The Lonely Hearts Bar

I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this. Maybe it’s like those spontaneous pieces John Lennon wrote in the 60s that never made any sense. This is a relic from 1992. Enjoy.

Welcome to the Lonely Hearts Bar

Welcome to the house of loons

It ain’t a place you find in the streets

You gotta crawl in-side your twisted mind

Dino just flew in from the tropics

With a frizzy beard and Spidey

[That’s his eight-legged buddy]

Dino says he’s runnin’ for office

An’ Spidey is his runnin’ mate

Dino swings from the chandelier

While Spidey presses the campaign

There he is, hangin’ over the door

Snaggin’ voters in his loopy web

Step on in to the Lonely Hearts Bar

It’s no place like Santos or Martinez

These are the goons you’ll find

Runnin’ in-side your twisted mind

There’s Jumpin’ Jack Slim shooting pool

Thinks he’s a lumberjack in drag

Yes he’s got a heart that’s true

But he’s been D.D.T.’ed too long

Don’t forget the lady in furs

Wears a ragged sable on her neck

Sittin’ on a barstool on the rocks

Drinkin’ rum an’ coke on ice

She comes in day an’ night

To her little circle of friends

Buenos Dias to Alfredo and the maid

An’ the little poodle from her barrio

Welcome to the Lonely Hearts Bar

Come wallow in a Bud with us

We got nothin’ new to show

‘Cept our twisted little minds.

334 Farralone Avenue

I’ve been carrying this around since the late 80s. This was dedicated to the home I grew up in, at least the first home I had a great fondness for. With the excess time off I’ve had due to medical issues I came back to it, with a couple additions. I don’t know if they help or if its crap. I’m just going to throw it out there and let you decide.

Hello old friend, has it been so long

Since I went far away

Those days are still strong

I left very young, yes it’s been a few years

But for the days long past

I can’t shed any tears

Hey old friend, did the grass stain our pants?

It never spawned any weeds

Or a ‘puppy-doo’ dance

[Neighbors’ ladder sliding along side-boards

While my brothers laughed from the second floor window

And the neighbor raised a fist

GI Joes were not for adulation

But burying in the nearest storm drain]

We’d curl up at dawn on that vent in the floor

The grill marked me up

While the others got warm

[Shattered glass backed into unseen

‘cause I didn’t want to wear a shirt

Comic books in sickbed, Man of Steel with a golden key

Curled up on the couch

All four eyes glued to Spider-Man]

We always ran up the stairs, almost beat them to death

Mom never got her sleep

And she’d scream us all deaf

[Weekends on the radio, Casey Kasem counting down

Or EG Marshall with another mystery theater

In the dark we’d listen, my brothers and me

Did they enjoy those shows

Or tolerate them for my sake?]

[Drove past you one fully grown afternoon

To a stranger, remodeled, painted a dingy brown

Defiled]

So long old friend, I don’t think it’s the end

You were too good to me

I hope I come home again.

I Hope My Grandchildren Forgive You

I hope my grandchildren forgive you

for what you brought on our land

for the world we leave to them

Forgive the desert that was once California

the parched land and tongues of ordinary souls

rationed to a few drips a day

or will that be a week, who knows?

Forgive the 30 years wasted in deceit and denial

while simulations became fact

and facts piled on facts

and opportunities to act became wasted in dithering politics

And to the passing of the Floridas

while salt of sea infiltrated our children’s drinking supplies

I fear not for New Orleans, she’ll adapt

she always does

Forgive us the storms like no other

coming to a landmark near you

New York barraged by tides she’ll not soon forget

Lady Liberty will stand as a beacon still

even waist deep in the ocean

I certainly hope they can find it in their hearts

to forgive your cowardice, your avarice,

your blind blinkered stupidity

‘Cos God knows I won’t

Review: George R. Stewart, Earth Abides (1949)

(Original printing by Random House in 1949)

One might ask, once you’re done Googling the given title, why the HELL would we be interested in a book published 72 years ago. That was before the Red Scare of the 1950s, before fears of nuclear war overtook all future versions of Armageddon. There is wisdom in old works, perhaps more than can be found in contemporary books. I found for myself this is a more timely text than was seemingly possible.

