I Want

I want to live my life based on peace, love and understanding. I want to look into the eyes of strangers and not judge them, even a little bit, based on their religion, race or beliefs.
I want to live a life based on love.
To sing songs like, “All you need is love,” or even “Masters of War” and believe wholeheartedly in the words I am singing.
I want to fight for the innocent women and children being raped, killed or perhaps even worse, kept alive, starved for food, air and freedom, in a lifeless life. In an uncaring world.

I want to tell my French friend that Jews do not dislike the French, that we do not begrudge the fact that 35% of the French people think “Jews today, in their own interest, exploit their status as victims of the Nazi genocide during WWII,” and 25% stated that “Jews have too much power in the fields of economy and finance.”
I want to be proud of the President of the United States for leading the world towards a better world. I want to say that Islam is a religion based on Love. But tell that to the millions of people who have had their lives turned upside down by cold blooded murder in the name of their prophet.
I want to believe that it is religious extremism across the board needs to be addressed and discussed. But it is not religious extremism it is Islamic Extremism only, that has brought us to live in a world where fear and vigilance have become words that surround us on a constant basis.
I want to tell Israel to take down the walls, to just get over the murders, the bombs, the rockets and the destruction of peace in their lifetimes, in their homeland. (Which, by the way, is 1/19th the size of California. It is only 260 miles at its longest, has a 112-mile coastline, 60 miles at its widest, and between 3 and 9 miles at its narrowest! Surrounded by land occupied by 22 Arab states 640 times the size of Israel.)
I never wanted Israel to destroy Gaza; but no country in the world, hell, no person living in a home that is constantly being bombarded with an aim to destroy, would show as much restraint as Benjamin Netanyahu and the Israeli Army did.
Freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of sexual orientation. Freedom to assemble and to protest, to demonstrate and to mock or satirize anyone. That’s Israel.
Netanyahu, in his Christmas message to the Christians in Israel stated, “Here in Israel religious freedom is a sacred principle. Israel’s Christian citizens enjoy the full blessing of freedom and democracy. Their equal rights are enshrined in Israeli law.”
There are so many websites, news organizations and social site impostors who post and write about destruction caused by the U.S. and other democratic countries and equate them with the Islamic Jihadists and the Arab countries that bankroll them. There is a difference.
The United States and its Allies are fighting against terror, against evil and against a ideology that is based on the destruction of all freedoms, lives and civilizations.
The destruction of peace, love and understanding.
I want to, I want to love all peoples.
But more than that – I want to live, I want to be free from the vigilance and fear. I want to be free – and I believe that freedom should be fought for and should even be the excuse for war.
I don’t want war – I really am a lover of all people. I want peace.
But if it’s a choice between killing or being killed…I am going to do whatever it takes to live.
A world without freedom, a world filled with fear and destruction is not a world that anyone should be part of.

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quand cela se arrêtera (When will it End?)

In a city full of beauty, in a country full of life and a culture full of art and love – strangers have set foot upon the land – where poetry thrives, artists dream and music is composed.
They are burning the books and bringing the flames of hell upon the people…
They are covering the beauty so no one can see it and be tempted to take it away…
Children are shaking, the windows are breaking and the thunder is being silenced once again.
When will it end?
This hatred that is spreading like a cancer?
When will it end?
These questions which have no answers?
When will it end?
For the artist, the lovers and the romancers?
quand cela se arrêtera?
quand allez adorer revenir à la maison et dépasser la haine ?

Pardon my French – I used google translate

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A Piano an Old Man and a Song 4 U And Me

I walked into the ballroom – surrounded by tuxedos and long revealing gowns. An orchestra was playing a song from Our Town. People stood together, as if protected from their fate. I looked towards the door, but I knew it was too late.
Too late to leave, too early to stay.

Play me that sad song the one we used to play.
Song called, “Evergreen” from another lifetime ago. Do you remember the way I held you as we danced so slow.

Where are you – is it too late for you to get here?
Is it too soon for you to believe?
I can see you standing against the wall – would you like to dance with me?

A piano is playing, an older man tickling the keys. playing a song for dancing, playing a song for you and me.

“Touch me in the morning…” We stood close together, through the window we can see the stormin’.
“Then just walk away…” Your arms around my neck, my arms around your waist.
“We don’t have tomorrow…” I kiss your lips, I feel your tongue…
“But we had yesterday…” The piano stops and the orchestra is silenced.

The doors open and we walk our as one – tuxedos and long revealing dresses, piano man and the storm.

I put my arm ‘neath yours – you place your head on my shoulder. The orchestra begins to play a song as we walk through the doors. The music fades as we walk in the rain – we walk towards a tree and we stand beneath it. The roots of our love keeping us warm – keeping us close.

