Author Archives: AlbertZayat

Who lives there

On this street?

A nice couple in the Tudor..retired, teacher’s I think

And there, picket fence?

A tribe it seems..7 cars

Are they liked?

Disliked?

Well, neither I think. Tolerated I’d say

Who’s that on the driveway ?

Someone.

Someone? you kept shrinking in your seat.

Yes, just someone.

You know that someone don’t you

yes, yes I do

How so?

Won’t say, I just do.

Well tomorrow we best be getting to the point of this ride around the neighborhood, shouldn’t we?

Yes, I guess..tomorrow will be best..

Yes, tomorrow. You can say where it will be…

Okay, well, maybe I will

And then that one there

Lives a couple in complete despair

Why

Because she doesn’t love him but another to be sure

And he, too, a girl friend yes without much to do

And there , over there. At the house with fawn shutters

Kids play in the yard and bark jeers that have nothing to say. And yet life goes on

Dad won’t be home tonight or at all, for he’s long gone.

But isn’t there anyone happy yet?

Yes, oh yes, they’ve not been found out it’s said. Rare it tis. Filled with times only friend.

Doing whatever that makes their rich song.

So what about me? Am I not to be?

Ah yes you are, but that in tomorrows song….

This House?

This house?

Nope

That?

Officer, I’ll tell you when just keep going, slowly

See that house, the one with porch light on?

Yes, Is that it?

No but keep focused on that one because I think in a few weeks you’ll respond to a…

To a…? What?

To a say, domestic dispute

Dispute? What kind….

Kind? The worst of kinds

Wors…

Yes, worst

Like?

Like a murder, murder-suicide actually

Whoa, now what a second, Wh..

Why do I say that? Because I do and I can and …I know

PULL OVER>>NOW

Nooo. , no way, you can’t interfere. You’ll change the clock of events

What? What the hell are you talking about

This!

What’s this?

This, the death of sanity, sanctity, decency and above all else for all to see

It’s your house, officer. So behold. Each and everyone one on the block has another life untold, as you do

How do…

Just know that I do. Next time I say just how it went, and how it was , and how you played the fool…

stay tuned for the next segment…

When

Was it when

One car was enough?

One bath, too

One dog and cat

One

One hope of

Love would travel from home to her

and back again

When was it 5 O’clock and didn’t matter

Rock stars were people also

When was it I lost my youth

And traded it for a 3 piece suit?

When was it

That my age exceeded my eye sight

Or children became Grand

And lost hopes drifted away in the shores morning sand!

The audacity

Who, in the world, does this guy think- he- is!????

A work in progress….Like most…. 🙂

An old work at that. With likely only a few lug-nuts left.

A mad hatter. The maddest of hatters.

Any questions? Or ideas for contemplative thought? Leave a note!

Muhahahahah…

Tks

Essay Uno

I figure life is like lug nuts on a cars wheel. You get a certain amount of them to hold the tire on. 6, 7, 8. But that’s it. Over time one will work its way loose, fly off never to return. But, you still have say 6 left and they’re holding the tire on tight, still. Until you hit a bump. And another vacates. And so it goes until you’ve completely eff’d up your life and you have 2 left.

Now, the wheel is still on. But a little wobbly. And life’s road is a little, well a lot less sure. Isn’t it? But if each remaining nut (2) is opposed to the other then you still have a chance. If not, you’re screwed, literally. Wheel comes off and away you go.

I think Dale has at least 4-5 lug nuts left. Only because you are a bona fide good guy and earned a few back. When your 100 we’ll talk about how many you have left, again. If I’m still here but that is a LOOONGSHOT. Watch out for the bumps…. 🙂

I think I may have 3 left and some may wish the count was one. Well….It ain’t easy being me.

Comet

I bought a Comet

For you to ride

I bought it for you to ride

Into your next spring

And

Oh, you diiiid

And Ohhh did you ride allot

In to new fallen

Snow

I bought you red ribbon

Why you say?

Oh so you knew which day it was

Today!!

You could wrap it up

In red red red red ribbion, I’d say

And there you stood

Barely 18, dressed in all good

So I bought you a family, house, car, love and respect

Were no too far..away

Away ohhh

I bought you a comet… please say you’ll stay for a while, longer my doll…

In the Glow…

Thanks, is all I said

When the man came

to be sure I was,

dead..

But when he kicked my body

I leapt up and headed to the door

With or without what you’d think

Life anymore……

Of life

I spent all I had when I was left for dead

So let me know

How is it being still alive

In the glow

In the glow….

What’s honest?

If you’ve seen the terrific film, the Whale, you’ll know hat I am about to say. I will explain if you have not, as yet. I heartily recommend you do, but be sure to have a box of tissues within reach.

The protagonist I think you’d say is an obese professor, wheel chair bound due to his enormity and swollen body. He teaches a writing class, online, to a bevy of aspiring student writers. They write and submit essays and he reads and edits same, until at one moment when he’s had enough. In his final online class, in a fit, he demands the students write something honest instead of going through the dubious process of writing and rewriting the essay multiple times which will have eroded the original essay submission into something not of their own. Finally some do just that and he is pleased.

I CLEARLY understand that process. I’ve written 3 novels (and a lot more as my website displays). The novel process bred multiple, some furious, arguments via multiple editors. Editing IS important. TO A POINT! Not to the point your words are unrecognizable. As such to your story. But the novels are my own! They are HONEST. That in itself is a success to me.

If any of you are writers/authors etc I’d suggest you listen to good qualified (editors) advice. Then be sure it’s your writing, your vision/voice not there’s.

In 1969 (yes, there was that year at one time) I was hired by a major Photography publication to write an article about an aspiring photographer and his ” Shoestring photography” studio in the East Village of NYC. I submitted my article with title as such. It was rejected with commentary in the margins.

I’m a New England Prep School brat. The school essentially was a great blend of the essences of Animal House and Dead Poets Society. But rest assured we did know how to write. My kind but direct mother(a wordsmith, a grammarian, with an excellent and extensive vocabulary and also made certain her children did as well) was also a very- well -respected -editor for several major publishing houses in NYC. I enlisted her help just to be sure I wasn’t missing something on the rewrite (yes, perspective is -my favorite word in the English language) . We massaged the article and I submitted it. They accepted it and sent me a very welcome and needed check for 150 bucks. So at that point I became officially a professional writer. One problem. Yup, I could hardly recognize the article.

My work is my own and my own voice. I do not write to the tried and true commercial models that are out there. I have a reason for this. As a hint and benefit to anyone who has slugged through missive I’ll tell you I do not over -punctuate and in doing so I try to engage the reader. That is make the reading of the work a collaboration between author, story and reader. When It works with the right reader it’s magic.

Thank you for listening/reading etc

Caveat Emptor my friends!

Az

Again

If I could be, 19, again

I think I’d do it all, again

The way it was, way back when

Oh, I think I’d do it allll again

Yet, if I thought it through

I’d have to review

What it was like

Way back when

And then I’d think

Do I really want to repeat?

Or just remember

what it was like,

Way back when…

And live in the time, in just my mind

Again!!!