Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone! I just wanted to take a minute and readdress an important message to remember, especially on "memorable occasions," which should be ALL of them, if you have family to spend time with.

A memorable occasion is what we always want but the memorable part is usually something you didn't. ST. Patrick's Day is suppose to be a time to remember. Try to remember that while you try forgetting what happened LAST St. Patrick's Day. Hopefully everyone saved some Easter Grass from last year!

My childhood memories are double what you would expect. First of all, we have always had to have two family gatherings- one for Everyone, and one for everyone who can get along with Roxanne, my step aunt. Now I guess I am the person who no one can get along with. Or am I the person who should be having my own get-togethers?

When my step grandmother passed away I was feared pretty well. They were not going to let me speak at her funeral but I stood up and took my chance when the preacher was about to let the podium go to someone who was pre-approved, let's say. And I will bet anything that they never forget- especially since she was never MY step grandma....come to find out.

All of my life I was talked over, ignored, and smacked when I wasn't silent. Now that I have my own life, I have found my voice. And boy do they hate when I use it. I think they are the ones who motivated me to want to write. 

The best part of it is that what I write gets read before they have a chance to tell me to shut up. That's probably the part that they hate the most, being heard despite being held down with a heavy hand. 

Having your words read and comprehended is a pretty powerful thing to have. I hope all people can find a way to have their voices heard. Of course, that means that you are at least accepted enough to be heard.

This brings me to a very old story, "The Sword in the stone". This story is about having your voice and finding a way to give individuals their own.  It was the sword "in" the stone. 

Whom ever could extract it from the stone and give it to the people would be a powerful person. 

The sword represents your voice. Being able to wrought metal from rock is a skill handed down for thousands and thousands of years. The first person to get the product was highly respected and revered.

Each one of our voices counts for something- what ever it is you use it for. Now, let's use that voice to re-educate people with the understanding that RESPECT is NOT FEAR. You do not gain respect through others fearing you. You gain a battle that WILL come in the FUTURE. And when it comes for you, you will be defeated. Bet on that.

Intro to Prospect Studios Easter Promo https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5gw3PxJKb8&t=179s

That is what I want to give you This ST. Patrick's Day.   
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVI4UsKHoPc



And If you were part of the MusicLunge/Selig Worldwide Scam, know this- He had psychological control over my girlfriend, hijacked my promotion and business efforts, and robbed us of our time, money and resources, as well as threatened the health of his own significant other after taking "seed money" from her- stressing her out to the point where she had a heart attack.  Jenny, apparently figured I would never learn the truth if she made me quit doing my business efforts with @ProspectStudios. She has since taken control of the sites where I would learn these things. And since she figured I was so stupid, it would work. 

Well, as you can see, I don't know what I am doing anymore since being separated from my work BUT I AM BACK. That's Why They Call Me "ZACKATTACK"
Happy St. Patrick's Day from Zachery Polk @Prospect Studio @BandanabroOne  and #madzackradio on FaceBook!

"Don't You Know How Much I Love You?"  https://youtu.be/3so46rnOQu4

"A Love Unbridled" edited erotic /pt41notes

It’s 4:30 am and I am just yawning now. The thoughts of you existing have lit a fire in my heart that is raging and warping the steel that contains it. My pants become wet with the drips that seep from my lust for us, and to taste you and I on our flesh.

I wander back and forth in the cold and the snow to smoke one more cigarette that will only be another hurdle to get to you. My heart beats and keeps me going, and I only hope that I can win and keep your affection somehow- and I wonder.... what can I do to win your favor? What can I say to convince you to spend time together... to want to meet...?

When I feel the need, giving in to uncontrollable lusts for us, I want to continue to train my body and understandings, to be able to give you, your pleasure... and satiation. Loving you is the triumph, the look in your eyes that you love me too.

I want to be able to take you into the woods, where we can create our beautiful art together- in the winds, and scents of the earth, and the pines... the beeches... and to hear the beautiful sounds of the birds singing as we make love, and to have them watch and approve...

What I want most is to pledge myself to you and have you fall into my arms and weep and say that you only hoped to find someone who would commit themself to you too- to love you, and to have you, no matter what unfolds.

