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.






Travels With My Skeleton


human-skeleton-johan-georg-heckWelcome To My Cool New Blog.

To tell the truth

it’s sort of  like my other blogs.


  this is the first new blog I’ve created at the age of 50-


  recently my fiction writing has taken a darker turn.

 Just curious- do know what kind of research, where you have to go in your own head,  the people who catch your attention, the things you have to be willing to reflect on to get to  those stories?

Stick with me Dear Reader and I’ll  be glad to show you.