do little faces like this you
to get your point across…instead of you know, explaining yourself.

Text messages are the best thing ever, instead of talking you can just send a picture of a woman sitting on a rock and looking off into the distance or arranging flowers.

Back when I was a kid that was how Kotex and Tampon said ‘buy our products’.


Nowadays the same image means you’re centered and feeling strong and the person you send the Tampon Ad to will know it and you don’t have to say, ” I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking. How are you doing?”

I love my phone.

It whistles and sings to me and I’m not ashamed to admit when it calls I am it’s slave and I do whatever it tells me to do- update it, recharge it, make sure it’s safe and away from harm at all times.

I’d drop a baby before I’d drop my phone.

I worry  that when it gets older  I’ll have to think about replacing it- I mean we have a life together me and my phone.

My phone, my companion,  my connection to the world, what was I before you?

I was an empty shell. I know that now.

Never leave me- I can’t exist, do NOT exist without you.

Blue Is The New Yuck

______ is the new ______
Click over to your favorite blog, and pick out the 4th and 14th words (that aren’t “the” or “an”). Drop them into this phrase:
“__BLUE___ is the new _YUCK____.”
There’s your post title. Now write!
Photo: A.M Moscoso

Photo: A.M Moscoso

I used to tell everyone that my favorite colors were Black and Blue.

Everyone would roll their eyes around and laugh and say of  course because I wore a leather jacket, I rode motorcycles, I played the guitar and I wrote horror stories and worshipped Stephen King and Clive Barker.

So of COURSE black and blue were my favorite colors.

But in my dark heart where I wrote stories about people being buried alive, killer grandma’s, cannibals and murderous ghosts I loved pink.

I adored pink and I didn’t wear a spot of it on my person.

Nothing I owned was pink.

There was a reason for that.

Do you know the world is full of pink haters?

Something about that color sets people’s teeth on edge- mostly women.

I guess it’s because Pink is associated with vulnerability and  dare I say youth and innocence.

My great Aunt was buried in a pink coffin and she was one of those ladies who wore pearls and looked prim and proper and she could whip your ass with one arm tied behind her back and she could whistle between her teeth.

She wore dark colors too, but she always had something pink around her.

As I’ve gotten older and less inclined to hide my feelings I have released my inner demon which is pink.

It’s a dark lovely shade of  pink and it’s deadly vicious and it carries around this magic marker and when I run into a Pink Hater I can see it slither up their leg straight to their face and it magic markers, ” dumb ass ” on their forehead.

In pink of course.

So now days I always have  something pink on me- my shades, my nails, my purse something I’m wearing.

Just a little splash of ” Kiss My Ass “

For real, hating a color is like hating puppies or kittens.

Who does that?

And why did I ever care?

Sunny Longyear Goes To Mars

Simply the Best

NASA is building a new Voyager spacecraft that will carry the best of modern human culture. What belongs onboard?


Captain Longyear came from a long line of pilots.

Her Grandmother was a pilot, her  Aunt was a pilot her cousin Lane was a pilot, and Sunny had flown the same path- but in her case, this time she was flying to Mars.

Sunny’s last trip had been to Callisto.

Callisto was supposed to be a lifeless  hunk of rock but it wasn’t and when Sunny came back her entire crew had been infected by Callisto and within a days they were dead.

Callisto just spun around and as it did it reached into their heads and shut their neurons down one at a time.

It’s what Callisto did and it was lesson learned and nobody ever went back there again, but they did continue  fly to Mars, to Venus and Pluto and landed something on every single asteroid that was dumb enough to get to close to Earth.

Humanity couldn’t stop once they got out there into the System. They were all over the place- planting flags, mining, and on some of the Moons they were even farming in domes and sending submarines to explore Oceans on moons that weren’t  technically alive and could shut your brain down for the hell of it.


This trip to Mars was supposed an easy one. It  was one of those feel good missions- use the budget or lose it so someone came up with the great idea of collecting the best of human culture, stuffing it into a box and burying  it on a radioactive world.

She guessed it was in case anything happened one day and all that was left of humanity was going to be safe and buried on Mars.