But my hopes are just dreams, and my dreams are just in my imagination.

I realize that I may never have what I am after... so I am left with only one consellation and that is my dreams... the only release I may ever have, but that’s okay. I am not happy with that but I look back at my grandfather who’s leadership said, “you don’t need a woman who will not treat you right” ... but it hurts. I want to have a significant other who treats me well and recognizes that I have something to share. I want her to believe in the gamble that is my work just as I would believe in the gamble that is her work... but I am a fool. A fool with my love...left to myself, and my heart to beat alone. And to realize I may never have what I am searching for... it hurts me, and sometimes the pain.. it's poisonous.
 If I only had us... 

"Believe" prtof41 bbok 2

It was a very nice day in July when I was at the farm in Ludington. I had been inside writing while taking a break from the monotony of resurrecting the old farm- maybe 150 years old or more. Something prompted me around noon to go outside, set up my tripod, and gather my guitar to play a bit. I don't know what it was but it was a feeling that I had, my spirits telling me to fdo it. I had been thinking of my biological grandmother for several days. Little did I know what was happening. She and I were always denied our relationship since my mothers embarrassment over getting knocked up by a step brother that came into the family through the marriage of his mother to my grandfather after his original wife was caught cheating on him when the boat of the man she was with was sinking on Saginaw bay. It made the front page of the newspaper and my grandfather dropped her like a bad habit.... Well, much faster than that even 
Anyway, voices in my head were telling me to record the song. I never sang it before and I never played it before but I must admit that it was ringing ever so softly in my mind for days. I sat down and did it. Two minutes into it I sang. I NEVER did that before. I always sang WITH a guitar being played, not WHILE playing guitar.
So After I played through the words that I feel were somewhat given to me by my grandmother, I could hear the voices telling me to do different things- clean up this, rake up that, stack that junk up so it looks like the material you are going to use it for instead of junk in then yard... rake up that garbage on the ground everywhere...  wait a minute, the voices said. Do you see those walnut shells all over? rake those up/  Stop. There is one, pick it up. So I reach down to the walnuts, covered in dirt, and something in my head says to squeeze it. And what do you think that I found when I did that? Well, the dirt crumbled away. And in my hand was a thing of unbelievable wonder... a silver sleigh bell.
I swear to God. I have it in my possession. It goes where I go. It goes on  the Christmas tree every year since. And it gives me Hope that my loved ones are still caring for me and protecting me from the other side. I know I will be reunited with them in death.
It wouldn't be until three days later that I would find out that my grandmother passed away. Yet, I knew it before it happened. If I could just tap into the true gift that I have. But life is learning. We don't just get to know things. We have to earn them. I think I am right there at the door of wisdom. I only need a love interest to complete the connection and verify the messages......and I am looking for you. I will not stop until I find you.
Happy Easter! "Life Is Passing By"

Peace, Love, Care-
Zachery Scott Polk
Prospect Studio- The Bluesilingus People!
and, SomeOneUnlimited

Men today

Anything poetic that lacks the simplicity of red roses and I love you. People so often use main stream music and poetry to express their feelings that they have too little intellect to express. Ball games and batting averages, football teams and cheerleaders.... anything but relating with the people who depend on them and love them.... Have an affair with the girl next door cuz they are too afraid to give their wife what she desires.... to be caressed and to have her partner taste himself on her flesh.... and when I hold open the door, I am the asshole because they wouldn't do it, and "they" fear my manhood....
when they should be fearing their own.

Hello- Please answer me. edited 1-28-2019

Hello World.

How are you THIS evening?

Everything good with you and yours?

 or are you bent out of shape

cuz you're stuck with the chores?

Are you on hands and knees

a'scrubbin the floors?

Chopping wood all day long

and to chat, you're too sore?

Looking through the neighbors windows

 at something exciting or more?

 Are you so hungry, you're eating

saved up apple cores?

Or did you start drinking early-

passed out on the couch?

Or watching Cd's of sesame street

- oscar the grouch?

Okay, I'm bordering crazy

so this message will stop.

Just got home with some groceries-

got my own top to pop.

Maybe you'll go round later?

Or come to a halt?

From 1000 miles an hour

to an absolute stop?

