lfyoung

[lfyoung]

What’s for breakfast

By: L.F. Young

16 July 2024

Part one

25 September 1998

Twenty years to the day

“I’ll have those foul smelling rotten trotters of yours, you dirty little swine. If you utter one more word. I shall first braze those hooves, sealing in the juices. Then in a red wine sauce with mushrooms, that’s been reducing for the last three days. I’ll gently submerge them. Where they’ll marinate for twenty four hours. Then you know what I’ll do?” Said the man with the most luxurious saltpetered manicured beard to have ever graced this side of the Atlantic.

“No!” Spat the middle aged lady into his direction, as perspiration started to slide down the right side of her face. Dripping onto her Tom and Jerry T-shirt, letting all see that her bravado was more of a smokescreen than a reality.

“I’ll place them on my rotisserie. Pleasurably roasting them low and slow through the night. All the while feasting in the luxurious flavors I get when I smell there sent wafting on the midnight breeze. Watching as they slowly let there juices drip, drip... drip! Like a sizzling lullaby tempting me, coxing me into a pleasant sleep as they dissolve on the burning embers.

“You don’t have the balls, you cantankerous bitter old man!” She said as her left foot slowly slid back three feet. In the direction of the backyard rod iron gate.

“Then I’ll hunny glaze them while they’re still rip roaring hot. Placing them on my plater with a bushel of freshly poached garlic infused eggs and a baker’s dozen of roasted tomatoes. With a bucket of ice cold tea, earl grey if you please,” he said as he took a painfully slow four foot step in her retreating direction. “If you ever so much as hint at saying her name again in my presence. No strike that. If you ever say her name again period.” He took another step towards her.

This one, a me’er three feet. But he could visibly see the gathering sweat stain building up on the right side of her lopsided chest. Several years ago, she was diagnosed with breast cancer and the only way the doctors could save her life was to do a full mastectomy to her right breast. At her darkest hour, the man she was angering had been by her side before and after the surgery. As was his beautiful wife… her baby sister.

This man of undetermined age, turned his back to the middle aged lady. Returning to his original position, next to his bbq pit and chair. He took hold of his excessively stained towel resting over his left shoulder. Then silently, but vigorously began rubbing it back and forth across his deeply tanned and bald head. Patiently counting to ten in his head, while releasing the heated air that was still gathering in his lungs. For the next volley of harsh words to be released into this ladies direction.

The air in his lungs was anxiously waiting for there turn to race up his throat, ripping into this thing. This lady, saying what she said. The audacity of her! Anticipation was boiling up in the air’s lessoning restraint, with what it hoped would be a barrage of vile foul mouthed words directed towards this so called human being once again. But the mouth never opened, the heated air was gently pressed up, through, and out the nasal cavities. Where it quickly cooled in the setting sun and the rising evening breeze.

The man turned back around, taking his time to stare at her as he once again sat in his beloved chair. Then blew out another slow breath of air, as he reclined back into his stained weathered and badly aged recliner. That sat only a few feet away from his ancient hand crafted barbecue pit. That was made by his great grandfather. He had relished this spot in his youthful days. When he cooked for the love of his life. His now dead wife of twenty years and two days..

It had been twenty agonizing years and two days to the day, of her unexpected departure from his world. These days, it was more of a responsibility he felt to her, keeping up the tradition of roasting a pork shoulder low and slow. Around this time each year. When he used to enjoyed the aromas of the burning wood, and the slow cooking meat. As he quietly drift off to a peaceful sleep, when he use to listened to her angelic voice. It was the only real way he could get a full unfretted restful night’s sleep. As she read one of her favorite books, as was her tradition when he would cook pork shoulder on the pit throughout the night for them.

His cold black eyes kept staring at her and her slow paced retreat, as he reached out to the tilting side table, where one of his wife’s beloved well worn book laid. As he took another slow breath in, as he once again felt his anger releasing its fiercely infectious grip around his head and his heart. This wasn’t just any beloved book, this particular book was the one she had cherished most. It was the first book of many he had bought her over their ten years and two days of marriage.