Only Sunny figured if there was no Earth the chances there would be a Mars to was slim to none but what the Hell.

There were four passengers on this flight. Sunny’s crew of 2 and a robot cat and a robot dog because about 100 years ago it was the only way to get people to agree to 10 year missions – they could take a pet.



They had been on Mars for a week and Sunny watched with infinite patience as the  four passengers and two of her crew carefully packed the best of human culture in airless glass boxes- in the random collection were pictures, musical instruments, wine, books.

Sunny was stunned

It looked like a garage sale down in the cargo hold.


One day Sunny grabbed a survival pack, a shovel the dog  and a cruiser and began to disappear for about three hours a day.

She came back in just before sunset and upon each return she was always in a better mood then the day before.

” What are you doing out there?” Daisy Farmer one of the Humanity Reps asked her as she was getting read for her daily trip out.

” Oh, communing with nature.”

” Mars has nature?

Sunny tapped the side of her nose, whistled for the dog and this time she took the cat too.


It was Daisy who followed Sunny out on the eve their last day on Mars.

Sunny was leaning against a rock and the dog and cat were doing what all robot animals do when Daisy found them.

” I’m just curious Captain, what you do when you come out here.”

” Do you know what I learned on Callisto?” Sunny asked

Daisy shook her head.

” I learned that when you did and drill and force things into shapes and to look like something they are not, sometimes Daisy they say ouch. And then they kick your ass all over the Solar system. Not very humane of us is it? Torturing some poor planet and then cutting it open and shoving our crap into its carcass.”

” I suppose not” not Daisy said while wondering if Captain Longyear was sane or not.

” Well, I’m just trying to balance things out, come one I’ll show you.”

Daisy followed Sunny over a ridge and down a hill and the cat and dog ran ahead and then Della looked to where Sunny was pointing and she saw the six empty graves.

And then the Martian sky seemed to turn black and Daisy Farmer fell into eternity, a true representative of human culture


I Walked There

Fourth Wall

You get to spend a day inside your favorite movie. Tell us which one it is — and what happens to you while you’re there.


As promised, the house’s wall were upright, bricks met neatly the floors were firm and it was quiet in Hill house- quite and filled with shadows.

They were stealthy those shadows, they followed me from room to room like a loyal dog trailing at it’s master’s heel.

I opened doors and walked into and out of rooms crammed with porcelain figurines twisted and painted to resemble flowers and animals, There were books on every table surface and portraits in heavy gold frames hung from the walls.

The chairs and couches and were ornate and solid and did not invite you to rest or sit.

They were as solid and uninviting as the house they were kept in.

I ran my hand along plastered walls as I wandered aimlessly through corridors- they were endless in this house and when I came to closed doors I would open them and watch them swing shut.

I left the doors alone and I began to walk hard from heel to toe and with each thump my smile became a grimace, my eyes narrowed just a bit and I dropped my chin so slightly towards my chest.

I came across her outside of one of those doors that led into one of those rooms stuffed with dark furniture and dark paintings.

She wanted to stay here she cried into the door with her back towards me, she slammed her hands against the door and pleaded to stay.

I came up behind her, the shadows fled from me, and I took her by the hair on the back of her head and rammed her face over and over again into the door.

When I was done the door swung open and I let her fall into the room.

I pushed her legs with my foot over the threshold and the door swung shut and the  tumblers in the lock clicked obediently into place.

” I walk here and I walk alone ” I said from the bottom of my dark soul to the shadows as they slithered down from the ceiling where: walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; (and)silence lay (once again) steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House.

Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

Scream A Little Scream

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)
What is the best dream you’ve ever had? Recount it for us in all its ethereal glory. If no dream stands out in your memory, recount your worst nightmare. Leave no frightening detail out.


Asking me to pick a favorite nightmare is like asking a parent to ‘fess up and admit who their hands down favorite child is.

I love all my little nightmares equally- but here are a few that I do love more then the rest:

I had this nightmare back when I was about 12.

The Soldiers With Silver Eyes

I was walking to school and it was dark outside.