I'll be around..

if you'd love to talk.

I certainly would.

I Love You.

A Visit: My Guardian Angel

(this is going to be in the sequel ... and I am unmarried)
It was 12:36 in the afternoon of the 3rd of September- the day before Jen and I would be celebrating our 6th year anniversary, when I received a visit from Danny. I had just been contemplating, out loud, about an idea that I had involving the teachers and students across the country. 

      There is a picture of my grandpa Lindner in his hunting clothes cleaning a deer he had shot. I placed it there in view recently but it’s always been a special picture in my daily view. He is smiling a wild smile and I wonder if it was me, the oldest grandchild, taking the picture for him. I turned to Dan’s picture and asked if he planted the idea in my head about the kids writing parodies about their teachers- making a remark that if he was here we would help put this plan into action. It felt like an idea he would be in on or help come up with. Looking at his picture, I stated how he looked really good in it and how he probably hoped that this would be the one photo that we chose to remembered him by. I returned to my desk and began to work. A gooseflesh type feeling washed over me slightly as his spirit manifested. A cold spot in the room- not a cold breeze of the wind but a cold sensation washed the left side of my face. I asked if Danny was there and the hair-raising feeling washed over me again. I asked more directly, “Danny, is that you?” As I asked this I stood up and asked again- and there it was again, a soft fuzzy electrical static type of sensation, and all I could see was golden light in my consciousness. When I stated that I could feel him there he wrapped his arms around my arms and ribcage and hugged me tighter and the golden color got brighter, as if to say, “YES, ZACK, IT”S REALLY ME! It was the brightest thing I ever felt.

      I shouted, “I can feel you! I can feel you Danny! People don’t believe me that I can sense this! I can feel you Danny!” and the constriction, again, became tighter and it was a throbbing pulsing sensation. He hugged me again even tighter and I began to cry in happiness. The pain in my heart felt so good- it was something that touched that orgiastic nerve we all share- like a full body orgasm more powerful than anything we have ever felt- or strive for as humans- sort of like when my children were born. 

     I could feel him talking to me-applauding me for the work Jen and I did in his names sake. I could feel him in my mind, his conversation- not the annunciation but actual sense of his statements. I could also feel another presence in the room but I was not able to identify who- a guiding angel maybe? I asked if it was James, Jenny’s father. I asked a few times, but got no answer.
     He said he loved the office- the royal blue desk covering- the images that we kept of him on the walls- and the blown up images of his paintings we have celebrated. I sat down a bit choked up trying to regain myself but like we were going to talk in my office but he said, “Let’s go out into the light.” I said to him, “Yeah. Let’s go out and I’ll show you around,”- walking out the door towards the barn. I could feel him pulling me to the right, which led to the wood shed and stove and I began to give him the tour. We checked out my plants and then we went into the barn- or I went in. I could sense him saying that it was darkness in there. “Yeah, I’ll open up the door and turn on all of the lights. He was proud of my shop and he was impressed with the life I had thriving in there- the machinery I was responsible for as a husband and a parent, and the motorcycle I purchased for myself to memorialize my accomplishments involving having brought myself back to life from the streets. He asked me if I had any wine. I sensed it was part of a ceremony marking a spiritual act or ritual of some sort. I also burnt a fragrant herb. 

    His conversation had a pulsing vibration as well, his voice fading out and then becoming clearer- like there was interference. I am pretty sure it was something to do with the steel building we were in. Or maybe it was because I am just recently trying to grasp onto my own ability.

While pointing out the different motorcycles and stuff he happened to notice the stereo- HIS. I had it all set up in a stereo cabinet that I had salvaged. He asked if any of our stuff was in it. I turned it on and started the cd player- playing him a cd that was ours. He stood near it for a few moments as we talked. I could tell where he was but I could not physically see him. I could feel him looking at me, our eyes making contact. I told him about the cd that Jen had produced, and then told him that we had met her on EHarmony. He laughed about that. I told him about how she was spending her own money entering our songs into contests before we even met in person, and how she actually loved both of us in a way. At that point I told him that through Jen falling in love with me with the added depth of the music to the relationship, he had gotten everything he had always wanted. We laughed back and forth about how she actually was in love with him and not me. We laughed good and hard about that and how they could film it in Chicago. He said that he’d try to steal her from me in the next life.