But this was a twin of that book. The original one had been lost while they were on their five year anniversary vacation to the Hawaiian Islands. This one was a gift to him five years later, one he wished he’d opened before that faithful day. That moment she was stolen from him. By him. And his need to make more money, so he could buy his love more books to read to him. And to get his rubs into the public market, making them stinking rich.

It had been twenty years and two days since his last truly restful nights sleep. For the last twenty years and two days. He read the book that was peacefully resting on the tilted side table. The book was the last gift his wife gave him before she died most unexpectedly from an undiagnosed heart disease. He hadn’t opened the present or said thank you to her, because he was too busy to read it then. He had told the woman he loved more than life itself, that he would open his gift when he came home from the word bbq championship.

He had departed for the competition two days before they had gotten married. The competition was on their wedding day. He left two days early hoping to get to San Antonio, TX in time to check out the competition, or as he was known to say. Those who would be bucking for second place. She died two days later right as he won the grand prize. He didn’t find out she had died till he got back home. This was in the year 1978, before there were cell phones, computers, apps. When he got home his nephew was waiting there at the front door nervously, waiting to give him the terrible news.

Family barbecuing on The first day of each month was their traditional family and neighborhood barbecue. Where he invited the neighbors that lived alongside him in their small cul-de-sac. He would bbq ribs, steaks, fish anything but pork shoulder. Pork shoulder was special. It was his slow and low cook on the day of the year they had first met each other. September twenty fifth, it was the same day a year later he proposed to her and the same day one year later that they tied the knot. The same day he had just won first place in what would become his very last bbq competition. It would also be the last time he invited the neighbors over for bbq on the first day of each month.

His nephew said she had died on the twenty fifth of September, at noon. His nephew said the cops where able to know the exact time she died, because the gold watch she was wearing stopped working when she fell to the ground. Smashing the small delicate time piece, effectively stopping the hands of the watch and the exact moment his wife had died. It was the day they got married, and it was the exact time the judge’s announced that he took first place.

He had promised her that he would win first place at noon, then he would pack up the old 1951 Studebaker. Leaving the competition right after the awards ceremony with the first place trophy and get back home to show it off to her and the neighbors. That the prize money would give him the opportunity to market his wet and dry bbq rub to the local grocery stores. Then hopefully to the world, making them mega rich. It had been both of their dreams. She never doubted that he would conquer the world with his wet and dry bbq rubs.

She didn’t care about the money, she just wanted the rest of the world to see just how amazing her husband’s cooking was. She was his pride and joy, his unbelievable beautiful beloved wife of ten years and two days. Who died in the back yard from an undiagnosed heart disease, that nobody even knew she had had since birth. A disease that was a ticking time bomb. Waiting for that perfect moment to strike. Thankfully she didn’t suffer, or feel anything.

One second she was sitting in the exact same recliner he was sitting in now. She stood up to place a few more logs on the dying fire. Thinking of him while warming herself by the fire she had made in the bbq pit, sipping her favorite drink. A rum float. It was mostly made up of Vanilla Coke, then two large scoops of natural vanilla bean ice cream with a healthy dose of a twenty year old dark Argentinian rum.

To give it that sweet nectar of the gods touch she loved so much. It had been her favorite drink since their trip to Hawaii. At least once or twice a week she would have her husband make her a large glug of it where she would get her largest coffee cup made out of undyed clay that looked like a big butt on one side and a handle on the other side. With a saying that said, for a good time just pinch.

Often he could be found reading that same book over and over again, while drinking a rum float in that same butt clay coffee mug that hadn’t even been scratched when his wife fell. It had fallen on the recliner’s cushion. He kept her broken watch and coffee mug on the small side table, never having the strength to move it anywhere else. Just as he did with her gift to him. He never read anything else and unlike the mug and broken watch. He was always seen with that hard bound book in his hand no matter where he went.

She could see that their yelling was over, and knew this round had gone to him. And seeing that book he was famously known to have with him every second of the day. That there would be no more verbal hostilities directed in either direction. Her fear of what he would do, lessened, just slightly. It was nearly in perceptive to have noticed, unless one was purposely looking for it at the split second it had shown itself. As she slowly turned around making her way to the still open rod iron gate. There was the faintest of sadness and a nearly undetectable frown seen on her face.

