Jupiter's profile

A Cold, Hard Rain It was a cold rain that fell hard upon the world around me. From inside my car, the pummeling drops sounded like marbles smacking on linoleum and, even with the heater on, the chill of the rain seeped inside, and caused me to shiver. Visibility was cut down to ten feet in front of me as the wiper blades worked tirelessly to keep the view clear. Traffic was as thick as the rain, our speed cut to half the posted limit. From this crawl, I saw it all happen. Across the double ye...

Why did I mention buying that dumb gun from Tim if I didn't really want it? Because I'm retarded. And why didn't I just say, "no thanks" when he told me the next day that he had the damn thing in his trunk out in the parking lot? Because I'm seismically retarded. I didn't need a gun for home defense, at least not really. I have a third (and top) floor apartment with a pretty solid door, in a nice neighborhood. The area is one in which I am not awakened by sound of gunfire each night but by t...

I'm still perplexed as to how I got in this mess. Things just fell in my lap at the wrong moment. I don't even recall how or why I made these decisions. What I do know is that every time I made one of these bad choices, it sent me on an even steeper path of 'wrong'. And now here I am, about to make the worst of the bad decisions yet. At least I know that this will be the last of them. It started out about a week ago at work. It was late in the afternoon and I only had an hour left before I c...

Part 1 What is love when love's long lost and bitter eyes bear true? You were the voice of angels once, those wings: they up and flew. Once was pleasure now is pain. My thoughts come in advance to warn me of your violent charms and not to take that chance. I mourne, for days of slanted rain have taken toll on me. It weighs me down with sadness that corrodes both lock and key. Do shut the door and draw the blind when innocent belles ring. In wake of good will sound the bad- their pretty songs ...

I have recently had the honor of hearing part of the life of a friend of mine. His story has been in the front of my mind ever since and I must speak of it. This will be a short but choppy piece since I must skip large protions of his life but the parts that I will tell should elicit an empathic response. His name has been changed in the story to protect his honor. Nhan was born and raised in a village in South Vietnam, 1964. The place where he lived was evolving economically at the same pac...