Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

19 lines that forever changed who I am.

19 lines that define the essence of humanity.

19 lines that I humbly read for you now.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night – Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

CreepyBear – Laughing Jack

I like scary stories, creepypastas, and the like, so, I am going to read another one for you. I hope it is something that you will at least let me know if you enjoy it as well.

Sleep Sweet…



Laughing Jack

By: SnuffBomb at

It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son James was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. James has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Fido when I heard what sounded like James talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him.

When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because James was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “James! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a turkey sandwich. “James. Who were you talking to out there?” I asked. James looked up for a moment, “I was playing with my new friend,” he said smiling. I poured him some milk and continued to pry, as any good mother would. “Does your friend have a name? Why didn’t you ask him to have lunch with us?” I asked. James stared at me for a moment before replying, “His name is Laughing Jack.” I was a bit taken back by what he had said. “Oh? That’s a strange name. What does your friend look like?” I asked a bit confused. “He’s a clown. He has long hair and a big swirly cone nose. He’s got long arms and baggy pants, with stripy socks, and he always smiles.” I realized my son was talking about an imaginary friend. I suppose it is normal for kids his age to have imaginary friends, especially when he has no real kids to play with. It’s probably just a phase.

The rest of the day went by as per usual, and it was starting to get late so I put James to bed. I tucked him in, kissed him, and made sure to turn on his nightlight before I closed the door. I was pretty tired myself so I decided to go to bed not long after. I had an awful nightmare…

It was dark. I was in some kind of rundown amusement park. I was scared, running through an endless field of empty tents, broken down rides, and abandoned game huts. The whole place had a horrible look to it. Everything was black and white, the prize stuffed animals all hung from nooses in the game huts, all with sick grins stitched on their faces. It felt like the whole park was looking at me, even though there wasn’t another living thing in sight. Then suddenly, I began to hear music play. The sounds of Pop Goes the Weasel being played on a squeezebox echoed through the park, it was hypnotizing. I followed its tune to the circus tent almost in a trance, unable to stop my legs from moving forward. It was pitch black, the only light came from a single spotlight shining on the center of the big top. As I walked toward the light the music slowed down, I found myself singing along unable to stop.

“All around the mulberry bush

The monkey chased the weasel

The monkey though t’was all in fun…”

The music stopped right before its climax, and suddenly the lights shot on. The intensity of the lights was practically blinding, all I could see was a small dark silhouette shuffle towards me. Then another one appeared, and another, and another. There were dozens of them, all coming toward me. I couldn’t move, my legs were frozen, all I could do was watch as the haunting figures drew nearer. As they got closer I could see… THEY WERE CHILDREN! As I looked at each one I noticed they were all horribly disfigured and mutilated. Some had cuts all over their body, others were severely burnt, and others were missing limbs, even eyes! The children enveloped me, clawing at my flesh, dragging me to the ground, and tearing inside me. As the children tore me apart and I faded away, all I could hear was laughter, horrible, awful, evil, laughter.

I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. After taking a few deep breaths I looked over and saw that a few of James’ action figures were positioned facing me on top of my nightstand. I sighed, James had probably woken up early and put these here. I gathered up the toys and made my way to James’ room, however, when I opened the door James was sound asleep. I just shrugged and placed the toys back into his toy box, and headed out to the living room. A little while later James woke up and I made him his breakfast. He was quiet and seemed a bit groggy, perhaps he didn’t sleep well either. I decided to ask him about the toys, “James honey, did you put the toys in mommy’s room this morning?” His eyes shot up at me for a moment then quickly glanced back down at his cereal. “Laughing Jack did it.” I rolled my eyes and responded, “Well you tell ‘Laughing Jack’ to keep the toys in your room.” James nodded and finished up his breakfast, then decided to go play out in the back yard.