As that single lonely tear slid down her weathered face and fell to the sun soaked cracked Italian tile that made up his once highly manicured and polished backyard pathway to his once sparkling black rod iron French styled backyard gate. Now tattered, rusted and barely hanging on its only screw that still held true to the sad tired cobblestone wall that hedged in his rundown once beautiful abode.

Now weathered, pealing… desperately silently calling out for something or someone to breathe life once again into this gem of a home. A yard. Along with breathing in a reason to live once again in a man who’s seen better days. And served far tastier barbecue, than the charred lump of meat he was now known for these day’s. But given enough rum, anything is edible. That was his saying these days. Along with, rum can make anything taste like a winning pork shoulder on competition day.

He leaned forward and tossed another two logs on the fire. Patted the worn book on his chest and reclined back as far as his recliner would go. He finished off the remaining sludge from the finger stained coffee mug. Placed it back on the leaning side table. Closed his eyes, drifted off to a dream troubled sleep where pork shoulder zombie’s chased him around a fire pit that opened to the entrance to the abyss.

As a nearly invisible figure of a young and beautiful creature rested her hand on the man of her dream. The husband she adored in her living years. Now the angered, bitter older man. Who has lost his way. The man she desperately wants to save. But as of yet, has been unsuccessful in finding a way.

[lfyoung]

Hi

By: L.F. Young

20 March 2024

In the interim of heartbeats, as the microscopic amount of time it takes for the single flapping of a hummingbirds wings. I unintentionally glimpsed the effervescent flight of something that couldn’t possibly be described… be real. No dimension could postulate her being, no amount of vastness to the endless universe could house her elegance.

There she was. This unexplainable beauty, the very vision of perfection fluttering about, without a care. Living… existing, in-between those flaps of the hummingbird’s heartbeat, while capturing and captivating my gray eyed world. Explosions ricocheted throughout the very formation of my monochrome life, releasing colors I never imagined or knew existed.

There she stood. Fading in and out of reality, as if the very concept of her creation couldn’t possibly be real. I dared not to breathe, blink or even let my heart beat, one more single beat. For if it did. I knew she would be spirited away, as does a dream just before the waking of a lonely soul. As I take my first waking breath. In a vastly different world, after partaking in the beauty that is she.

I desperately hold onto the ether. I grasp with baited rage that time is a constant, that must forever and a day. Chug forward. In that microscopic moment, I chance to experience the unimaginable. Sending out my timid soul, in an outreaching hand. Then the epicurean poetic entity that resides within me, is blessed with the touching of effervescence and the voice of angels singing. As she takes my withered hand, as she simply says…

Hi.

[lfyoung]

Destined to walk alone

Destined to walk alone

By: L. F. Young

20 October 2017

Books, movies and tv shows call to the very essence of what’s essential to be me and to create the future of what I will myself to become.

Is it so wrong to walk a life alone, if that life you walk has its own form of family and freedom, all in one simple package. Is it wrong to find purpose among the creation of others if it fills the hours from the inner screaming.

Yet, if I must be honest with the inner daemon that is my soul. There are lingering moments of doubt and regret, in this life I’ve been made to travel. Of purity in ones choices and regrets.

A leftover gust, for the touch of someone’s heartbeat, if only for a few minutes of their time. To qual the rage bowling inside, if only for a private moment of wishful lust.

Then the moment is gone, and once again i find myself loving the silence of singularity, and the process of loneliness and absolution of diving into the soul and mind of your own making.

To once again, investigate that which it means to find resolve in the path set forth by unknown forces, that cry out and shadow any and all thoughts of being someone else... as if you even had a chance.

The ravens call is a somberly sound that I’ve know for many a year now. I wonder if it shall call to me after deaths sweet release and I take those tentative first steps on my next path...

Will it be filled with the conclave of laughter... or the silence of tears yet to find, in a another life... one destined to walk alone. To once again heed the ravens song, and travel this life alone.