The back cover of the 1976 edition I read describes this as ‘a novel about a tomorrow that could happen today’. After the events of 2020 it seems very close to home. Our protagonist, Isherwood Williams, spends some time in a cabin in the woods recovering from a rattlesnake bite. He comes back to a city that appears deserted. Scattered newspapers, what’s left of them, tell of a ‘new and unknown disease of unparalleled rapidity of speed, and fatality’. Unlike in 2020, in the novel there was a concerted and competent government response, although this pathogen still wiped out the better part of the population of the late great United States.

I saw a lot of myself in Ish. He was well read, and probably more mechanically inclined than I. Basically he’s a good person trying to make sense of an impossible situation. At first he was all right with solitude, he could do without loads of people and their problems for a while. Peace and quiet were nice, and he was free to do what he wanted. Some inhibitions had to be broken, such as when Ish had to start breaking into stores to get canned goods, just for his own needs, now without fear of prosecution. Given that all means of mass production were essentially gone, canned goods were all that city people had to live on.

But no one can live alone forever. That’s how Ish was adopted first by a homeless dog, Princess, which lead him to Em, his future wife and the woman who would become this novel’s Mother of the community they gather together in an old California suburb. . As the first, original Mother, Em becomes the heart of what they call the Tribe, probably the most intuitive person and the one everyone defers to in matters.

This community Ish gathers, this Tribe, is comfortable, too much so perhaps. Even when a crisis arrives, when the reservoirs have dried up and no more water is to be had from their taps, it is very hard to stir the people to make an effort even to dig a well.

I can see this–I believe it. For a novel written seven decades ago, it has a clarity and insight. These are average people with average goals, without much ambition to rebuild civilization as they knew it. Ish’s efforts to educate the children of their small Tribe come to no avail, until he settles on more basic–and potentially fun skills, such as bows and arrows. And of course there is the Hammer, which Ish has carried with him from the beginning. This becomes an unconscious symbol of power, a tool as well as a faithful companion that Ish has to pass on in the end.

I would highly recommend Earth Abides. There is more truth, more humanity there than a lot of the propaganda we’ve indulged in for the past several years.

(The 1976 Fawcett Crest edition)

A Beginning [fragment]

[Hello there. This was something I scribbled one night for a project that may or may not ever come to fruition, bringing together all my female characters. Just for the hell of it I’m throwing it out here. See what you think. Enjoy.–Mike.]

She pushed herself up from the pile of bodies, wrinkling her nostrils against the sulfar stench wafting up from the lowlands. She stood tall, her cinammon-skin already damp with perspiration. Someone had thoughtfully provided a tight pair of snakeskin trunks, while leaving her feet bare. Next time, she mused, I get to pick my outfit.

Perhaps it was still night, Jamai thought. Somehow she knew this purple skyline with her roiling storm clouds had always been so. All it needed was a cliché bolt of–

“Holie!” And here it comes, grounded to the lightning rod her small companion thrust into the catwalk at the last second. A blinding flash illuminated her in white silhouette, but in all respects she appeared unharmed.

“Hah! Take that, you dinkoff! Nobody beats science around here!” After taking one quick around, she added to herself, “God willing.” None the less, her khaki shorts and dingy white safari blouse appeared undamaged.

“Well played, sister,” Jamai smiled, taking Kiana Richards’ hand.

“It was nothing special,” Kiana shrugged, flicking her neck-length auburn hair back from her face. “These things were just lying on the catwalk. It just seemed like the thing to do. One question…”

“Yes. Where are we?”

“Exactly where you need to be,” another voice intruded. Another sister. Her bootsteps rattled on the catwalk’s struts, shaking the fragile structure and sending sympathetic shivers through all their bodies. The violet skinsuit graced all her best features, while the window cut into the chest fabric did nothing to hide her globes.