Lightening and then Thunder – striking 100 times for you and me. While the old man sits by the piano – playing that old song for you and me.

Together through life – each other’s stories run together like the days and nights of our time…our tree has blossomed and its growing so fast – if we don’t have tomorrow our yesterday will keep our memory alive forever.

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Senses

I can hear the trains running along the tracks – right by the outskirts of town.
I can hear the sounds of the birds, the dogs and the crickets.
I can hear your voice telling me you need to leave.

I can see the stars shining up above decorating the night.
I can see the waves breaking wildly onto the dunes.
I can see your lips moving telling me you need to leave.

Where are you going and why can’t I come?
Where are you running to and will you ever come home?

I can smell the flowers blooming in the garden right beneath this rounded porch.
I can smell the lake just rained on from across the way.
I can smell his cologne on you as you say goodbye.

I can feel my heart breaking into bits and pieces.
I can feel my brain about to explode.
I can feel your hand letting go…

Where will I be going will love come back some day?
When will she show up…where will I be?
Who will she be wearing…no masks please…
What will I say to her…can I ever be free?

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Remember?

Remember?
I came back home last week, big greyhound bus and a backpack full of clothes. That bus rode in on Main Street, that old coffee shop was closed.
I walked across the park and stop by that old oak tree, the one where we carved our initials and climbed on – its still standing tall, our initials are hard to read but still able to see.

There were some kids playing tag and that tree was the safety base…if they only knew the things we did together up above or down below…I can still feel your embrace…
Its been such a long, long time since we walked hand in hand, do you remember?
Does it mean as much to you as it does to me?
Its a strange, strange story – how time just rumbles past us and we find ourselves alone despite the crowds of people.
Its a strange but comforting feeling knowing that the tree is still there. Sort of a confirmation that we did live the life I remember and its not just another story.
That we were together, long nights and my feelings are true and not some made up memory.
I find myself falling at times for the same old lines, the same old attractions, her scent, her voice, lips and touch…but then I remember that she is not you and its just a temporary glimpse into what can never be…
I came back home the other day but its not home anymore…my family is gone, moved on to another town in another city. Tom, Sue and Billy are gone as well to another town in another city.
I walked around and hoped that magically I would catch a glimpse of you again…but all I saw were the smoking ravages of a heart dragged on the road – skid marks of blood and love wasted…
Home is not home.
Home I have no home.
I am alone…sweaty air choking me and I dream of you holding me.
Home I have none.
Home is a place I call where I don’t feel so scared and alone. With apron string love and the scent of something in the oven.
Got on the 11pm bus back to New York City…as we pulled away I saw that old oak tree and I could swear I saw you waving to me…

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Watch “Freddy Zalta and Matthew Silver union square” on YouTube

Freddy Zalta and Matthew Silver union square: http://ift.tt/176H0ro

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Some silly Videos

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Why, How and When?

I am walking towards a park to feel a sense of life and to await my companion. I walk past countless familiar faces and potential kindred souls only to end up here at a red light waiting to cross.
“Why, how and when?”

The park was alive on this cool October Thursday evening, well, almost evening. I walk across the grassy field, under the trees and upon the fallen leaves which decorated this ground. It once was green and now its an unpleasant brown. I walk and I kick the leaves, feel a breeze and I pull my coat around me. Squirrels are hoarding, birds are chirping and a sole singer is singing a song about Moondances and October skies. This grassy area is surrounded by benches occupied by loners who while the day away with pen and paper.

School children, set free from the prisons they occupy 8 til 4 every day – run wildly, some singing, some screaming, some crying and some laughing. Parents are all in otherworldly mindsets filled with questions…
“Why, how and when?”

I walk towards an empty bench and sit there with my pen and paper. Whiling the time away ’til my love gets here hopefully right on time.

A lone ice cream truck playing a familiar tune hoping to hypnotize the children into begging for a cone, or a cup of Italian ices…but even the kids know its too cold and too late for that and he starts his engine and drives away.

I’ve been a loner, I have been a loser and my heart has been broken, taken out, cleaned and put back in…with nothing but a scar that runs down my torso as proof. But I stand tall and I stand proud – “I do it my way.” I smile to myself. I hear in the next bench a couple speaking and the woman begins to cry…
“Why, how and when?”

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At the end of the Day Book 2 Chapter 7

The runway rose towards him, New York…it felt like years since he’d left less than a week ago. He thought about Pam and Mike – he needed to make things right with them. He thought about his mother and his brother and sister’s families. What happened that caused him to become so meek? He thought about his hopes and dreams – writing screenplays, novels, plays…
“Those that can, do; those who lack the balls to leave their safety zone – teach. Well, sometimes. Being a teacher has been the one place where I have found fulfillment…”

The door opened and he walked off the plane and headed to buy himself that aforementioned prepaid phone.