I went to relax in the living room and I must have dozed off because I woke up a couple of hours later. “Shit! I need to check on James.” I was a bit worried, it had been over 2 hours and I haven’t checked on him. I went stepped out into the backyard, but James wasn’t there anymore. I was getting nervous so I called out to him, “JAMES! JAMES WHERE ARE YOU?!” Just then I heard a giggle come from the front yard. I rushed through the gate around to the front of the house. James was sitting on the sidewalk. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to him, “James how many times have I told you to stay in the backya… James, what are you eating?” James looked up at me then reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand full of hard candies in all colors. This made me very nervous, “James, who gave you that candy?” James just stared at me not speaking. “JAMES! Please, tell mommy where you got that candy.” James hung his head down and said: “Laughing Jack gave it to me.” My heart sunk, I knelt to look him in the eye, “ James I’ve had had enough of this damn Laughing Jack thing, HE IS NOT REAL! Now, this is a very serious situation and I need to know who gave you the candy!” I could see my son’s eyes tear up, “But mama, Laughing Jack DID give me the candy.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, James has never lied to me but what he’s telling me is impossible. I make him spit out the candy and I throw the rest away, James appears to be fine. Maybe I’m just overreacting after all he could have gotten it from Tom and Linda from next door or Mr. Walker down the street. Either way, I’m going to have to keep a closer eye on James. That night I put James to bed as usual and decided to go to bed early myself.

Suddenly I was woken up by a loud bang coming from the kitchen. I sprung out of bed and hurried down the stairs. When I got to the kitchen I was horrified. Everything on the counters had been thrown on the floor, and our dog Fido hung dead from the light fixture. His stomach was cut open and stuffed with candy, the same type that James was eating earlier that day. My shock was quickly broken by a sharp scream coming from James’ room followed by loud crashes. I quickly grabbed a knife from the drawer and moved up the stairs with the speed that only a mother whose child is in danger could have. I burst through the door and flicked on the lights. Everything in the room was knocked over and tossed on the floor, my poor son in his bed crying and shaking with fear, a pool of urine staining the sheets. I scooped my child up and ran out of the house and went next door to Tom and Linda’s house, luckily they were still awake. They let me use their phone and I called the police. It didn’t take them long to arrive, and I explained what had happened, they looked at me as if I were crazy. They searched the house, but all they found was a dead dog and 2 trashed rooms. The officer told me that someone had probably gotten into the house and done this right before making a quick escape when they heard me coming up the stairs. I knew it wasn’t true. All the doors were locked and none of the windows were open, whatever was in my house didn’t come from outside.

The next day James stayed inside, I didn’t want him to leave my sight. I went into the garage and found his old baby monitor and set it up in his room if anything comes into his room tonight, I was going to be able to hear it. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife from the drawer and put it on my nightstand. Imaginary friend or not, I’m not letting anything hurt my little boy.

Soon enough night came. I put James to bed, he was afraid, but I promised him that I wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. I tucked him in, kissed him, and turned on the nightlight. Before closing the door I whispered to him “Goodnight James, I love you.”

I tried to stay up as long as I could, but after a few hours, I felt myself drifting off. My baby would be safe for the night and I needed to sleep. Just as I lay my head on the pillow I heard a soft noise come from the baby monitor I had put on my nightstand. At first, it sounded like interference, like the kind a radio would make. Then it turned into a soft moan. Was James asleep? Then I heard it, the laugh from my nightmare, that horrible laugh. I sprung up from the bed and grabbed the knife from under my pillow. I rushed over to James’ room and creaked the door open. I tried the light switch but it wouldn’t come on. I took a step in and I could feel the warm thick liquid on my feet. Suddenly James’ nightlight came on and I could see the absolute horror laid out in front of me.

James’ body was nailed up on the wall, the nails piercing through his hands and feet. His chest was cut wide open and his organs hung down to the floor. His eyes and tongue had been removed along with most of his teeth. I was disgusted, I could hardly believe this was my baby boy. Then I heard it again, the soft desperate moan. JAMES WAS STILL ALIVE! My baby, my poor baby, in so much pain barely clinging to life. I ran across the room and vomited on the floor, but my sickness was interrupted by a horrible cackle coming from behind me. I spun around while still wiping bile from my mouth, then out of the shadows emerged the fiend responsible for all this horror, Laughing Jack. His ghost-white skin and matted black hair hung down to his shoulders. He had piercing white eyes surrounded by dark black rings. His twisted smile revealed a row of sharp jagged teeth, and his skin didn’t look like skin at all, it almost looked like rubber or plastic. He wore a patchy, black and white clown outfit with striped sleeved and socks. His body itself was grotesque, his long arms hanging down past his waist and the way he was poised made him look almost boneless, like a rag doll. He let out a sickening laugh as if to let me know he was pleased with my reaction to his ‘work’. He then turned around slowly in front of James and began to laugh even more at the horrific sight he has laid out. That was enough to shake me from my terror, I snapped, “GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU BASTARD!” I rushed at the monster raising the knife above my head and stabbed down at him, but as soon as the knife touched him he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. The knife passed right through and pierced James’ still-beating heart, splashing the warm blood on my face….