“Lianna,” Jamai nodded.

Kiana did the same, adding, “This is gonna get confusing fast. So tell me, we were all called together for a reason, or fell out of time or some crap?”

“No need to get snarky, red.” A collective startle jumped up into their hearts as they jerked to the right. Another blonde like Lianna crouched on the handrail, honey-tinged this time. But even in this dank light she was pale beyond reason, the tips of her fangs dimpling the corners of her lips. Leather cloaked her from those wetlook leggings to the slinky coat on her back. “Hi there. I’m Vye.” Nudging Jamai’s forearm, she said, “Hi again, bosoms. Been a while.”

To the others she said this. “It’s probably appropriate that I’m here at least. Take a look down.”

Her gaze angled over the rail. Together the three of them joined Vye in peeking twenty stories down to the field of lava breathing acrid fumes below. A dark crust formed over a large proportion of the landscape, but there remained bubbling honeypots oozing fresh magma. And towards the east, from their position at least, there heaved a maw filled with stalactite teeth, wide enough to gorge on an elephant.

“Let me guess,” Kiana whistled. “That’s the devil himself.”

“I’m going for something more general,” Vye replied. “Evil from before the dawn of time.”

“And what say you, Godwalker?”

This was getting to be such a regular occurrence, the ladies simply joined in a mutual sag, then turned to greet the new intruders. Apparently this was to be the first man on their team, a husky fellow in buckskin breeches and waistcoat over a plain white shirt, with moccasins and a leather sash girding his Bowie knife.

“Welcome, Jeremiah,” Lianna grinned. “You’re just in time. Bring the reinforcements?” He nodded.

As the portal opened wide behind him, Kiana asked, “Excuse me. Godwalker?” “Just a nickname,” Lianna squirmed.

“You don’t say,” Jamai queried with her raised eyebrows.

Throwing up her hands, Lianna elaborated. “All right, I may have met some Hindu gods, and they were kind to me…”

“Hah! More like they fondled you!” Vye laughed.

“So wait…are we all…dead?” Kiana whispered.

“Only some of us, lass!” spoke the tall Irish beauty striding from the portal, flowing skirt trailing her. Beside her a girl of Chinese-American descent practically skipped to keep pace. Besides her TV-Western cowboy outfit, she also lugged a Santa Claus-sized bag across her right shoulder.

The flaming red Irish woman shook all their hands in turn. “Top of the day, lasses. I’m Caitlan, this poor we’en is my partner, Fong. As ye can see, television has thoroughly corrupted her.”

“Sez you,” Fong’s higher pitched voice laughed. “I got the gear.” She looked toward Jamai and smiled. “Hi, Granny!”

Six pairs of eyes at various heights swiveled to a suddenly bashful Jamai. “It’s an affectionate appellation…ohh!” Any shy feelings evaporated as Caitlan and Fong both swept in for a hug.

Lianna harumphed, drawing their attention. “Okay, we all know each other…most of us. We’re all connected in some way. We’re all sisters. A-and brother,” she noted, waving a hand to Jeremiah.

“We’ve all experienced our days of terror, all looked into the face of damnation. I can’t force you to do this, but…that thing down there represents a power even the gods are a little nervous about. We all have our powers, all have our own little gifts, and that’s going to come in handy in the next few minutes. So, I’m asking you, will you stand with me?” As she spoke, so she circulated among the gathered, touching each of her allies with a gloved hand. Those hands were now open, beckoning.

“We’re gonna need a way down there,” Vye commented.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Fong huffed, dropping the bag onto the catwalk. Reaching inside with both small hands, she distributed a rocket pack to each of her fellow warriors. Each one of them fastened the gear as though they’d done this before, like they’d done this all their lives.

“All we need now,” said Kiana cheerily, “is Gail Simone to lead us.”

“Maybe next time,” Fong chipped in.

“Ready, Godwalker?” Jeremiah smiled.