He knew who he needed to call first.

Pamela and Michael went to visit their Grandmother who was living in their Aunt’s house. When Michael had called – his Aunt had invited them to come. At first he politely declined and then he called back and said that barring any craziness, him and Pam would be there.

Wendy stood in front of her bathroom mirror – she looked at her reflection and into her eyes and felt so old. 33 years old and her eyes seemed to be 103…
Her phone rang, unknown number, she clicked on the “do not answer” red button and went back to feeling bad about herself.

Henry left a voice message and then headed to his house where all his belongings were. He needed to shower and change his clothes. “If that prick is there with Nancy – I am not sure who I will kill first.”

As the car made its way across the Belt Parkway he felt a need to put things in their places. First he would go to see his mother, brother and sister. Then he would call both his kids for them to come tomorrow. He would try and explain his shortcomings – apologize for being less than a man. He just hoped that he would live that long. He knew he was running out of time.

The taxi pulled in front of his house and there were no cars in the driveway and the lights were all out. He paid the cabbie and walked up to the front door, realized he didnt have the keys. Rang the bell. He called Nancy.

“Hey I am trying to get into the house but I dont have a key.”
“Where have you been? The kids have been driving me crazy.”
“The kids? Where are they?” She opened the front door.

“They took my car and went to Sylvia’s house for Shabbat dinner.” She rolled her eyes.
“They went to – why?”
“Well they have been frantic about where you, if you were still alive.”
“But they said they were going to try and come – they didnt seem like they cared.”
“Oh Henry, they love you more than you think they do.”
He went inside, called a car service, took a shower and changed. Went downstairs and saw Nancy sitting in the dining room.

“What’s up with you?”
“I was just thinking about you and me. Why don’t we stay together, you know? Whatever time you have left – let’s spend it together. I love you Henry – you know that, right?” She stood up and put her face close to his and then put her arms around him. “Oh Henry…”

He just stood there and then he heard a car honk.
“Thanks.” He simply said.
“Thanks? What does that mean?”
“Thanks for reminding me just how full of shit you are. Oh you are beautiful, sexy and the mother of my children. But you are so not for me. See ya.” He turned and walked out.

She didn’t see it, no one saw it, but he sure as hell felt it. As he closed the door he felt himself freed. He looked back at the house and smiled.

Walked into the car and told the driver where to go.

In the car he fell into a deep sleep – he woke up when the driver shook him.

“Mr. we are here. Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, sorry.” He looked outside and took a deep breath. Paid the driver and walked up to the front door and knocked.

When the door opened he saw the look in his brother’s eyes – a look of relief with a sense of fear.
“Oh my God…We didn’t know if you were…” He threw his arms around him and called out to his family. “Pam, Mikey – your father is here.”

All of the family greeted him with hugs and kisses – the last one to him was his mother.
“I am sorry mom, you were right – I was weak but now, for right now at least I am strong.” They embraced and she broke down and cried.
“Shouldn’t you be at the hospital or somewhere?”
“Apparently there is nothing to be done, Mom. But I am here now – lets just focus on that for tonight, ok?”
They both embraced again and they both broke down and cried.

Pamela was the first to address her father. “Can you, me and Michael speak privately?”
“Of course, come lets, Bobby is it cool if we use the den?”
“Yeah, yeah – just close the doors.”

“Oh dad…I am so sorry.” Pamela cried into his chest. Michael put his arms around them both and joined in the tear-fest.

They all stood there for several minutes.
“I am not going to let you down anymore – I am sorry about the time we lost. I don’t seem to have much left – but I want to spend it with you guys.”

They spoke for a couple of hours – alternating between laughter, tears, memories and hope. He told them about Aruba and his visit to the hospital there. “Apparently I was out cold and they thought I was dead. But, I guess I have some unfinished business.”

“Can you get a second opinion?” Michael asked.
“Yes I am going to – I realized I was giving up without a fight and thats not going to be me anymore. From now on, for as long as I have left I will not back down from who I am or what I believe in. Which reminds me, what made you light candles and call Grandma?”
“Michael suggested I pray for you it looks like part of my prayer has come true.”