No… what have I done? My baby, I killed my baby! I immediately fell to my knees, and I could hear sirens in the distance growing louder… My boy, my sweet baby boy… I promised mommy would protect you… But I failed… I’m sorry James… I’m so sorry…

Police soon arrived to find me in front of my son, still wielding the knife covered in my baby’s blood. The trial was short, insanity. I was placed in the Phiropoulos House for the Criminally Insane, where I have been for the past 2 months. It’s not so bad here, the only reason I’m awake now is that someone is playing Pop Goes the Weasel outside my window… I’ll talk to the orderlies about it in the morning…

Love Is Never Lost To Those Who Wish To Keep It

I want to tell you a story.

I was in love with a beautiful woman. The beautiful woman was in love with me. There were moments of passion that rivaled volcanoes and moments of tender caresses that would make poets weep. We danced our dance, had our own language and jokes, looks and expressions, sayings and every little thing you can imagine that you can share with another human being.

Then, as happens in life sometimes, that love in the form it as in had to end. The why of it is not important to this story, nor is the how, the when, or even the where.

What is important is the thing that didn’t happen.

See, ending what we had didn’t end what we had. It just ends a moment in the journey of what we had. We could not do Thing A or Thing B, but the language and jokes and the rest never changed and are being used up until this very day that I write this to you.

So, Uncle Bear wants you to listen really well for a second.

Just because a phase in our lives ends, does not mean the life itself has to end. If a rose loses a single petal, is it any less a rose than what it was, to begin with? No, it is a rose, sweet and wonderful still, just a little different than it had been a few moments before. You do not hate it because you noticed the loss, you both cherish the time you had with it while and you start the new with it as it is, as you are, as things must be.

Love is a terrible burden on mankind. To have the epitome of a perfect feeling is a weight that some wear well, others wear horribly, and simply others choose not to wear it at all.

I love, love.

I love being in love, I love falling in love, I love knowing that the person I talk to loves me. I may or may not have the soul of a poet, that is for others to say of me after I am no longer here. However what I will say of myself is that when you ask me what my heart is, if I love you, I will rip open my chest and bear the truth to you, even if I know the rejection that is to come as I do it.

If you cannot live, love, authentically and wholly, then what is this grand experiment we are all in worth at all?

No one counts the days until they get to see how angry they are again, but everyone gets to count the days, the moments even until they get to see that person which makes them know the world is not as sharp as it once was, or, even if it is sharp, there is at least one another who will brave the bleeding for you.

You know that when you see their happiness, hear of their joy, that you will be a better person for it because the beauty of the spirit is what makes all of the pain worth it.


Kick The Bucket

There are so many things left for me to do. So many things need to be done. Not because of a moral obligation, a promise to love gone or even a compulsion from a dark place. No, I have things left to do because I want to do these things. I have always wanted to do these things and, until they are done, I suppose I can’t file away my life as complete. I am well aware of the near impossibility of these things, but the brain doesn’t care for such trivialities such as fiscal responsibility and terror. So, since today seems to be a list kind of day, I want to share what I suppose is a bucket list, although it has some very not bucket like things on them as you may notice. Plus, some of these are not going to make sense unless you know the stories behind them all.

Again, with no further ado.

  • I need to go back there to see if the moon is really that bright.
  • Walk in Calaveras Big Trees and simply lookup.
  • Go back to Tommy’s across the street from the brewery and get a chili dog the way they are supposed to be.
  • Go back to Van Nuys and Balboa and see if it makes it better.
  • Swim in the Pacific and let it was the dreams away, take the memories away, forget me and help me forget.
  • Go up to Lodi, pay my respects to all of them.
  • See the Painted Desert, Petrified Forest, and the Grand Canyon when it isn’t pitch black and pointless.
  • Go back to Olathe and see if I can remember why it was so important to me.
  • No, not Medicine Lodge, no matter how much it wants me to come back.
  • Tell her I’m sorry.
  • Tell them I’m not.
  • Go see the family heart in Ireland.
  • Iceland, because of Iceland.
  • Montreal to remember: Ste.-Catherines to laugh, President-Kennedy to cry, Old Port to smile, Notre Dame to beg

