I was Thinking, or Not

  Dim Jump Thumb Tiny man with tiny  plans Where are you going to run to When the game comes to an end What will you do then tiny man Gilded cage Set the stage Justice waits Outside the door All the power in the world Will not save you from yourself Bleeding from your brain You can not keep your lies straight When it ends as it always does Will you pay the piper appropriately Or will you take the coward’s way Perhaps sooner than you anticipate Given all that you have set to play Time is closing in on your game Pink Ladies in pink champagne Is a quiet way out of this nightmare JD

  Carry The Day Over The way back to the places I’ve been Is so littered with the trash I’ve tried hard to forget There is no home to find my ground When it is all washed away in the coming flood Time ticks away like a grist mill Churning my bones to coarse dust Leaving me with only the memories Of what might have been and never was I would give a thousand tomorrows For one moment more with you A peace that I will never again feel Is all that I can want for you anymore What remains of the future is ours to take We will fly on that westward wind one day Through the purple skies into the azure skies Where the dreams are particular and succinct All those past that have passed before Are gone and dried up wet scenes I am still standing by the door Holding onto the handle when you come on through JD Jun 3, 2025

 From the Farm More Than Enough to Do Time has come to do the things that need being done The gardens wet and untilled await my work And the chickens must be moved to their summer grazing There is so much that needs to be done And the weather is not cooperative yet It is warm and pleasant today And we may have a tornado tomorrow So much is left undone yet No barn built, no pastures fenced in No new coop, no hutch fixed I am so far behind, no getting ahead If only I had more of me to go around One to fix the inside things One to prettify the front yard And at least one to tend the gardens I would still be behind on too much I would still not get to the grass out back I would still not get to the shed clean outs I would still have more than enough to do JD

  From the Dead I surround myself in death To feel like I’m still living Though it is but one breath That divides the living From the dead

Bloody Margarita They all beg for mercy I give them no quarter As pretty as they may be They hold no interest to me A moments entertainment Nothing more, nothing less Just a passing phase A brief interlude they say Silence is all that I ask Kept them quiet in a box They never seem to stay All of them must go away Vodka mixed with the blood A bloody Mary or was it Tim Too soon they all coagulate There is not enough in one JD 

  Death’s Bloody Drum This is a work in progress.  Most of the pieces are all raw unedited and still will need some work to finish them properly.  No one cares, I know that, but there it is anyway. I have no date for release, but the drafts are here, there and everywhere, just waiting to be polished and packaged and put up for sale, someday. JD

  Another Jane I am on the bus to nowhere And she slips in beside me Her lithe frame barely there Her dress is tattered and torn She tries to smile Her sadness remains No I don’t know her name Just another lost soul She gets off at the next stop Shuffles along the aisle The driver seems annoyed I step up and pay her fare I sit back in my seat Watching her disappear I think of her sometimes When I feel I’ve had enough When life gets me down When if seems a waste I think of her half smile The sadness contained Never seen her again Likely dead in some alleyway Buried in a potter's grave Another nameless Jane JD

  Art of Blood Sports Never served, too many already eating that grit My daddy was a nurse, general’s aide forever PFC Found out later, he really was a dandy man Made no difference to me, I didn’t score that play Knew too many that ate blood guts and gore Smiled with rotted teeth, scars that do not heal Smell of cheap whiskey with cloudy eyes Streets are full of the forgotten heroes dying alone I’ve known my own hell too Though self constructed Just as real to me you see As age has taken most of my capacity Them are all gone Time is not kind The wheel grinds Their memories fade And still old fat bastards play games Churn the milk of human kindness Not sweet cream butter for bread But rotting bodies on the killing fields JD

  Pass by Me Why am I still here Just a battered ram Battered to the bone Converted to a mule Not a very good one at that With a sway back Hobbled legs and matted mane Still I force myself to remain To try to achieve anything While I watch death dance I wonder why she passes me by JD

  The Whole I am digging a hole in the ground Where I can lay my body down So, I do not have to deal With the grinding of the wheel And everything dying around me For there is no more left in me No more tears to cry No more to care for Just an empty haul That is no longer whole 41025 JD

Network, network, network, that is what they tell me. I am so far away from that anymore. Just trying to get through the day. Morning comes much too early, and my work begins with sorting out the animals.  Feed the rabbits and the chickens, make sure their water is still clean, Then I try to do some housework, it is all so overwhelming I just want to throw it all out, start over again. We have chicks, but the numbers are so disheartening. Just four out of 18 eggs hatching, not really good results, but I guess that says all there is to say about me. I will have to work harder. I will have to keep going. Day after day, as I feel the death all around me. I don't even know what I am saying anymore. I've gotten off the train, but my thoughts are still sailing.