His phone rang – it was Wendy. “Its a Wendy, I want to speak with her, is that ok?”
“Yes, tell her we said ‘hi’.”
“Wendy?”
“I didn’t recognize the number that’s why I didn’t answer before. I guess you are all right?”
“So far – listen I am sorry I left you as I did. I just didn’t want you to be hurt…when I…you know.”
“I understand and I appreciate that but don’t ever walk out on me again. Your kids are very special by the way.”
“Thank you – I know that.”
Silence.
“Wendy?”
“Yeah?”
“I wish I met you a long time ago.”
“You did, only that was too long ago.”
Both chuckled.
“I want to get to know you more…but I don’t want to hurt you; apparently it can happen at any time. I am a ticking bomb.”
“Well, I already feel a kind of connection to you but its incomplete – I’d like to get to know you for as much time as we have left to spend together.”
“Are you ok for lunch tomorrow?”
“After 12n I am good, my daughter’s father is picking her up around 11 or so and she is staying by him Saturday night. So…”
“Sounds good to me – call you in the morning.”
“Hey Henry.”
“Yeah?”
“You have a lot of people who care about you – you are not alone.”
“I know that – thanks for reminding me though.”

He came out of the room and they all were sitting and eating – he sat between Michael and Pamela and made a plate.
“Shabbat Shalom.” They all laughed and answered him. “Shabbat Shalom.” His mother smiled and he thought about his father. “Help me pop…help me get healthy I want another chance.”

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Silence So Loud

Silence so Loud
Silence…
Then…a swirling tornado, a child crying…Silence.
A waterfall so loud it echoes across the land – infinite drops of water…
Falling, crashing, being born and thrust into a whirlpool – a community of water…
Silence…
Silence so loud it can drive you mad…
Fast transportation – no patience for the journey.
Trying to catch up to the speed of time only to fall short.
Into a white lighted silence…
Love, overwhelming as the water falling into the river. Embracing, caressing…
Darkness – overwhelming as the feeling of drowning…

“Do you hear me? Do you see me? Can you ever understand who I spent my life trying to be?”

Happiness is elusive and unfamiliar when the lights are out, the silence screams and there is nothing anyone can say or do to help you.
Peace can be impossible when the voices are angry and the smiles are few.
Can you understand how far one falls without being able to see the bottom?
Can you ever truly comprehend the madness in the silence, in the darkness, in the room with no walls only windows?
Silence…
Silence so violent one can never be safe in the safety of her arms.
She cannot understand – she did no harm but she can do no good for you.
In the dark…
Silence…
A swirling wind, a tornado – the evening never ends and the cold wind never warms.

“Do you hear me? Can you remember who I was? Can you ever understand that sometimes an ending is the only remedy for an endless drop, a free-fall, in the dark…”

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At The end of the Day Book 2 Chapter 3

Wendy sat in Henry’s car for what seemed like several minutes. She was too tired to think about what she would do with the car in the morning which was not so far off at this point. She turned the ignition to off, pulled the keys from the console and walked inside her home.

Pamela woke up with a hangover. She lay in her bed, checking her Facebook, Instagram and Tumblr accounts. She texted her friends to let them know she was home and she texted her father to let him know that she wanted to see him. She stood up, walked to the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, took two advils and went back to her room.

Michael was on his 2nd Mile and was about to run back when he noticed his father’s car parked outside of a house on Blue Street. He wanted to knock on the door but when he saw the door opening he stopped. What seemed like a mother and daughter walked out and went in to his dad’s car and drove away. He watched as they drove away and wondered if his father was staying there. He walked to knock on the door but there was no response. Tentatively he rang the bell and then he heard footsteps walking towards the door. The door opened.

Henry threw his phone in the water, checked his wallet to make sure he had his credit cards and drivers license. He walked towards the train station and got there just as a train was pulling in. He went to the machine to buy a ticket and bought one for New York City. He thought he caught a glance of Pamela but it couldn’t be her and when he went to look again there was no one there. He sat by a window on an empty car and closed his eyes. Three hour ride to Penn Station in New York City. Just an idea about taking a hotel room for a night and sleeping. Then he would pull out cash from his bank account and buy a ticket somewhere hot. He gave his ticket to the conductor and then closed his eyes again. When he opened them again the train was pulling into Penn Station. It felt as if he had just closed his eyes but 3 hours had passed. He thought to himself, “Still alive. Tired but I am still alive.” He walked up the stairs to 7th Avenue and waited on line for a cab. While he was on line he decided to go to the Plaza Hotel. The cab got him there in 15 minutes and at 830 in the morning on a weekday that was quite an accomplishment. His nausea confirmed that the driver had driven quickly and recklessly. But he didn’t care – what was the worst that could happen? He walked up the stairs and into the Plaza, veered right towards the reception area and got himself a room. “One key please.” He replied. The desk clerk smiled, “If there is anything I can do for you to make your stay comfortable, my name is Juan and you can reach me by calling the front desk.” “Thank you, Juan.” He took the elevator to his room, opened the door and was upset that the room was so small for the amount of money he was paying. “Its just for one night anyway.” He went to lay down and couldn’t sleep. Went downstairs, got a cup of coffee and went to do some clothes shopping. “We are now accepting all passengers on Jet Blue flight 757 going to Aruba…” He stood up with his carry on and walked onto the plane. Found his seat, 11A, sat down and waited to take off.

