In Heaven with Diana (part two)



So here stand Diana and I holding hands in the living room on Sunday morning.  Our house is not on planet Earth.  Our house is in Heaven.  And our honeymoon is endless.

“Now, baby, now,” whimper I to my Diana.  She’s my beautiful wife.  And I am so lucky ~ oops, I mean blessed!  I say to her, “You gotta put on a dress if we’re going to Church today.”

“We’re in Heaven, Clyde,” says Diana.  “We can go to Church naked if we want.”  I almost believe her.  The way she is holding my hand, the way the green green grass of home ricochets in her eyes, the way her sacred body emits its glow and warmth ~ all this, everything in the universe, tells me to believe her.

My knees are more and more wobbly.  I have a bottomless craving to kneel before we even get to Church.  Jesus please have mercy on my soul.  I want to kneel in front of my wife!  “C’mon, Diana, please.  Please go put on a dress.  We’re going to be late.”

I am dressed swank ~ really swank.  I’m even wearing my grey top hat.  I am ready for Church.  But Diana ~ my long legged, green eye-ed darling…

“Why? Why, Diana?  Why are you doing this?”

She’s not totally naked.  She’s got the pelt of a raccoon draped over her head.  Something her Uncle Davy gave her.  It’s paws hang down to either side a bit past her neck, intimate pals with her gold-streaked hair.  If they hung down any further their claws would be resting upon her delightfully elongated boom booms.  She shrugs in reply to my exasperated questioning.  And my wife says, “I am a forest priestess.  What do you expect?  Look into my eyes.”  She steps closer than she already is and, with her breezy breath fanning my inflamed face, whispers, “Look deep.”

The head of the raccoon pelt, its nose sticking out a little over Diana’s forehead, its little marble eyes staring off into space, is perched up there like a baseball cap.  But forget that furry thing!

I lose myself in Diana’s cathedral windows.  A point-blank reflection of Heaven is in there.  She let’s go my hand and her fingernails etch a trail up my sleeve.  She rests the fingertips of her magic hands on the tops of my ears.  Like I’m a steering wheel.

I kneel.

~ by Rawclyde!


art courtesy of:



America as a gun culture…

Haydiya's Mom and Michelle

Haydia Pendleton, an innocent 15-year-old girl, after performing at the U.S. President’s 2013 inaugural ceremony, was killed by a young hooligan in a Chicago shooting a week later.  Haydia’s mom, Cleo, was invited by First Lady Michelle Obama to the State of The Union Address the following month (shown above).  The bereaved mother, in a nationwide internet ad, is now calling for more thorough background checks at all gun sales:


To Senator Jeff Flake AZ…


Hello Senator Jeff Flake ~

In the wake of the Newtown tragedy of 20 first-grade children and their educators slain by an assault-weapon wielding mentally-ill young man ~ something must be done.  I believe we have no choice.  This is why I urge you to become involved in the legislation of, at least, smaller magazine clips and thorough background checks for the purchase of guns, especially at gun shows.

Also, I think it would be beneficial, for Republican congress members and for our public schools, if you were to insist on the hiring of and providing federal dollars for more school resource officers, preferably armed, in our public schools.

I voted as an Independent in Yuma, 2012.  I served in the U.S. Army, 1980-84…

Which brings to mind, Sir, I believe our soldiers in Afghanistan would like to see Chuck Hagel commence his Secretary of Defense duties ASAP.  Your co-operation in regards to this appointment would be much appreciated…

Good day, Sir.

Yours truly ~

P.S. Good luck with your Sequestration debacle…



Tied-up by the Tea Party bunch…


U.S. President Barack Obama and the American People are held hostage in the basement of the House of Representatives by The Tea Party bunch.  This gang of extreme right-wing congressional thugs are out to weaken your economy and your government so that the filthy rich can get filthier & richer without closing tax loopholes.  Meantime a very important deadline day-by-day looms closer…  Tighten your cinches, America!