“Don’t call me that,” Lianna moaned. As the smallest, Vye and Kiana bunched on the rails, ready to push off. Everyone else dropped to a runner’s crouch, ready to watch Lianna’s back.

“Okay,” she called, “Let’s go!”

—-

Mikes’ latest book, FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS, is available at amazon.com.

f & d cover

Mike’s Amazon page:

https://www.amazon.com/Mr.-Michael-Robbins/e/B00CMHSMYA

HER MOTHER’S SUIT

[Another short post with my Deviantart OC, Lianna. Enjoy.]

DEAR DIARY: It fits perfectly.

The second I graduated from the Space Academy and got my Independent Pilot’s license, I wanted to try it on. Professor Chronitis kept all my parent’s belongings after he took me in, including Mama’s skin suit.

It still smells like her, all jasmine and roses. I want to go to all the places she would’ve gone to. I’m gonna find every weird form of life she never got a chance to. I know it’s kind of weird, but sometimes it’s like she’s still with me, even though she’s been dead over 15 years. I do miss Papa; but I wanna do this for her more.

her mother's suit scan (2)300 (1)

Mikes’ latest book, FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS, is available at amazon.com. Mike’s Amazon page:

https://www.amazon.com/Mr.-Michael-Robbins/e/B00CMHSMYA

f & d cover

Remember the ship where you were born: Lianna’s Story

I’m afraid when I started posting pix of my OC Lianna Jensen on my Deviantart page, I had no story to go by. Basically I was following the Jim Starlin method of writing, ie, I was making things up as I go. I hadn’t even given her a name until my fourth art set with her. Fortunately by then I also concocted an origin story, and it’s held up pretty nicely since. Enjoy.

I wasn’t actually born there. I was seven years old at the time of her launch. She was a Podship, the first of its kind, with a fully-automated wetwork to monitor our life-signs as we slept between the stars. Her Bangali designers christened her the Naga Sentry.

M-21

Her solar sails could harness the currents of Dark Energy between stars. We weren’t scheduled to be awoken for another 100 years, once we reached our destination. She was billed as the Perfect Vessel to colonize the stars, and in a way she was…a perfect nightmare.

Seventeen years into our voyage, our ship hit a solar storm, a corrusation of gamma-ray bursts within Sector 006. Oh, our sleeper-beds were undamaged…we were ray-shielded after all. But the sheer energy billowing through our sails pushed us violently off course, into unknown space. The star-patterns weren’t any that the Navigation banks had been programmed for, so the passengers were awoken too soon in order for them to take charge.

M-23a (1)

That might explain the subsequent behavior of the passengers and crew. We’d entered a sector where the Multiuniverses converged. The quantum energies flowing between these tiny, overlapping Multiverses began to affect our minds. You might say the adults all got cabin fever…

Even my parents. I-I mean, they adored each other…both as smart as whips…b-but they became like….like…oh God…

By the time the Naga Sentry left that sector and returned to a semblence of normal space, the only ones left alive were the children. The bully boys basically took over, organizing into their own little cliques. They kept some of the Smart Boys on, ‘cause they knew how to work the ship. Some of the smart girls attached themselves to the bully-boys in charge. Anyone who wasn’t attached was called a Loner. And culled.

They might just as well have called us lepers. It wasn’t easy being a Loner. You really had to be ninja. You had to be quick…you had to be sneaky…And you had to know where to hide…

There weren’t many Loners left by the time that lone mining tramp-ship almost collided with us. At least her captain had the decency to call the Space Port Authorities. You see, we couldn’t have known there’d be such advances in sublight engineering in the decades since the Naga Sentry left port. Even the most common ship possessed speeds that had easily overtook our ship and surpassed it. Our mission had become irrelevent. In fact, we’d gone down in history as a legend; the Lost Ship they called us.

We were all pretty much in rags at that point, and didn’t care. Some of the career Terranauts were scared to be around us. Not one man though. He was one of the Observers who came with the rescue ship. I don’t know what Professor Chronitis saw in me, but…he offered me his hand and took me in, and raised me as his own daughter.