Wendy was going to Starbucks to meet her friend, Kathy while her daughter, Janice, was at school. She was still in a daze about Henry and had tried calling him several times but it just went to voice mail.

Michael and Pamela were sitting drinking coffee at Starbucks and trying to figure out what their next move was.

“I want to be with him Mike, I don’t want him to think he is alone.”

“Well, we should have thought about that when we spoke to him.”

“Yeah well its been a while since the real Dad has be present.”

“That’s not his fault and we should have realized that instead of acting like -”

“What? ‘children?’ we were children.” The door opened up and in walked Wendy – Michael recognized her from that morning when she walked out of the house where his father’s car was parked.

“That’s the lady I saw this morning coming out of the house where dad’s car was parked.”

“Let’s go talk to her.”

Later on that day Henry’s flight landed in Aruba and he took a cab to the Ritz Carlton where he had booked a room the night before. The room was not ready yet so he walked to the bar and ordered a rum and coke.

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At The End of the Day Book 2 chapter 2

Michael walked up the stairs towards the entrance to the Train station. It was around ten oclock and he still had enough time to buy a ticket, get something to eat and to meet Pamela.

Michael was almost six feet tall, with a boyish face and an uneven beard. His hair was covered by a baseball cap and his eyes were brown. His coat was a black pee coat and his dark jeans ended with leather boots he had bought at a flea market near his campus.

He had a satchel across his chest which carried his laptop and in his hand was a Duffel bag with his clothing. He had the kind of face and build most men wanted to have for themselves and most women wanted for their men. He was an average student who was an artsy type. Some called him a loner others called him a snob. He was guilty of both since he preferred himself over others and found most of his contemporaries boring and predictable. He had a group of friends who were good companions and added levity and intellectual conversations to the mix.

He walked up the stairs, walked through the doorway and into the booming station.

“The 1033 train to Washington DC with stops in…”

He stopped, put down his duffel and went to text his sister.
“Hey pretty boy.” He jumped. It was Pam. They embraced and she spoke in a soft voice.

“How you doing?” He smiled.

“Well, someone I once knew and loved who I thought had died a while ago – has suddenly been diagnosed with an actual life ending sickness.”
She looked at the ground and spoke.
“I feel so guilty now. I feel like the time when he needed us we deserted him. But we were so young…”
“Don’t blame us – lets face it mom kind of destroyed his spirit, emasculated him in front of us.”
“I know but I was so uncaring when he called me…”
“So was I. That is why I realized we needed to go home and be there for him.”

The train rolled into the station at close to five o’clock – the sun had yet to rise so the darkness of the station was broken up by a line of street lights. There were several taxi’s lined up waiting for fares and a couple of pedestrian drivers waiting for their friends or family. One of those cars was driven by their mother.

She ran up to them and gave them both over dramatic hugs and tears. They both let her perform and just went into the car.

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At the End of the Day – Book Two

Pamela

---

She pushed the cigarette into the cereal bowl, push the bowl to the side, put her head down on the table and closed her eyes. She had barely slept the previous night having spent the first four hours at the Tavern and the rest of the night at a Frat party. She drank way too much, smoked too much and ended up waking up with “whats his name” laying next to her on the floor of her friend’s dormroom.

She wasn’t sure anything had happened with “whats his name” and didnt even want to think about it. She had a mid-term running towards her in an hour and needed to somehow uninebriate herself.

Her phone vibrated; it was Michael, her brother.

“Hey Mikey.” She answered.
“I am going back home to see dad.”
“Ugh, when?”
“Tonight after my last class. There is a train leaving at eleven and I pull into the station at five. Do you want to meet me and ride in together?”
“I don’t know – I will call you back after this mid-term.” She didn’t bother saying goodbye just hit the red “end” button.

She knew what the right thing to do was, she knew her bitch mother was probably not shedding a tear and was probably with Frank or Bob or whoever. Her father had been become almost a non-presence in the house since he caught her sleeping with his boss six years ago this Christmas. He seemed to be blaming the kids for his wife’s infidelity as if we had a hand in it.

That Christmas he walked out of the house and walked around town for several hours while Mikey and Pam cried and their mother stayed locked in her room. They were 12 years old then – twins – and that is the year that Christmas went from the most exciting day of the year to the worst day of their lives.

