J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

Thoughts fallen, as leaves to the autumn wind, Softened voices whisper secretly. The senses confused, Seeing words spoken, hearing words written, Touching nothing. Winter's shroud clouds reason and judgment, Casting shadows and aspersions. Only the sun's warmth invades, Fleeting yet hopeful. So slowly time marches in aimless endeavor, Searching forever's corners. Eyes close and sounds disappear, Drifting into slumber's peace. Dreams awaken remembrance briefly, Sensations renewed. Cobalt waters glisten invitingly, Waiting. © J.J. Goodman 2013. All rights reserved.   

Yeah... don't ask where this came from. I have no idea. Ok, yes I do - 3:30 a.m. is where this came from. I know. Get help, yadda yadda yadda. Just remember: If I was normal, you folks would miss this me and you know it. ___________________ "How is he today?" "The same, I'm afraid," the doctor replied. "There's been no change at all. That could be a good thing, you know. At least he's not getting worse." "Right. Thank you, doctor. I appreciate all you've done." With that, he shook the doctor's hand and the physician left them alone. He had been going there once a week, making the three hour drive every Saturday, only to spend less than  an hour with his baby brother before heading back. Jeffrey hadn't spoken a single word in over six months. "Jeff? Hey little brother. It's me, Eric." Eric tried to mix up his greetings, though no matter what he tried, Jeffrey never responded. He just stood...

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? We don’t mind, honestly.” “No,” Cassie replied. “But thanks, I appreciate it.” “Ok, have a good night then!” Cassie just smiled at her roommate until she was out of site and the door shut behind her. Her dour expression returned and she muttered under her breath “yeah like I want to be the third wheel with Princess Perfect and Captain Cupid.” Instead, Cassie went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and removed the bottle of Prosecco she had begun chilling hours before. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,” she quipped sarcastically as she held up the bottle. There was another just like it remaining in the fridge. Cassie fully intended on having an intense, if brief, relationship with both of them that evening. “Fucking Hallmark,” she said aloud as she poured.   Cassidy Hanlon shouldn’t have been alone. She was thirty-three years old, intelligent, witty, ant stunningly gorgeous. Her long, blond hair stretched just belo...

Marcus never suspected how far it would go... __________________________________________ Had it not been for the circumstances, he likely would have enjoyed his time there. The room was luxurious, and the view outside his window was nothing short of spectacular. He awoke, as he did each morning, in a king sized bed wrapped in the warmth of a down comforter. The four-post bed matched the remaining furniture in the room: two nightstands, a large chest of drawers, and a small table with two chairs. Each piece was stained dark ebony, though not so darkly stained as to prevent the exquisite grain of the underlying wood from showing through. The room itself was painted Wedgewood blue, with white chair rail and white raised panels along the bottom third of the wall. On the wall opposite the bed were two doors, one that led out of the room, and another that opened to a small but comfortable bathroom. It was the large windows, however, that made the room. The light snow that ...

Two things that set us humans apart from the “lesser” species are our ability to both speak aloud and to communicate with the written word. Well, there’s that, opposable thumbs, and mastery of the deep fryer. mmmmm, wings…..What? Oh, right. The problem with higher communication is that it comes with the higher probability of both misuse and miscommunication. Going back to our caveman analogy, imagine, if you will, that Grog has a piece of mastodon and Croog wants it for himself. The conversation proceeds thusly: Croog:              *reaches for mastodon meat* Grog:                *THUMP* (hits Croog on head with club) The translation is simple, and each party understood the other without the need for spoken words: Croog:              Give me meat. Grog:  ...

“I’m hexed,” John remarked as he stood and stared and the several fish floating at the top of the tank. “For love of God, shut up! You are not hexed!” his roommate replied. “I am too. How else would you explain this?” “Um, you’re an idiot?” John glared at Patrick with contempt. He was hexed. He knew it. Knew it in his bones. Patrick simply rolled his eyes, walked over to the wall outlet, and plugged in the fish tank filter than John had unplugged when he used the outlet to run the vacuum cleaner the night before. The tank bubbled to life. Patrick raised his eyebrows as if to say “see? You’re an idiot,” and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. John examined the dead floaters in the fish tank, let out a disdainful sigh, and scooped Rose, Dorothy and Blanche from the murky water and sent them off to fish heaven, otherwise known as the hallway toilet. Sofia was still kicking, though she was kind of swimming a little sideways. Tough old fish. “I am too hexed,” Jo...