    We went back out through the open garage bay and stood in the sunlight. I could feel him hug me again, several more times.I asked him what it’s like there on the other side. He said that there is lots of light- no darkness. And then I asked about the music. He said, “The music sucks, the Hindi do all of the singing.” We laughed and laughed about that. I am sure he meant it as a joke.

    After some laughs and feeling the suns warmth together, he told me it was time for him to go.

He asked me to walk him out to the end of the driveway departure. After a few last words I felt the winds of change increase and blast their weight and lift against me- I could feel him let me go. And then there were two ravens coming from the east, soaring in the sky- the one leading a way and the other following on the breeze. One turned for south, over the treetops out of sight the other followed behind. Then one of them came back north from the tree tops, soaring on a breeze you could see the Raven bring it's wings in for sleekness and tuck it's head and neck for the speed- he was saying "Watch this, watch me dive on the currents", and then a turn back to catch back up towards the south... and with the tip of a wing he said, “Goodbye”. And at that very moment I could feel myself letting him go, just as he was trying to tell me that I needed to do. 

     As I returned up the driveway to my office in the lower level of the house, I pondered the feeling of all that had just happened trying to digest it’s magic, and the sight I had just seen when an angel spoke in my ear that you have to leave the door open to receive visits from the spirit world- all doors. They cannot come in to you if you are not open in every way. Alcohol, especially, destroys that energy.

With that thought I sit here reveling in the moment I just experienced, I feel revitalized- empowered and at peace. Something I had not felt before or at least for a long, long time. It felt like I just saw family from long ago that stayed with me for some time in my life to share space and catch up. I am pretty sure my grandpa Lindner was here too. It's just like him to be there observing and not say much. Our bonds were broken long ago- and because of that he needed to get Danny to help him. I am now refreshed and happy and I look forward to seeing Danny and my grandparents again- again on the other side. 

  

I am still trying to fully digest what exactly happened but today my horoscope said this: 

 You've got a guardian angel watching over you, 
so make sure that you're sufficiently grateful! 
You may not even realize what's happening until it's over, 
so keep an open mind.

I cannot deny what happened to me- and I cannot talk about it enough. My gal thinks I am manic and that it's a delusion. That's not the case. Anyone ever have this same experience happen to them?Or one similar? Write me and tell me about it so that I can better understand what happened to me.

Peace, Love, Care-

Zachery Scott Polk

"Love and loss"

 It was the first week of, April, when I got released from the Charlevoix County Jail, as a result of a failure to appear warrant.

The Sheriffs Department came to my office door about midnight or one o'clock, where they stood looking in the window, while I sat at my desk frantically trying to figure out, where our life went wrong, and how to fix it.

Apparently they saw me smoke some grass. They pounded on the door and shined their flashlights in the room. I immediately opened the door but that was before I had thought to go toss my weed in the toilet- weed that I should have been able to have legally but for the input from my paid care-giver, that I should, "stay off of the radar".

That only saved her from the expense of taking me to get the card and the time out of the day, which was a total inconvenience to her lifestyle of doing what she felt when she felt- mostly spending our time and money on all of the wrong things.

This was the greatest source of worry you have when you are partnered up with someone in life.

Anyway, the cops weren't there because I just wouldn't show up.

They were there because Jenny wouldn't put the truck in the barn, which in the winter is a big deal.

It was too far to walk. It was this. It was that. Every excuse in the book was used.

What happened was that she went out to go to work but was too lazy to scrape the ice and snow from the vehicle where it mattered the most.

The windshield wiper in the rear was froze to the glass. She turned on the wiper only to blow the motor in the rear window, which caused for the battery to short out constantly.

For about two weeks the truck battery was always dead but we... or shall I say, I, had no clue why.

Never in a million years would I have figured that one out. It almost cost us one grand total.

It cost me my freedom and a violation to my probation for possession of marijuana that I had already incurred since Jenny called the police to have me removed rather than hear of my complaints regarding, Siena, our daughter, only being grounded for one day from the internet after pulling my hunting knife on her mother over cleaning her room-
which happened to be my idea when Jen said that Siena wanted to have someone over.