She walked around the college perimeter, smoked several cigarettes, drank vodka from a flask and cried. She never went to take the test, didnt see the point. All she kept replaying in her mind was her father sounding disappointed when she told him she could not come home.

She remembered the way he used to be, how her family used to be before that Christmas. It was as if he was a balloon and her mother punctured a hole – he began to fall and fall until he was just a shadow of who he once was.

Its been over 6 years now and she is still waiting for that man to surprise her – to love her as he once did before.

Mikey feels it, she knows that for a fact.

They never understood why their father would stay in that house of cards while their mother would be rocking and shaking its foundation.

She went to grab another cigarette but her pack was empty.

She went to drink some vodka but the flask was empty.

She went to call Mikey and tell him that she would meet him at the station – but her phones battery was dead.

She thought to herself that she still had time – then remembered her father ‘s time was running out and there was nothing she could do about it.

So she ran back to her dorm, jumped into the shower, packed a bag, called her brother and headed out to the train station.

With nothing but time on her mind.

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Bill, Jack and Abe

The tall man placed his hat on the table by the backdoor. Rubbed his hands together to warm them from the

cold, turned the kettle into a cup that was left on the counter – sipped it and felt the warm coffee flow down his throat.
In walked Bill with his notepad in hand and pen behind his ear. He smiled at Abe and sat by the table.

“Love this hat Abraham.” He chuckled.

“Well thank you kindly.” Abe replied as he swept it away suspiciously. “Don’t think I have disposed of the memory of the last time you complimented my stovepipe.”

In came Jack laughing, “How can anyone forget that!”

“Oh great here he is ‘three initial man.’ Hey Jack, how are the crops shaping up?”

“Oh you should come out with me for dinner Abe, I am having dinner with three shapely crops tonight at Maxwell’s Plum.”

“I am fine, take this bard with you so that he can stop writing and live a bit.”

“Come on Abe you act as if you are scared of the women or maybe you are just scared of the possibility of feeling a sense of that strange and alien emotion you seem to be allergic to – happiness.”

“I am not a coward, gentlemen.”

“A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.”

“Here he goes again quoting himself.”

“The whole world, for over 500 years have been misquoting me or quoting me at the most inappropriate moments. Scenes of stupidity being played on stages at every second of the day. I, dear sir, have an unlimited license to quote myself at any moment.”

“Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed, is more important than any other one thing.” Lincoln responded.

“I know that…you said that in some letter to another. So now you are quoting yourself?”

“As Bill over here stated – I have been quoted, misquoted and my words contorted in order to rationalize acts of evil, acts of stupidity or acts of callousness. I may as well quote myself even if it is permissible by you three initial man.”

“Jack, I don’t feel like going tonight and I feel it is my choice to make.”

“A man does what he must – in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures – and that is the basis of all human morality.”

Silence.

“What, I can’t quote myself?”

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At the End of the Day Chapter 5

He jumped up.
He was engulfed within a white bright light; he covered his eyes and then felt a warm breeze blow. The breeze was incessant and slowly the brightness began to dissipate.

The was a distant sound of a song once played on a radio – from a different time – he knew he had heard it before but could not place it. It had a familiar beat and the piano seemed to be professing some sort of hurried, buried sadness from deep within the player. Henry felt it and suddenly he was on the floor and he was crying. Crying for his father, for his lost relationships, for the chances he never took and for the choices he had made. He was crying because his daughter did not care enough to drop everything to be with him before he would be gone forever. He was crying for the broken dreams, the broken hearts and because his wife pointed her fingers at him as an excuse for her fucking around.

The piano kept on being played and the pain inside Henry was overwhelming and causing him to stay curled up on the floor in a fetal position…crying out in pain.

The wasted years kept on tearing up his insides…
The wasted love kept on ripping his heart into shreds in shapes of music notes that can only be heard within the mind of the broken.
The piano was being pounded now as the player kicked back his chair and it fell to the ground.
The beating of the drums outpacing the rhythm of the music, the bass was deep and overwhelming but it was the piano that permeated the atmosphere and caused the rain to fall,

Henry lay on the ground crying…
For the lies that were told to him by the people he trusted – he cried.
For the choices and the voices that led him to this dead end in his life – he cried.
For the vision of his wife promising fidelity only to find her asleep with her lover – he cried.
He cried for his failure as a father, a teacher and a friend.
He cried because he was dying but had yet to live at all.

Soft whispers, like a soft breeze, the words unintelligible with a voice soft and soothing.
“Who is speaking? What are you saying? Are you talking to me?”
Voices louder now – still wordless but full of accusations and condemnations.
“Stop!”