[lfyoung]

Don’t be an air-robber

Don’t be an air-robber

By: L. F. Young

21 October 2017

What is life really? But a series of simple little things that flow from second too second, in an attempt to fill up the moments of ones life.

But if you learn nothing from those seconds, wether they be happy or sad, is it a life at all or were you just robbing the rest of us from their own precious seconds?

[lfyoung]

Iron Banner begins in 10 hours.

PRO-TIP: If Lord Saladin is not in the first Tower that you visit, please return to orbit and try again.

[lfyoung]

Random thoughts I have part one

Random thoughts I have By : L. F. Young 1: What's the best thing for any circumstance Part one: Be quiet Observant Annalise And remember Part two: Process information Formulate a plan Find fault in plan Reanalyze plan Part three: Assess win to lose scenario's Determine loss of life & or profit projections Re-analyze plan And remember Part four: Prep Focus Be quiet Observe others Part five: Execute plan Expect variables Always have alternative Observe Analyze Expect variables Always have an out Part six: Post rundown of plan Analyze Process Run through better plan options Observe Be quiet 2: what constitutes true intelligence Is a man deem educated in all things just because he has a simple peace of paper saying it so, when footsteps have only walked in already tread upon stone. Chancing not to take that convoluted and shadowed road, were enlightenment may if brave'ed enough to behold, increasing understanding of what's not known. 3: knowing thyself Too know thyself, one must know others. For in the learning of others ways of thought and reasoning, will you unlock the secrets of your own being. And come to find your place in the Omni-verse, and in doing so you will set yourself free. 4: misconceptions of the idea of self The concept of self is a convoluted idea, that holds no substance in the greater part of the whole. We as people think of ourselves as individuals but in reality we are connected by the very fabric of the universe in all the things we attempt to achieve and be. The individual is made up of parts that create a whole person. So too, does every planet, asteroid and star partial that has ever existed. They say no star partial can be destroyed, that in its very nature of being, its immortal. Due to the properties that make it what it is, so to are we. No person is a singularity in this world, we all make up a whole and in the process of growing and learning do we find our place in this grand universe of connection, by connecting too people, places and things. This is what it means to be whole, to be one, too be connected. We will never be a singularity of ones self by elusive behavior and doubts of ones worth. Only in the complete formation of connection will all things in this universe of individuals, animals, objects and concept of self identity. Will we as individuals become whole, become truly one with ones self, and in the process become one with the universe of creative minds, hopes and dreams of every living thing.

[lfyoung]

Thoughts on the xenomorphs & predators

Alien ( xenomorphs )/ predators Thoughts and ideas By: L. F. Young 23 July 2017 Question about the xenomorphs creation: 1: people think David created the xenomorphs Here is a fundamental thing everyone is not remembering about the aliens. It has been shown in the predator movies that the aliens were around in ancient mans timeline and it's even shown in the mural on the wall in the Prometheus movie that the husband looks at and sees a alien body in front of what looks to be a queens head just above it with its arms stretched out like it's being crucified. Some may argue that the predators and alien movie cannon are different but it's been hypothesized in the books that there was a race of aliens that the predators had forced to make the alien species so they could have the ultimate creatures to hunt. If that's so I don't know, but the fact remains that it's shown in the movies and books that the aliens have been around as long if not longer then the human race has been around. So David couldn't have made the original aliens. Now David could have taken some of Shaw' DNA and some of his and created a more perfect alien goo if you will. Now I believe David saw this and was convinced that he too could create the perfect life form, weather to save Shaw or to take her DNA and in a way keep her alive in a new for I don't know. But it's clear he had some kind of a feeling for her in the Prometheus movie. You can see it when he lays his hand on her life pod when he watches her dreams. It's unsure if he grew to hate her but I believe he loved her in a way and wanted to create a way too keep her alive so she could finish her life's goal in finding questions to her "who made us and why". And if you remember in the Prometheus movie the two guys left alone in the ship find the dead bodies and they had their chest exploded outwards. Meaning that there were xenomorphs around before David 2: is the aliens and predators movie in the same universe ( cannon ) or are they separate A) it possible that they just took two different movies and bought the rights to join them but does that mean they are from different timelines and universes? If we look at it as the same universe we get a question to ask because in the movies we see that they had aliens i.e. Xenomorphs before David could create them from the Prometheus movie. If so then what was David doing. Creating a better version or a different one? B) if they are from different universe then we still have the problem as to did the engineers create the xenomorphs? They did create the black goo, maybe. I say maybe because they could of gotten the black goo from somewhere else or someone else. It's quite possible that the black goo is a natural thing on some planet, maybe even their own home world. The engineers home world that is, if it's not then where did they get it and if it's not a natural creation then who made it? If the engineers found the black goo, what did that world look like, did it have Xeno type of creatures living on it and if so do they just keep killing each other or do they have a hive mind like they have shown in the movies? Just my thoughts on who created the xenomorphs, more thought to come later... need sleep :)

