...death of a fisherman...

The three men were sitting at the end of the dock shrouded in fog. The crates they sat on were rotten, crumbling from the salty air. Their cheeks red and raw, visible even in the grey morning veil. Words were not to be found as they sat warming in their coats, drinking nips of brandy, and expelling a fog of sour and salt.
Finally, the greyhaired one of the three spoke.
"You know...it's been a year to this day MacLeod went down."
Slow nods were all.
The youngest of the three stirred, clearing his lungs of the tired air.
"That bastard was crazy for going out there during the biggest storms."
Grunts were all.
The quiet one of the three pulled out a cigarette and lit in a fluid motion that defied magic.
Smoke mingled with the fog and faded.
Then, he spoke up.
"May he live on in peace, deep under the sea, forever in our hearts and memories."
The cigarette crackled in the quiet.
Slowly, the fog burned off and the men sat there silently. The brandy ran low as the sun rose higher behind their backs. The briny air cut through the warm mist with a sharpness.
The greyhaired one stood up and sighed.
He turned to the sun and closed his eyes. It was a beautiful day yet he couldn't hold back his sadness.
The other men sat quietly still, smoking cigarettes and finishing off the brandy.
A seagull's cry cut across the sea and they looked up at the sky in turn.
It was blue and clear now yet they saw beyond that. So far they gazed, they looked endlessly at the horizon.
They looked at each other and saw the same comfort in knowing they will end their time with the ocean at sea.

...msnbc...

People say too much
Talking and talking
All the things to be done
All the words to be said
They shout and fight
On all sides they draw a line
Who's right?
Who's wrong?
What about us?
The People?
We don't talk about what to do
We fight for our lives
They speculate on our doings
Watching us like rats in a cage
Do something with your deep pockets
Save us from this gibberish
Turn off your TV to save a head
Mute the radio to spare an ear
I can't hear any of it
But their mouths move and move
Talking but not doing
God, will it ever stop?
Save me from this torment
These non-believers of life
Cash is god, power is king
Act out against our tyrants
Stop it, save me, spare me

...Quiet...

Quiet the night seems
Dark the clouds are
Silence is so forbidding
Penetrating gloom
I shut off the lights
Slip off my only aid
Shy myself away
My private universe
The dark and silence
Leaves me to my thoughts
Of all things ancient and new
Something grows inside me
My fear
My rage
My imagination
Quiet it seems outside
In my head, it's pure chaos
The quiet respite I may get
From removing my link
Isn't as peaceful as it seems
Your thoughts compound
Stretch and spin
Turning into magical and demonic
Manifestations of myself
Quiet the world seems
Loud the eyes look
Their words plead and shout
From their lips, I cannot hear
From their gestures, I cannot see
Their lying eyes, I can feel
I close my eyes to escape
Shut down my mind to release
Free from my silent world
I slip away in my dreams, in my quiet
But I never escape the noise

..80s revisited...

I'll say some of us missed this decade just barely. For those of us that didn't, here's a reminder of how bad things did get...



For 100 bonus points, see if you can spot Kelly Ripa

...recap...

You know what Billy Mays really liked? Drugs. Lots of them.
R.I.P.

...haiku...

(written on a piece of paper at 3:06am)

Blurry eyes and aching heart
Man's soul is possessed
Heavy foot he never stops