Mikes’ latest book, FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS, is available at Amazon.com. Mike’s Amazon page:

https://www.amazon.com/Mr.-Michael-Robbins/e/B00CMHSMYA

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Book update: thinking Spanish

The third book in the Butterfly & Serpent series has logged another chapter, so I am making progress. The challenge is getting into another culture, another mindset, which might be hampered a bit by an inability to travel. The problem is compounded by the fact that just in the first section of the new book, I’ve had to learn not one but two cultures, diametrically opposed. But I’m keeping at it.

My biggest regret in this regard is that I wasn’t ready until now. I would have loved to have asked my grandmother Elsy about Spain, she was very knowledgeable about all things Spanish. That’s my bad. I’ve finished Vicente Blasco Ibanez’s classic novel Blood and Sand. If nothing else I’ve come away sharing the author’s healthy disgust with the whole ‘sport’ of bullfighting. I feel more for the bulls than the matadors. I can’t even talk to my wife about what happens to the poor horses. The people who go to these things are animals.

cover blood and sand

That’s where I’m at. I’m moving on to the next chapter. Thanks for the support, everyone.

Mikes’ latest book, FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS, is available at amazon.com.

f & d cover

Mike’s Amazon page:

https://www.amazon.com/Mr.-Michael-Robbins/e/B00CMHSMYA

Interview Extract

Jamai Independent Woman Metoo GIF-downsized_large

BLOG–You’ve consistently refused being termed a ‘mutant’, ‘psychic’, ‘medium’ et al. May I ask why?

JAMAI–Because they’re just labels. They’re another way of saying ‘you’re a freak, you don’t belong.’

B–I take it you’re not fond of labels.

J–I despise them. It’s just another way of dividing people, of keeping them down. Listen, my husband’s uncle once told me that words have a profound effect on our social relations. When I was young I was stupid enough to let myself be blinkered by these insults.

B–I’d never call you stupid.

J–Appreciated. I’ll give you an example of what I mean from your own day and age. The great Miles Davis was invited to participate in a charity record–“Sun City”, and the umbrella title for the group was Artists United Against Apartheid. The project was spearheaded by Steven Van Zandt. Miles’ part was to be edited into a jazz track, but at some point in his performance, Miles started muttering, “you can’t go in there, you’re the wrong color.”

B–“The Struggle Continues,” that was the track.

J–Good. There’s hope for you yet. Well, Miles’ rap was entirely spontaneous, but so truthful, that they built that whole track around it.

B–I guess what you’re saying is today, right now, you’re comfortable with who you are?

J–Why shouldn’t I be? I tried to fit in, to be like ‘everybody else’. But the truth is, people or bosses or your leaders will never be satisfied no matter how much you try to fit in. Why should I change to satisfy them? Why make myself uncomfortable with myself? I’m a person and I’m different. So what? I don’t have to prove anything to anyone but myself. And neither do you. If who you are isn’t good enough form “them”, whoever “they” are, they can get stuffed!

(shared laughter)

FATHERS & DAUGHTERS, the second book in the BUTTERFLY & SERPENT book series, is now out on http://www.amazon.com as a paperback & Kindle.

B & S new cover f & d cover

Marecage out

http://revuelagon.com/marecage-jan/

The newest collection by Lagon Revue is now in print. This is their fifth outing. According to their website, Lagon is a prospective comic book magazine exploring new forms of graphic narration. It takes on a new name with each issue. Last year I was very pleasantly surprised to receive an invitation to submit one of my art sets to the latest issue, Marecage.

Marecage is bilingual, in French & English. The editorial team is Alexis Beauclair, Bettina Henni, Severine Bascouert, Sammy Stein & Jean-Phillipe Bretin.

http://revuelagon.com/about/

I wanted my father to see this. We talked about it and he thought it was a good opportunity. He passed away in November. I would have liked to have seen his face when he saw what I was contributing. Miss you, Dad.

Lancement-Marécage