Excerpt from THE AUTOPSY OF PLANET EARTH

 

November 2nd, Foja Mountain Range,

Papua New Guinea

 

From the edge of the surrounding rain forest, a man appeared. He was elderly—maybe in his mid-seventies. In his right hand he carried a menacing two-foot machete.

“Dr. Sanjaya, we have company.”

Sanjaya followed Timoty’s gaze. “That must be Bayu.”

Reza spied the machete. “You think it’s the guy?”

“Never met him, he just said to meet him on this spot.” Sanjaya glanced at the hand-written map and smiled. “Not bad directions.”

The man Sanjaya had identified as Bayu trotted toward them calling out in his native language, “Salamat Sian, saya teman. Dalton! Apa Kabar, Dr. Sanjaya?”        

Sanjaya waved. “Saya baik-baik saja, terima kasih.”

Bayou approached and enthusiastically shook Sanjaya’s hand. “Saya ialah Sanjaya.”

Puzzled, Reza said, “I don’t recognize the dialect.”

“Not many do, it’s specific to the local Kweba tribe. He welcomed us, and I introduced myself.” Sanjaya motioned to his assistants. “Reza, Timoty.”

Bayu smiled and half-bowed. “Reza, Timoty.” He tapped his chest. “Bayu.”

“Dimana adalah kebun hutan? I asked him where the magic place is.”

Pointing to the jungle tree line, Bayu grinned. “Pintu musuk lewat sana.”

“Okay,” Sanjaya said, “we follow him.”

Reza raised an eyebrow. “This better be good.”

Excerpt from Midnight Black - The Purge

 

How do I describe fifteen years working underground like a sewer rat never seeing the surface, the sky, or whatever the hell else might be out there in no man’s land? One day rolls into the next without reference to anything but the semi-dark, dusty mine shafts, the continuous clamor of heavy machinery, the brutal Neanderthal guards, inmates looking for a dust-up, or worse, a carnal roll in the sack in the middle of the night with whoever. Each minute, each hour, each passing day plays out without place, time, meaning, or documentation. Our days begins at five AM when we’re jolted awake by a siren blast that scrapes deep in your bones as a reminder of the lingering aches and pains of the previous. On my bluest mornings, I tell myself this is not my set-in stone reality, that if I endure, if I retain my sanity, my life will resume one day where it left off, albeit scarred physically and mentally. In those lonely moments when the sanctuary of sleep refuses to come, I think of how short life is as we struggle against the headwinds of strife, turmoil, greed, and corruption. I’ve yet to come up with an answer as to why we exist at all let alone why we’re even here, why we act the way we do? Most of us will make an unplanned exit from this world frail and diseased, and if we’re still in control of our faculties, we’ll know that nothing really mattered… it was all an illusion, one built by ourselves to suit ourselves… we’re soon forgotten… death is the supreme equalizer—next.

Excerpt from The Diarrhea Diaries

 

Whether you follow Twitter or not, you would have to be living on another planet

not to be aware of President Donald J. Trump’s use of Twitter. It has attracted

worldwide attention. From his official declaration of candidacy in June 2015 through

the first two-and-a-half years of his presidency, he has tweeted over 17,000 times. 

On the morning of his inauguration, Mr. Trump tweeted the following.

 

“It all begins today! I will see you at 11:00 A.M. for the swearing-in.

THE MOVEMENT CONTINUES - THE WORK BEGINS!”

 

National Public Radio put it this way. “President Trump uses his Twitter feed the way past presidents used the White House briefing room. It’s the place where he announces policy and delivers his message to the American people. And it’s also theplace where he, often gleefully, tries to skewer his political opponents.”

 

Veteran News Anchor Dan Rather summed

it up with a Tweet of his own.  

 

“If you showed the president's recent Twitter feed to a veteran police officer or detective, I bet they'd tell you the unhinged and frantic search for fabricated proof of innocence sounds like a man who knows he's been caught & desperately hopes his other crimes aren't uncovered.”

 

Hang on, America, you’re going to need a bigger Sharpie Pen.  For those who do not post or follow Twitter Tweets, you are in for a treat.

Please feel free to contact me with your comments. I encourage other writers to do the same so that we might share experiences and ideas. Here is best way to communicate with me: media8@verizon.net
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