My only request was that she clean her room accordingly to entertain a guest for the weekend.

Not getting me my card was the one move she had made to insure herself as the controlling majority- little did I realize.

Anyway, Jen loaded Siena up in the truck and drove her right to McLaren hospital, where she dealt with all of the exact same people that I had been interacting with.

The same bed, doctors, mental health people, all the same- each and everyone of them.

She was referred to a Psychologist who was to counsel Siena. Jenny managed to keep me out of the psych's sights until one day when I called his office and had words over my feelings in the matter.

He was surprised to hear that Siena had me in her life- acting as a father for eight years. I am curious how little of me he knew of. Apparently nothing at all.

The incident regarding my hunting knife was only a day or two after my coming back home from the hospital from a nervous breakdown caused by the stress from this household.

The very stress that I was paying Jenny to help me avoid since I have acute P.T.S.D. and a T.B.I. among other issues from the auto accident of 97.

Little did I know that the truth was that she had become psychologically contaminated by the materialistic women-
materialist and SINGLE women, that she worked so closely with.

This situation was forewarned to me by some men who had these very same problems with their women- wives or otherwise.

Well, I didn't listen but sure enough, she stopped taking, the meat that I smoked, to work for lunch- the very thing that caught the senses of every person there.

Animosity started brewing. Some disgruntle bitches had it in their minds to put a bit of a stop to anything good going on in my relationship but stubborn me, I fought it all the way thinking that I would win.

And in some instances I guess I did win because I am not in the relationship that I cherished so, and worked so hard to maintain.

How can that be seen as a win? Well, I have more money now than I ever did because it's not getting wasted- $800 a month social security not being given to the casino.

I no longer have to worry about anything other than what I want to do with my life- writing mostly.

The only bad part is that I no longer have the fantastic love-making that a person hopes for in a relationship.

The thing you always hear how it is supposed to get better but rarely does without a good partner.

Well, I had that. Now I cannot find a person that I feel that bond and desire with.
It seems I am now mostly impotent where before I was not... many times a day.

A large piece of me is unhappy, I think. And I wonder if I will ever again find a woman that turns me on so much-

Just the thought of putting my hands on her lit my fuse.
To perform a massage on her always turned me on.

And just the last time I was with her, to share time in this restructured mess, when we kissed- the wetness of her mouth, the undeniable wanting of her mouth on mine, I nearly had an orgasm.

I am afraid I will never have that again. But the good thing is, I had it once.

Love, Joy, and Pain- all go together.https://youtu.be/ufWxw8Y5h8g

Dismissal

       Nothing pisses me off more than when someone wants to pull the string on my “Speak and Say”, and then refuses to listen when I go on to tell them what sound a cow makes. Rejection, in general, is something that is easy to handle but when people dismiss me altogether I really burn up. Paul Jensen used to say that the best thing that happened to him was when his hair fell out and his gut distended. It wasn’t until then that people started to listen to what he had to offer in the residential construction industry. Myself, I am not waiting for that. For one thing, my hair will thin only lightly and my stomach will always remain trim. All of the Lindner men, (my mothers side of the family), had a youthful appearance and never became overweight. They also died before their mothers. I suppose, with all of the skills and mindset that I am hated for, I will be hated for that too but that’s okay because there are too many things that I dabble in to let it really get to me. And I fear that I too will be dead before my mother, which is why I am frantically working on things I feel I need to do before that happens. Working on my mothers house, in Conklin, was not on the list.

Conklin is a small town just a few miles south of the Muskegon County line. My mother purchased a run down house on the dead end of Miller Street as part of one of her retirement investments. The home was in a shambles but then again, so was the rest of the town. A town it barely was, only kept alive by the fifty or so residents whom lived there. Today, in the whole of Chester Township’s 65 square miles there are about 2300 people. It has a very small U.S. Post Office, one small grocery store that rents videos and sells alcohol with the exception of Sundays when a person has to go five miles north to Ravenna- just outside of Ottawa County. There was an old train route that was converted to the Musk-Ottawa Trail, an asphalt pathway for bicycles and family strolls.