I saw the sun shining in the sky but the sky was jet black and I knew it was morning because the stars weren’t shining.

This was morning.

There were only a few people on the street- a couple of kids walking to school and a  people sleeping on the sidewalk- and even though I knew I shouldn’t I stopped to look at one of the sleeping people.

The lady was on her side and I leaned down and pulled her shoulder towards me and when she rolled over I saw her face was gone.

I tried to push her back on her side and no matter how hard tried she kept rolling on her back and that’s when I heard someone say, ” they took my face, they took my face.”

I looked up, I didn’t want anyone to see me with the dead woman with no face.

That’s when the Jeep with the soldiers pulled up to the curb.

” Get away from that.” One of them said.

I looked up and saw the Soldiers had silver eyes, and when I looked into those eyes it was like looking into pools of liquid.

” She said someone took her face.”

” Nobody took her face. “

I looked down.

” She has no face.  “

” Stay out of the open.”

” But she wants a face.”

” Stay out of the open. I kneeled  down and reached for the place where the woman’s face had been.

” Stay away from the open. Stay out of the open.”

Someone grabbed my hand, pulled me away and I thought my face was about to be ripped out. Instead someone pushed me down the sidewalk towards my school.

” None of them have faces anymore. They needed air, we don’t. Now go to school. I saw my reflection in the Soldier’s liquid silver eyes and in them I saw my own face exactly where it should be and my silver eyes…

and I went to school.

The High Ceiling

(One of those repeat dreams)

I was standing in the center of a beautiful room.

The wood floor dark brown and the walls were decorated with tapestries- they were gold and red.

There wasn’t a door, but that didn’t matter because I thought for sure there was a key and if I found the key I could leave but why would I want to?

It was such a pretty room with a long table and a highback chair for me to sit in.

I sat down and I loved that room.

I looked up and the ceiling was high and curved and painted on the ceiling was a picture of a summer sky.

It was a beautiful bright blue summer sky.

I looked up and thought I could feel the sun on my face.

And then the sky went dark and the room went dark and I heard a click and I felt the room dropping down and down and down and when it hit the bottom I looked up and wondered if I would eventually sleep in my grave or would I be here awake in the dark forever.

Emergency Landings

Cut Off

When was the last time you felt really, truly lonely?


Does anyone really want to talk about being lonely?

So lonely your bones hurt, your eyes sort of wander around in their sockets and it hurts when you take a breath because what’s the point so you sort of slouch and when you take that breath and realize you’re alive and your only thought is:

” well that sucks “.

People do want to talk about it, the problem is who wants to hear about it?

People will gorge themselves to the point of puking up their internal organs on poems, songs, books and movies about loneliness and depression,

They will hang paintings, admire sculptures and read books and attended classes to go over the lives and deaths of people who have committed suicide, died in mental hospitals.

But if that same writer or artist or musician had sat down next to them at work, or a family gathering and said, ” You know I’m having a really bad day.” Would they want that in their heads, want to see through their eyes the same way?

Probably not.

I’ve been told, over the years that we need to think about ourselves first, one can’t be strong for others unless they are strong in themselves- because you know- you first.

So don’t let people drag you down.

I call bullshit on that.

You know how when you are on a plane and they give you the speech about what do in case of an emergency landing ( I like the way they don’t use the word CRASH ).

First they tell you what to do in a water landing ( considering the most airtime I’ve spent in the recent past has been from Washington state to Nevada I sort of tune that out )

And then they explain that when the oxygen masks  drop you should put your mask on first and then if the person next to you needs help, you put their mask on.

On one trip I asked my sister, ” Could you do that? Put your mask on if you saw Mom or your daughters struggling for air? Make them wait? “

My sister says to me, ” Could you?”

” No fucking way.”

So this brings me back to the question, when someone is cut off and they are in an emotional Hell and I can see it do I walk away? Put my mask on first? Take care of me?

I’ve done it twice in my life.

I have no intention of going for three.

Behold, The Eye


Over the  last couple of years I finally got around to visiting art galleries and museums.

In my heart of hearts I always wanted to be Indiana Jones before Indiana Jones ever existed.