To Senator John McCain AZ…


Hello Senator John McCain ~

Further delays of positioning Mr. Hagel as secretary of defense are not recommended by this citizen…

I believe the majority of our soldiers in Afghanistan want Hagel as secretary of defense ASAP.

I voted Independent in Yuma AZ in 2012…

I served in the U.S. Army 1980-84 under Health Services Command Hawaii as a journalist (71Q)…

Also, Sir, in regard to current gun laws, I believe smaller capacity magazine clips and more thorough background checks, especially at gun shows, should be legislated.

Incidentally, when in the U.S. Army I continually qualified “expert” with the M-16.

Good day, Sir.

Yours truly ~ Rawclyde!




Duel at Diablo 1966

President Barack Obama and a school resource officer disarm Senator John McCain because, according to a recent background check, he is insane…


GUN 2013

Chapter 3


I am only minute chaff a-dangle on the edge of a scratch on the omniscient chessboard.  Squirrel meat & berries, in the end, could be my only subsistance.  Death comes.  Veil pierced.  What’s next?  A power-that-be moves another piece and the game continues, always a-dangle on the edge of its own catastrophic consequences.

Iran wants nuclear capabilities ~ or the bomb.  We’ve got ’em weakly surrounded with weak democracies recently forged ~ Iraq, Afghanistan.  I don’t have a map to consult right now.  But that’s the geopolitical current event.

Exit Bush Jr.  Enter Obama.  Some call it weak.  Others call it peace.  Never the less, a pawn or maybe a rook moves.  Smite the Republicans.  Pummel the Democrats.  Check.

Presently, the war mongers won’t let the recently re-elected president have his reasonable compatible (for him not them) defense secretary.  They want another berserk bozo in there, instead, to match their own idiocy.  The powers-that-be moan and groan and I am one minute chunk of chaff a-dangle.  But I am also the White House’s favorite secret agent.  Maybe you are too.  It’s a matter of choice.


I have received an urgent e-mail from President Barack Obama.  He wants me to write my senator.  He wants me to sway the congressman or woman up another trail ~ common-sense gun regulation.  The president is tired of seeing innocent American children splattered by idiots wielding cherished assault weapons.  I’m tired of seeing this too.  It just ain’t right.  Assault weapons were originally designed for war.  Now every wanna-be cowboy in Texas has one ~ or collects them like match-box toys.

I’ll write my senator alright.  And I’m gonna discuss the dilemma of Chuck Hagel, the wanna-be defense secretary, too, in the letter.

God bless the children.

~ from Rawclyde!


Photo: Sidney Poitier & James Garner in Duel At Diablo (1966)


In Heaven with Diana (part one)


She's got a new hat...


Here in Heaven it is Sunday morning and time to go to Church.  The front door is open.  Outside the birds are chirping and the bells are ringing.  I am wearing my grey top hat and dressed swank on the edge of the couch ~ waiting for Diana.  We’ve been married for about half a year.  It’s absolutely ridiculous how happy we are.

She twirls into the living room and stands in front of me.  She loves to stand in front of me when I’m sitting down ~ especially when she’s naked.  I love it too because she’s beautiful and she’s my wife.  But why is she naked now?  And what is that on top of her head?

“I’m ready,” she says.

“You’re naked,” says I.  “How can you be ready when you’re naked?”  I’m looking up at her pretty startled.  The contraption draped over her head has eyes and claws and lots of fur.  It looks like the skin of a wild raccoon.  “And what’s that on top of your head?”

“Uncle Davy gave me this.  C’mon.  Let’s go.”  She lifts my hand in her very warm one and in her gentle way pulls me up off the couch and toward the door.

“Hold it!” I protest as I abruptly stop in my tracks.  I shut the door, accidentally slamming it.  Obviously I’m losing my cool and on the verge of causing a scene, which doesn’t really matter because we’re home alone.  We’re still holding hands.

Thank God we’re holding hands.  But are we going to make it to Church this morning?  Diana’s point-blank emerald eyes are killing me.  She raises one smooth shoulder like it is the “good morning” sun ~ a few inches from my chin.  Meanwhile my knees are beginning to wobble and I am on the verge of kneeling before we even get to Church!