The town of Conklin got it’s start as a Railroad stop for the Grand Rapids and Indiana Railroad. A United States Post Office was opened in June of 1887. It was, and may still be, kept alive by an agricultural Co-Op, where local farmers sell and purchase grain and other livestock supplies, as they need them. An Irish Pub sits across the street that had, and may still have, authentic Celtic music Jams where people came on Saturdays from miles around. Fenian’s Irish Pub was quite well known and may have been the chief reason the town hadn’t completely dried up- other than the Co-Op. Many of the buildings that held businesses are in such terrible states that they cannot be rehabilitated for anything other than demolition and repurposing of the lots they occupy. It may be a very long time before anyone takes an interest in any of the properties there for any reason at all.

The project, with respect to myself, began while Sandy and I were still together, and ended abruptly because of Sandy. Or rather because of Sandy’s discovery of some very personal items which were none of her concern, although she made them her concern. This concern of hers was the final beginning to the end of her and I- a bit of a blessing in disguise though I didn’t realize it at the time.

After taking up residence again with Danny, I continued to try helping finish the project. That is up until I became involved with Julie, which happened to be a three-year distraction to my life’s path. Or was it?

It became that I resided there on the property while helping my mother complete the renovations to the home, and the fact that I had no other place to go. My long deceased Uncle William Russo and Aunt Bernice, (Uncle Bill and Aunt Bern), had an old camper van that my mother had acquired somehow. This was parked behind the house, and was where I slept with my dog Dusty.

The project went on for quite some time. It had started with her now ex-boyfriend Stan spearheading the work. No matter what I did on this project I felt my efforts were useless. Stan had pumped so much spray-in foam insulation that the house trapped the moisture that seeped out of the ground. The perimeter of the property was marked by a ditch on three sides revealing the water table at about three feet down. The seepage kept the sump pump running almost non-stop and the moisture built up continually on all of the windows in the house. This made it so that every piece of wood fabricated to finish the windows maintained to be wet which ruined my woodwork efforts and caused for a great deal of anxiety and frustration for myself that didn’t help my mental health at all.

My mother was from the old way of things. Everything that was removed during the demolition process was kept and earmarked for re-use no matter how much work was involved in doing so. That is, everything except for the addition that joined the garage to the house. This was all new construction that was done by a bunch of drunks other than me. They made a drinking spree out of the project- spending the money my mother paid them at the Conklin grocery store on beer, just as fast as they could drink it. The fact that I was insulted over her paying them real money instead of me was grating, especially since every time I tried to work on this particular part of the house there was an obstacle because of them and the piss poor work they had done. To begin with, the walls were all set on top of a layer of fiberglass insulation instead of sill sealer, and there was not one single piece of flashing anywhere, so every time it rained in the least the water came inside of the house. My tongue proved to be tough since I bit it quite often throughout my experience there but I did as my mother wished and used every single thing from the rubbish heap that I could make work, scraping glue from boards and re-milling it into trim material, cutting up the old doors to extract material from them, and practically re-engineering each and every situation along the way. What a nightmare. From the road the house was beautiful. The smoothest part of the project was when she and I stomped the ceiling with crow’s foot texture. As for paint, well, she didn’t waste money on primer. We used a two-coat roller head. The flooring in the kitchen was a snap-together scratch resistant floating floor system. The Kitchen cabinets were prefabricated and went together fairly well. The countertop was a bit of a different story altogether. We were back to “mission highly improbable.” She had a bunch of oak trim she acquired from somewhere- trim that was designed for library panels and chair rail details. It ended up being that I had to assemble two pieces stacked and offset to make the width work, which ended up looking really nice but was a huge amount of extra work. The laminate for the countertop was pretty nice. I can’t imagine what she would have had me do if she hadn’t actually purchased the stuff to be installed like I was accustomed to. The only router bit I had was a forty-five, which is about how many miles worth of cutting I made it do to detail the place where it needed dressing up. That was the kitchen, the bathroom, the window and door trim, the entire staircase system- the whole damn house was a forty-five degree bevel finish. Uniform throughout- continuity is about the only thing the place had, which matched the corner tub and matching riser that I had built for it.