Museums  were always places I loved but didn’t learn to appreciate until I actually had the time to wander through them as opposed to just walking through them.

Photo: A.M Moscoso

Photo: A.M Moscoso

Art was another kettle of fish.

I just didn’t get it.

On one trip I learned how to stand in different places in front of a painting and at different spots on the floor and then to look at the painting and surprise!

I got it.

I learned to see a painting and then I finally saw them.

It was like when I put on my eye glasses for the first time and was I stunned! I had no idea before then that the world wasn’t this colorful mess.

It had definition and depth.

Who knew?

So after a few trips my favorite artist became Franz Von Stuck:



In my mind Franz was to painting like M.R James was to writing- they seemed to capture nightmares in pitch perfect harmony.

They weren’t afraid to look into the darkness and be there without a flashlight to guide them.

After all, life is like that.

Sometimes you have to step into that darkness, go down into the basement, climb into the attic to find what’s there, to see what is there and to know it.

I’ll have to admit it’s not easy, but it’s SO worth the trip because I have learned it is too sweet to be able to say

“Veni, vidi, vici! ”

Behold, the eye- what an amazing thing it is.

Oh, But I Have…

Well, I Never…

Tell us about something you’ve done that you would advise a friend never to do



Photo: Anita M Moscoso

The first time I traveled alone, I ended up in Hollywood, California at a club where the hair was tall and the dresses were short and the guys were wearing more eyeliner then the girls.

I was wearing a pair of Calvins a lavender cashmere sweater and motorcycle boots- in those days I didn’t wear a lot of makeup so all in all I felt under dressed.

Didn’t bother me though, back in my young day I didn’t care if I fit in or not and for all of my issues seeking approval from strangers wasn’t high on my ‘ to do list of life’.

So back to the Club.

I was on my way to the restroom, which was the most  sketchy, weirdest walk I have ever taken in my life. It was like someone walked around  the entire planet twice and found the highest, drunken, horniest people walking the earth and lined them up in that hall.

No doubt, that hall was a hundred miles long, it was like being in one of those dreams where you run and run and no matter what you do you move slow and the something that is chasing you is just about to reach out and touch your shoulder.

Actually, in my dreams it’s about to rip my head off but I digress.

After about a million years I make it to the bathroom, I push the door open and there on the floor sitting against the only free stall is a guy with a needle in his arm.

He looks up at me.

” Hey. Like. I can’t get this thing out.”

I look down at him.

” Move.”

” Man. It’s like stuck or something. Is it supposed to do that?”

” I’m no Doctor, but I’d say no.”

I didn’t want to touch the needle, I didn’t want to touch him, but God, I had to use the bathroom.

I reach down, grab him  by his collar drag him to the sink, pull the needle out toss it in the sink and make for the stall. I get in there and I hear him crawl back and I hear this thump.

Great. He just passed out against the door.

And that stall, oh God, it was the grimiest place in the Universe I have ever been in. No way was I going to use that thing and I am trapped in there. I would have pounded my forehead against the stall wall or door in frustration but my survival instincts were in high gear and I didn’t.

Oh well.

I open the door, he falls in and I grab the frame above the door and swing myself over him and almost hit the sink.

Did I run from that club and head for LAX and the safety of Seattle?


I strolled up to the bar, treated myself to a drink and eventually braved the hall and made it to the bathroom.

Needle man was passed out in the middle of the floor.

He was breathing, so I stepped over him and held my breath and tried to use the bathroom without touching anything around me.

The list of things that could have gone wrong that night could fill a thing we used to have called a telephone book.

They were big and full of words.

So, that night which was a dangerous adventure of sorts- don’t do stuff like that.

I was lucky.

I probably tapped the luck well dry that night and if I had to do it over again I’d have used that kind of luck to win the lottery or something.

That’s my advice, if you’re going to kick fate in its teeth make it worthwhile. Make it count. Don’t waste that kick in a place where your feet stick to the floor and you have to pull needles out of a junkie’s arm.

Ride a roller coaster with the seat belt off or with it tied around your waist because it busted during the ride.

Now that is an adventure worth having.

Trust me on that.