 I am starting a new farm blog, just do not have a name for it.  I also hate typing on this keyboard. So, soon, a new blog, as soon as I fix the keyboard issue. Peace, JD

  A Sideboard Parasol  Never fear the written works That is where I work out my quirks In my head thoughts lead to death So I free them to clear my plate Therefore what is written here Or likely written anywhere Is just the ramblings of my fears Unpronounced and internal fragments Where fetid thoughts pass through Try their best to confuse and obfuscate But I am a smarter man, theses days I’ve learned to use my struggles It does not matter truth in here Deep within this eternal abyss It is swirling waves of fear and dread Clogging up my mental capacity. No matter what is reality, The sun the moon, eternity All of this I have seen And there is no coming back, From that. Dec 6, 2021 James E. Doud

  Dogs in a Box The dogs, the dogs, They live in a box, Where they are fed. The dogs, the dogs, They beg, they beg, To go, to go outside. Outside, outside Where they run away, In their heads, they run. They run, they run, away,  Tethered to their box. Inside, inside, inside their box, They sleep, they eat, and dream. Inside the box, they are running free, In their heads they are running free. One day they will get away, One day they will run free. One day they will run through fields. And I will put them in their box. One last time. Dec 5, 2021 James E. Doud

Here I am pouring Ginger Beer I made into a Glass.  It is not a very exciting video, but the content of the bottle is more important to me than the video of it going into a glass.  This was a twenty (20) day ferment, with about three days in the bottle.  It has been charged with my own mix of ginger and 10X sugar, and left for three days.  The first day, I tried some, it was very rough.  Today, I can honestly say that it is much smoother, and I think if I were to ramp this up a bit, to about 3 gallons (7 liters) I could age some of this in a wine bottle for about 6 or 8 weeks and see if it gets much smoother by then. I really think if I could start using a barley based mix it would come out with much more body, and about the same ABV.  I can't say what this is, but probably close to 3-4% ABV like a cheap wine.  That is what I got from it right off, is that it tasted like a cheap box wine.  Now it has mellowed a little, and has more of a ginger bee...

Upon first opening the campaign websites I can say this much, the Trump site is about Trump and only him, the Biden site indicates that it is aware I am from NY State and it is a cleaner more upbeat presentation. However neither one of them have any real answers to policy issues up front.  They are both just asking for donations, and you have to dig for data. This is a mistake, they both are reading my cookie data, both have access to marketing data, and neither one of them are making use of it properly.  If they really want to swing voters, they really need to utilize the technology to really target the voter, by targeting their campaign sites appropriately to the user. Just from my IP address they should at least know that I am from upstate NY, as my IP pings as Spectrum from Syracuse, NY. They should know I am a spectrum customer, as well.  My location should at least reveal a few issues that would be important to me.  If they continue further into the data avail...

I think I have come to the point where the web is no longer useful to me.  If I go to a page and it pops up their fucking "look at me" shit, or anything else, or they run those fucking video ads, I am done with it.  This is limiting my experience on the web, to the point where I do not think I will be on the web for much longer. Everything is all about the fucking mobile shit, really, I do not own a fucking phone, and likely never will again, at least until they really are smart phones, and figure out a better interface than this fucking touch shit. Apparently going to school was a waste of time, because all that learning words and shit, I could have just stayed with the pictures of a child, and learned nothing about words, because apparently words are highly overrated. I really think I have had enough of this world, it is rather pathetic, and the generations that are coming along are going to be so fucking stupid I will not be able to tolerate the dumbfucks.  Hey ...

First off, why the fuck do these fuckers have to keep ucking with this shit, really pick a fucking look and stay with it.  Every fucking time I go to use this fucking thing they have changed it, so I have to figure out where everything is again.  Stop fucking with shit.  I think the problem is these fucking software people are to bored so they keep fucking with the shit, instead of finding something else to do.  This is never a problem in the manual labor world, because they are way to busy and work too hard, to worry about making shit look different all the time. So yea, what I really came here for is to say that I am never going to be a cheese maker, and I do not believe that anyone would have ever made cheese if it required you to stand there stirring the fucking shit for almost an hour.  These fucking idiots that write this shit now days are so full of themselves and so full of shit, there is no way people who had few hundred other things to do, sat around s...

Part 1 Upon a hill we may rise, to see the devastation that below us lies.  After the sun set upon this civilisation, what remains is the remnants of the humans and the rise of what comes after.  There are always echoes of the before, after the next wave comes. We thought all too much of ourselves. That was our short sightedness.  I shall not claim glory, for what remains is often only the worried and tired, waiting for the inevitable end. Part 2 Slit her wrist to see the blood.  She sighs, it is better to see the in without, than to let the out in.  It runs down her arm, thick and warm, not like blood at all, but more congealed.  The light is dim, yet it reflects off the crimson trail on her arm. It takes very little time for the pills to work.  Combined with the alcohol it speeds the suppression to the brain, which slows the respiration.  One breath labors to be known, the next may be the last or perhaps two more. She attempts t...