The sump pump crock in the basement corner was a convenient place for my mother’s boyfriend to urinate, since the toilet upstairs was too far to walk when drunk. He had been pissing there for who knows how long.

The pump seemed to run non-stop due to the ground water seeping in from around the footing, and had become in need of replacement. Frantically, I worked to remove and replace the pump before my work area inside the crock became filled. My utility knife had a fresh edge, dressed with the sharpening stone I kept in my bag along with antiquated items- like a rasp, that I was routinely criticized for by other persons I tried to work for. It saved me quite a bit of time and money to drag it across the stone a few strokes. In my haste, and without much needed assistance, I lost control of the knife, slipping from the mass of electrical tape that Stan had used to wire it in, and cutting deep into my left thumb. Quickly, I squeezed the flesh together in an attempt to stop the blood flow as I dashed over to the utility sink to clean the wound. Both, my mother and her boyfriend were there but as soon as I said that I had cut myself they just ducked out. It was one of those situations where you needed an extra pair of hands. Flabbergasted, what could I do? What could I say? They were gone out the door so fast that they didn’t have a chance to hear a single syllable. It was as if I had lit a stick of dynamite. Blood kept gushing, and all I could think about was the bacterial infection that I could lose my thumb over. The cut was held together with my fingers as though I had taken over pinching the penny. Had I not been used to doing everything alone I might have ran across the street to have the neighbor help me. The struggle of washing, drying, and preparing the wound with a triple antibiotic ointment was a real trick. And struggle, to say the least, is what I did. A roll of duct-tape and some paper towels near the sink area was all I had to work with, so that’s what I used to bandage my hand with. From that day on it was difficult to work with the wound- not to mention the wound in my mind that I was once again abandoned in a serious time of need. A carpenter cannot work without a thumb, and I was already too handicapped as it was.

By the time my thumb was completely healed I was burnt out on the project. The bathroom still needed grout for the tile. The faucet needed reinventing in order to install it on the sink, and the place needed carpeting throughout, as well as the various inspections for an occupancy permit. The building inspector never did show up to this day, no matter how many times my mother called him. I think he eventually just sent her the permit.

Now, it’s June of 2008 and I finally received word that I won my disability claim. My sister, her husband, and their five children had taken up occupancy in the house. She put the grout in the bathroom but they never did put in carpeting. My mother figured it wouldn’t need to be replaced if it was never there to begin with. And with several kids and a slew of animals the carpet becoming ruined was inevitable. For all the things in this project that went on that didn’t make any kind of sense, holding off on the carpet installation was the one thing that actually did. Several animals and children could destroy carpet in no time, no matter how hard a person worked to keep it clean. My mother was always over thinking and maybe that’s where I get it from but I only have half of a brain. Is it possible to over think with half of a brain? I’ll have to try and think about that one. Maybe that was a family trait because when my first grandchild was born he only had one complete brain mass- no split hemisphere’s, and died forty five minutes after his birth.

The first time I ever played and sang was the twentieth of July at about 12:23 in the afternoon. Grandma had just passed but I had no idea. Something made me set up my camera and record a playing session. There was no particular song but something I just played on this old nylon that my mom found broken and in the trash.  After rebuilding it I really started to fall in love with the feel and the sound of it- teaching myself to do some finger picking. Two days later they tracked me down to tell me Grandma had passed away. The song, titled, “Life is passing by” is more or less about my life being ripped apart from every angle. There is nothing anyone can do to hurt me now.

My First Kiss-updated

We moved to Hudsonville Michigan when I was about nine years old. My stepfather, which I did not know that until I was around fourteen, would soon make enemies of the general community by hitting golfballs in the school yard, across the street from the duplex we lived in, on Sundays. Since Hudsonville was a zealously religious community, they frowned on everything but church and family gatherings on Sundays. It wasn't apparent to me at the time but now I see how he failed to research the community before moving there to regain employment, especially since I have done the same- minus the golf balls.

While attending, Hudsonville elementary, I was fitted with a musical instrument for my body type- the trombone. This really began my music education and was much more intense than playing the recorder- and more interesting as well. I felt like I was on the way to chasing down my dreams of being a musician, as well as working towards getting the attention from my immediate family, that I was so starved for all of my life thus far.