The biggest though, the one I am nearly ashamed that I haven’t actually done, is the book. I have written a “book” before I suppose, a novella if anything, and I am not satisfied with the feeling it left me with, so now I have to go and actually write one. I don’t know how, not yet, but it is a thing that is the fire in the dark. It is what keeps me so close to so many things. I write stories and essays and even poems, but when I sit down to make it happen, it all leaves me and I feel it ebbing and I cry a bunch, all the time really.

Now, back to the rest of the things.

  • Get to Camp, I mean, everyone really tells me I would love it there.
  • Show Her I am sorry, that I was stupid, and that it will never happen again.
  • Read These
  • And These
  • These Too
  • Finally These
  • Yes, even if they overlap you read.
  • Yes, even if you already have. In fact especially if you already have.
  • New Orleans – For Dove
  • Orlando – Ducks
  • Try to be what I need to be for the people I love.

That there, the last on this list that I could right until the end of time, that is the hardest. I get accused, rightly, of being extra. Doing all the things when I don’t have to. I don’t know how to be any other way, and I am pretty sure I don’t want to.

So, to You, my Tribe, my People, I say this:

Each and every day I will endeavor to be the best version of me I can be. Authentic and vulnerable. I will fail, but I promise to fail as rarely as I can.


Some Things

It is the second of February, in a month, I will be 40.

Now I am not going to say the typical woe is me things, especially when my roommate has me by thirty years and laughs at me when I try to pull shit like that. I am also not going to go with my typical line of “I never expected to live past 17”. Sure, before I was 17 I thought that, does it matter that I thought that twenty years plus later? No, no I don’t think it matters at all.

In 40 years on this dust mote in a sunbeam, I have learned some things. Some of them are even important. So, in a comical way, I am going to impart my vast wisdom to all of you and maybe you will use it, maybe you won’t, but you should laugh once or twice.

So, in no particular order:

  • “Fingers finging” is one of the greatest phrases ever uttered on this planet. It can almost instantly stop a panic attack and make me laugh like the eleven-year-old boy my clean-shaven face makes me look like.
  • I will never tire of the debate over whether ninjas or pirates are better. Even if all the pirate people are wrong.
  • The first time your son mimics your Bear growl you will cry a little bit.
  • Nealon’s truism: What Can Go Wrong, Will Go Wrong and Already Has Gone Wrong.
  • Your children will eventually be better at you in your favorite video games. If you do not have/desire children, your friend’s/family’s children will happily fill this slot.
  • That guy that said the thing about sunscreen had a point.
  • The books are always better than the movies.
  • Heartbreak is universal in its absolute power to destroy your base and bring you to your belly, not just your knees.
  • Never forget to tell them you love them.
  • It is, scientifically, windy if you look at a shed rolling across the road in Western New York.
  • Kansas is not flat, it is nauseatingly hilly and driving through it is a wonderful test of Dramamine.
  • California is not nearly as awesome as you think it is, nor is it as hopelessly bad as some want it to be.
  • There is nothing like moon rise in the Mojave.
  • You can never know more about childbirth than a mother. Ever.
  • Conversely, you can never understand the need for birth control than either parent after a two-week school vacation.
  • Apparently, you can look good in eyeliner and still be allergic to it.
  • Gandhi was right, Western Civilization does sound like a good idea.
  • The odds of you remembering you left your cell phone charger at home decrease exponentially the farther away from said home you are.
  • No matter what has happened to you, someone always has had it worse.
  • Drugs aren’t the gateway to the solace that you pray they can be.
  • Lord of the Rings is the greatest book ever written. Fight Me.
  • Remember songs from when you were a teenager, humiliate your own teenagers with them.
  • The Mamas and The Papas music will always be cool.
  • Women are not devices you insert kindness into to receive sex.
  • Read that last one again.
  • “I was drunk”, “I was high” and “I was fucking tired” sound stupid as excuses when you think of them killing your friends in a car accident, don’t they?
  • People who are good at something are not better than you.
  • Epstein didn’t kill himself.