Suddenly silence. He opened his eyes and he was in a park, alone, sitting beneath a tree by a lake. Empty row boats in circles, ducks and geese separated by a break in time as if both within two different time periods at the same time.
Suddenly people appeared dressed in clothing from the past – what he somehow knew was from the past and the faces were familiar. They all one thing in common…they were people he had known who were now deceased.

Dogs appeared along with birds and squirrels. Flowers blossomed and the hill across the lake began to be covered by tulips of millions of assorted colors. Different hues of red, brown and yellow. Suddenly dark clouds appeared and the earth began to shake beneath him.

“Henry, your brother is the valedictorian of his class! What will you be?”
“Henry, I love you but I have been seeing another man…but its your fault.”
“Henry, Henry, Henry – no, no, no – you are not good enough, not strong enough. Its not possible, no way you can do it if your brother cannot. Your too, scared and weak.”
“Daddy why can’t you just try and understand? You are so absent.”
“Henry, your situation is dire – inoperable, you are dying, you will be dead soon. There is nothing you can do – nothing we can do – you are dead already.”
“Daddy I am too busy to come to your funeral – can they change it to next week? But not on Tuesday…”

Clouds formed, the sun all but disappeared and the breeze became cooler. Dark clouds above him – but no rain. A bridge loomed ahead, from clouds to sun. Beneath the bridge there was fire and across the bridge there was ice. In the distance he spied a couple walking – between them there was a wall of fire separating them. They continued to walk across the bridge until the ground beneath him began to shake and they were gone.

He saw his father walking towards him with arms open wide and a smile.

“Hank,” His father was the only one who called him that. “I want you to live, son. I understand the pain you have inside of you – but you need to reconcile.”
“But I am dying, Pop, or maybe I am dead already if you are here.”
“You have been given time on earth to live – but you have not lived at all.”
“I am scared…”
“Why?”
“I am scared to fail, pop.”
“Oh son, if you fail what happens? You brush the shit from your clothes and get back up to it again and again until you get it right. But only you can know when its right. As long as you are doing what you love how bad can it be?”
“When we reveal ourselves completely we are are diarmed and unshielded. We are at our most vulnerable and open for attack from the enemies of happiness. Arrows are cast towards us by the jealous and bullets shot by the ones who are living in fear. I am scared – I have been hurt enough.”
“Living in fear is an oxymoron. How can you be living if you are full of fear?”
“Dad where were you when you were supposed to be with us?”
“In fear.”
Suddenly his father faded away and there was a complete and deafening silence.

“Henry wake up, are you ok?” It was Wendy.
He opened his eyes. He was alive and back outside with Wendy, his mind was clear and his heart was lighter.
“How long was I out?”
“Less than a minute – the ambulance should be coming soon, stay down. Maybe you had a stroke or something.”
“No I am fine – its a long story. Wendy, yesterday I went to the Doctor…”

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At the End of the Day Chapter 4

“Wendy?”
“Oh I miss those days – my father put me on a pedestal and my sisters could never understand why I would want to be there day after day. It was because, I was a poet at heart.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“When I think back on those days and those nights…” Her eyes began to well up. “There was so much…there was a sense of family among the strangers. I remember the lawyers, the writers from The Eagle, the students – you and your friends and the nurses from Mount Sinai. They were regulars…you were a regular. My father really loved talking with you. He used to talk about you to my mom all the time.”
“Well, it was mutual – I used to come in just to speak with him, ask his advice, talk about sports. He was a gent.”

They spoke for what seemed like ten minutes but was actually four hours.
“Wendy – we need to go home.” The manager told her.
Henry paid the bill and left a tip. They walked outside and there was a chill in the air. He pulled his jacket off and draped it around her. She smiled.
“I always remember how you were always so nice to me. You were also one of the few who never got sick in the bar.”
“I am not a drinker. I was nice to you because I found it so adorable how you would be working like an adult and seemed to be loving every minute of it.”
She stopped walking and faced him.
“So, now that you left your cheating wife – how are you getting along?”
“Well – I am feeling kind of lighter…and being with you tonight just reminds me that there is still a spark of life and love in this world. And you got my heart aflutter…” He felt a sense of excitement – a sense of trespassing into another person’s world – a person he always wanted to be but never took the steps out of fear. No more fear – his new mantra.

She smiled – he kissed her and she opened her mouth for him. He felt alive for the first time in years. They kissed standing up in the middle of a quiet sidewalk. They kissed in that same position and they each felt their world changing. He felt her tongue and he felt her breasts against his chest. She felt his excitement and felt her breasts against his chest. She wanted him inside her – he wanted to go inside her.

He fell to the ground and all was dark. She knelt beside him and let out a silent scream. He opened his eyes and felt a rush of adrenalin.

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The Diner The Story of Brenda and Eddie

The Diner The Story of Brenda and Eddie.