[lfyoung]

60-65 million years is a very long time

60-65 million years is a very long time By: L. F. Young Ponder on this if you will. Known human form (in a walking upright form) is only 3-6 million years old. Now ponder this, oldest known human closest to us is only 500,000 years old. Knowing these factors and the known fact that dinosaurs were wiped out some 60-65 million years ago. And the knowledge that all things decay into nothing over a relatively short time. (timeline of decay compared to years) Just what could have lived and became extinct (or left planet earth) in the 60-65 million years that's from then to now? Leaving religion out of the equation. Just how many different things or people could have evolved and died out. Leaving no speck of their existence for us to find. (Or has there been evidence found?) So as you go forth into the new year. Wonder on all things. But never forget one day someone millions of years from now, someone or something will ponder our existence.

[lfyoung]

Tumor of the soul

Tumor of the soul By: L. F. Young The plausibility of never really being saved is a growing cancer that causes everyone to feast upon the world and everyone and everything around them. It's a tumor of the soul that can't be fixed by simple deeds done, and false attempts at redemption with the purpose of cleansing ones own moral interpitations of what's right and what's wrong. We as a people have to go back to childhood ideas of simplicity in all manner of things, good, bad, right and wrong and become the little baby again with fresh eyes. And look upon not, the outside world for answers but our everyday actions of kindness and love, without the hopes for reward and self gratification. For in the eyes of the babe, is the window to the cure for the tumor of our soul and the redemption of our lives, for when it's gone, hell is the making of all the false attempts at cleansing the wrongs we've tried to make right. By justifying the un-pure actions of our greedy endeavor at saving our souls, for our own worth's sake.

[lfyoung]

Become more than you are

Become more than you are By: L. F. Young The scaling of life's ambitions out way the true goal of all mankind. The true goal of everyone is to become more than you are. Too achieve true understanding in all facets of life. Not in just who, what, where things come from. But in the very makeup of their being. What is it to be that plant, that mother, that tree, that atheists, that bee, that cloud, that drop of water. Only when you can truly say you've contemplated all facets of a thing and then applied it to your very being. Can you say you made the first steps in becoming more than you are.

[lfyoung]