Jesus Christ have mercy…

~ Rawclyde!


Photo courtesy of Fashion Tadpole:



From Jules Verne to the moon...


GUN 2013

Chapter 2


Guns.  Bullets.  Death.  Horror.  Click.  I just turned the TV off.  None of that in my life.  And no car or phone.  I’ve got my feet & e-mail ~ for better or worse.  Hallelujah.

I got cities big and small ~ homeless shelters, soup lines.  Or a tent ~ I tried that once ~ it was very nice in the trees outside a little city in Arizona.  And jobs ~ they’re everywhere or used to be.  I’ve always found jobs one way or another as easily as I could.  Or had no job.  Which means no money.  Which is no problem but is a bit tiresome.  I built a nice expansive campground of stories & poetry on the internet.  I’ve been living there lately ~ right there on the internet.  I’m the groundsman at the campground on the internet.  Visitors come & go.  I don’t own a computer.  I like to use community college computers ~ or a poor friend’s computer.  Public Library computers get tiresome ~ but they work okay too.

Don’t forget gyms ~ as in physical fitness.  They’re everywhere.  I workout some at the gym in spurts ~ one month, three months, six months.  Now I’m over sixty, approaching the hills of eternal mystery.

I’ve lived in a truck ~ done that twice.  I’ve rented apartments ~ once a trailer ~ pretended the trailer was a haunted tugboat half-buried in the sand & took a trip to heaven in it ~ with a little help from a little whiskey.  That became a book.

Lots of books provide mind travel.  It depends on the book how far you get.  You can read yourself right into heaven with the book I wrote in that trailer.  You can acquaint yourself with saints by reading certain books.  You can go to hell with Dante ~ that’s quite a trip.  You can go to hell with a whole lot of other authors too.  I’m pretty careful about the books I read.  I’ve read some real beauties.  I consider them good fuel for good thought.  When I lived in the tent in a patch of trees, reading books was my job.  I read the better ones.  I hired myself for that job ~ no pay ~ except for what I read.  About the time I finished reading a fat tome on the history of global capitalism, which was a real fine and slow read, the economy collapsed.  Needless to say I was ready for the event.

What am I getting at?  Where am I going with this?  What’s my point?  What’s your point?  What’s our point?  What point?  The pencil point?  Let’s make a star the point.  Let’s see if we can’t reach that distant star.  Maybe it’s heaven.  Maybe it’s not.

So what’s up with guns in these United States of America?  How about Syria?  There’s a hot spot.  Click.  I’ve turned the TV off.  No more Syria.  But we know Syria is there ~ way over there around the curve of the planet.  The Syrians are in the midst of armed revolution against tyranny ~ a real adventure ~ call it war, call it hell, or maybe even redemption ~ depending upon the individual or collective experience.  And probably the better the guns they got, the better off they are.

It’s our ongoing theme on these pages, on this cyber scroll, in this electric glow emitting from the screen, for your eyes only.  Guns.  We are a-dwell on this theme.  It’s the theme I picked.  U.S. President Barack Obama picked it too.  The crazy boy with the assault weapon who recently murdered 20 first-graders and 6 educaters of children, picked it.  We’re his victims.  And he’s our victim.  It’s our favorite theme this year because a good two-thirds of the nation wants these face-splattering tools of smoky thunder regulated better.  But there’s a whole bunch of Americans who feel wrong & defenseless without guns.  And they’re afraid the government wants to take away their guns.

So if you watch too much gun-play on TV what do you get?  Is it a lust for blood?  Click.  I think I’ll go outside & rake some leaves.  Enjoy the weather.  Go some place else in my mind ~ some place better.  I might even hop the trolley and go visit an old friend I haven’t seen for a long time.  Or I might not.


~ from Rawclyde!


The spittin' image of Davy...

Fess Parker, the spittin’ image of Davy Crockett


Guns, Militias and Public Safety