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At The End of the Day (work in progress)

At The End of the Day is a short story about Henry – a Professor who has just found that the sickness that he thought was a cold is actually a sickness that can bring on his demise at any moment. Always a careful, feeble man – Henry decides to take control of his life by giving up the pretense of control – why be scared of dying when its a foregone conclusion that death can occur at any moment?

• Chapter 1

• Chapter 2

• Chapter 3

• Chapter 4 (in progress)

Waiting on that Q and Them Stuff of Dreams. by Freddy S. Zalta

 I was standing on the elevated train platform on Kings Highway and East 16th Street, waiting on the Q train to come and take me to where I needed to be. It was a late February Brooklyn morning and as I leaned over to see if anything was heading our way - I saw nothing but an empty track. The track rolls along an open path in plain sight, there are no obstacles - so if the train is 3 or 4 stops away - you will be able to see something moving in the distance and let out a breath and say, "About time."

Its not only a metaphor, by the way. The Q can mean "Queen" and the tracks can be a future that one is waiting on. In my case though - I was waiting for the train.

But there is a "Wait" that we all go through - we grow up dreaming of some sort of future and end up living a whole different life. No one is ever truly sure if the life that came through turned out better than the dream - but in each person's life there are countless dreams that constantly are born and alive. Still we continue waiting.

Some dreams can seem like a never ending nightmare where we are hoping for the alarm clock to wake us up.
Other dreams are like a perfect summer's day in June - that we spend the rest of the summer trying to duplicate only to end up falling short but having a good day none-the less.
Some dreams are like a Snow Day is to a child - no school and all play, mommy in the kitchen making some hot chocolate, TV humming in the living room as your sister or brother watch. You standing by the window watching the snowflakes congregating on the cars, trees and the streets.
Some dreams begin and end with no proof of ever taking place. I knew an older man who once told me that everything he had was taken away from him in Germany during the late 1930's and 40's. He was 12 years old, living with his parents and 6 brothers and sisters and getting ready to be Bar-Mitzva'd within a year. One night, they were taken out of their home by force - whatever possessions they had were left in their apartment. Within a month he was alone - his parents and siblings sent to different camps. He survived the war, barely, and found himself an orphan at 15 years old - with no siblings, pictures or souvenirs of a life and a future that had been stolen from him in plane sight. He moved to New York where he had an Uncle, got married and had his own children and grandchildren.

"But somewhere there are millions of souls still trying to get back what was taken from them. My soul was lost - from when I left Europe until I had my first child is all a blur to me. But when I saw my baby for the first time, snuggled in his blanket and safe from this world, I began to live again. I cried for hours, days hell even years. I began to feel and it kept me up at night - we all had dreams...but I had been given the life that so many had stolen from them."



"My eldest brother wanted to move to Jerusalem, my sisters wanted to get married and be mothers and wives - while my younger brothers wanted to just play. Just play - can you imagine something as simple as 'Just Play'? They all disappeared with no trace of ever having existed besides letters typed onto paper. Those letters cannot express the dreams, the joys, the fears they each possessed. The look my mother would give me when she was upset - it would send chills up my spine. The feel of my fathers beard against my face when he would kiss me as I lay sleeping..."

"My friends, who were all excited about getting bar-mitzvahed that year...they had dreams and aspirations back then as well. My friend Avram wanted to be a Doctor - can you imagine? A doctor? What if he would've been the Doctor who cured cancer? Instead the cures, the dreams, the aspiration lay in ashes on the ground. No proof of ever having had the parents or the day to day lives we enjoyed once upon a time. What we did have was our faith - that no one could ever take away"



I would always walk away from my old friend feeling that we have been given the opportunity so many have had taken from them. I would walk away feeling that I was a thief of time - having wasted was allotted to me. I would walk away in awe of people who were able to continue to have faith in a God who possibly fell asleep at the wheel.
This was a long time ago - maybe ten or fifteen years ago - I learned from him that we that nothing lasts forever. Not love, people, time, pain, sadness, joy, laughter - nothing is immortal - everything is transient - from one emotion to the next, from one second to the next - nothing stops moving, evolving, revolving or spinning in its place. The rivers keep flowing and the arms on the clock keep on moving - the sun rises, the sun sets, the moon rises and then goes away again. There is no certainties in this world - nothing, not even the sun. But faith - a true belief is something no one can ever take away.

So dream big, live bigger; love a lot and express it even more.

But if you take the time to soak it all in - to ingest and to invest in the stuff that is vital to existence - the stuff that "Dreams are made of."  You will find that there are things in life that not even time can take away.

Paint your masterpiece and paint it over and over again...that train will find its way towards you in time - all in its time.