A destiny tale

I will become Legend Day One: Dear Diary: I’ve once again sneaked out of that den of disgust of a so called home, and from that pig of a foster father. It’s strange, but I feel more at home here in the Wilds searching for pray, then I every have in that house of his. I will never call him father! The Wilds. Lesson to me, trying to make the out-lands sound like the real thing. Everybody knows that the out-lands are nothing more then the go-between, from the Great Outer Wall and the Inner Barrier. It may be ten miles from wall to wall, but its still no true Wilds. Even though its home to all manner of creatures from ancient mans past, and even stranger creatures from distant worlds. Brought here by great Guardians years ago, during the Golden Age of human kind. When humans thought they were the lords of the known galaxy. How wrong we were. For there lived a vast array of alien beings far greater than man, who saw us as mere scum. Less then scum, more an insect that needs to be wiped out for all time. They nearly succeeded. So my only friend, my dear diary. Here I sit, next to my little fire, trying to keep warm several miles past the Inner Barrier. Contemplating my next move. I had left so hastily in my anger at my Foster fathers latest lecture, once again telling me that I came from nothing. And if I didn’t keep this house clean. Pig sty of a house, he meant to say. That he would send my back to that hell hole of an orphanage, he found me in. Well dear diary, what was I to do? I ran, thats what I did, thats what I do best. I run into the shadows and disappear, for that will never happen. I will never go back to that slimy filth of a place of an orphanage. Believe it or not, dear diary its even worse over there then it is in my foster fathers home. What with those wardens and their shock sticks. Along with all the other children trying to take what little I own. Which amounts to a whole two things, a picture of my family and an old Guardian helmet. That once belonged to my mother long ago. The only two things I have left from that terrible night, when the lights went out and the screaming started. Yes dear diary, I will die before I go back to one of those places again. If that nasty pig of a human I have to call foster father, chooses to call the wardens to come and take me back. That will be the last thing he well ever do in this cursed world… I may still remove him from this plain of existence, even if he doesn’t. For all the cruel things he’s done to me over the last ten years. Why you may ask dear diary. Why I don’t just run away right now? I would if I could, but I can’t break into that cursed wall safe of his, were he is holding my mothers helmet. He knows, that if I get my hands on my mothers helmet I will be gone for good. So he took in when I came into his care… care thats a joke. He knows that if he has control of it he has control of me, making me do all his foul disgusting things his vile little mind can come up with. But dear diary, I have to say even though he is a waste of human life and a pig in walking form. He has never laid a hand on me. I’ve heard of so many foster fathers and even mothers who have done things I just can’t even contemplate to other orphans. I know I should go back, I have no food or water. But I came across a small well the last time I crossed the Inner Barrier. I just need to remember where it is, if I can find that then I will be fine. I now how to set traps for those small things that hop around… I think there called bunny rabbits. I heard a friend of my foster father calling them that, he said they were good to eat but hard to trap. We shall see, I bet I can trap them. If I can just find the well, and get some food I can stay here for a little while. Maybe even make my way to the Great Outer Wall, there has to be a crack in the wall. If I can find it and make it threw, I can make my way into the real Wilds and find an alien creature who will tell my where the Hive live. Yes, dear diary I am still going after the Hive. They killed all I new. They destroyed my family and the whole outpost, the last outpost on the outside of the Great Outer Wall. I’ve told your before, that I was the only surviver of that terrible night. I can’t remember much all I can remember is my mother putting my in an old well that dried up years ago and telling me to stay quiet, and that she would come back after they killed the Hive scum who came over the small wall we had protecting the outpost. That’s all I can remember, but when I woke up in the hospital the kind doctor told me I was hanging on to two things for dear life. And that it took four Guardians to climb down that old well and pull me out to safety. I’ve made up my mind, I will find that well and get those bunny rabbits and I will find a way threw the Great Outer Wall or die trying.

[lfyoung]

Become more than you are

We as people have to change, it's the true purpose of ones life to become more than you are, to fully understand all an everyone and everything, who has walked before and beside you. For in breaking down the walls of ones understanding, can we as a person, a race, open the door to our real purpose of our life. Learning, excepting and understanding what makes a person who and what they are. Only when you can say you've walked a mile, an inch in everyone's shoes, can you say you've placed your soul on the anvil of life. Opening your secluded little worldly of fear and doubt, to the possibility of becoming more than what you are now. Open your life to all possibilities and to all walks of life... become more than you are. Become human.

[lfyoung]

Cats have taken over my backyard. It's been raining for 3 days now

[lfyoung]

Maybe it was

Maybe it was a feeling, that snuck in, when I came home Maybe it was a regret, that clings, and never let's go Maybe it was reality that's taken hold, creating a tragedy that I now call home.

[lfyoung]

Finding yourself

The disillusion of ones identity is the spiritual awakening of ones true self.

[lfyoung]

The reality of honor

The reality of honor, is the destitute of mankind for in attempting to be honorable, many if not all will opt for the lesser of two evils, and choose... Oblivion. For in attaining honor, one must apply moral responsibility for all of ones... actions.