Had I known it would be a bigger part of my extended reality, I don't think I would have just wished it to gain positive attention from my parents.

I had a wish to be famous but it was only to get the attention of just one person in the whole world- my mother.

Sooner or later we found a piece of property with a small cement block shack and some outbuildings on it in Marne Michigan. We began going there on the weekends to fix the place up enough to live in. It was the fall of my tenth birthday when we moved in. I was a gangly boy with, unknown to me, visible emotional wounds- and though caused by severe familial trauma and just as noticeable a bed-wetter. 

It was here that I began writing, mostly because I was a deep thinker- brooding constantly while nursing my various mental contusions. I did so because of a comment a teacher had made a couple years prior that stuck in my head- "creative writing".

She said this because of some of the trouble I had gotten into over confusion about a blown up picture of the moon that my dad had- telling the kid in my class that he went to the moon. One kid asked his name, I said, "Musselman". The kid scratched his head, remembered "Armstrong", and the relationship was accepted as substantial. I still laugh at that, and how kids digest things. We were all confused- especially me. Now even more so than ever.

Sooner or later we had added on to the place, which gave me my education in the building trades and processes. If I was to never become a famous musician, I would become a great laborer, gaining my mothers attention in that regard. Having no toys, the woods became my shelter and my mother gets the credit because when I was bored she would tell me to go out in the woods and gather up a leaf from every different type of tree and find out what it is.
It was while doing this that I became best friends with my real mother- Mother Nature. It was while with her that I felt safe and secure. Everything that I needed was right there with her- water, air, food, the birds and animals and their beautiful voices. They sang and spoke to me when I listened, and when I was not listening because of my tears and grievances. 

I think my mother should at least get the credit for giving me the three greatest gifts that she never really intended to give me but for any other reason but to just have me out of her hair- music and nature and the mother that I found there.

Sooner or later, my "father" would quit his job and take up Golf full-time, giving lessons and shagging ball on a range that we rented from Elkterra Country Club. Mostly it was just a convenient way to chase skirts, which he did as a side hobby. And although we made a lot of money from the driving range, we were still without for various reasons related to skirts and golf. And, yes, he did write a book but mostly it was an ego trip, I think. It fell short of success because of the lack of financial dedication, or a better word- and more operable, would be COMMITMENT.

I was twelve or thirteen when I began working the driving range, selling and shagging golf balls to be hit on the range by people warming up for their leagues or what-have-you. It wouldn't be long before someone would notice the long hours I spent working there while "dad" was out giving lessons or playing golf... or actually what it was was gambling on the course. But he had a dream and I was a believer- or captured supporter we'll call it. 

Anyway, people would call child protective authorities and have him cited for child labor laws. He would talk his way out of it and everything was fine but they noticed just the same and there may be something of it on file somewhere. I am betting that it is nowhere in MY police record though.

Well, he would have group lessons and as many as twenty people in a group at times. One of the people in the group, come to find out, was my Aunt Cheryl- my mother's brother wife.

My mother's brother happened to be my favorite uncle- Uncle Gary. Well, had I know that Uncle Gary would soon lose his sentiments for me over it, eventually making it known that he blamed me, I might not have felt so bad when I learned the truth.

And for a minute, my mother paid attention to me but it was only out of her grief over finding out she was being cheated on after thirteen years of marriage. And had he not left me abandoned with no way to go home, he would not have been caught till who knows how much later than when he did. And that was only because I had someone take me to his hotel room where he was working on writing his book.

Finding a woman's bag and belonging there, I left the hotel very afraid. Had he found me there, I don't know what he would have done. I might have been successfully killed that time- he would have tried harder. 

During one of my parent's fights around that time, whether before he was caught or after, he would make a comment about being my father for so many years. Well, me being a thinking kind of fool, I quickly did the math in my head- like when I exclaimed my true age at the drive in when he was trying to get a discount to get in. It was then that it dawned on me that he was not my real father at all. Now I was confused, relieved, angry, and befuddled. Who was my father, if not him? And why wasn't he ever there for me?

It wasn't long before he left. And I was soon to discover that the source of my psychological disturbances had gone with him as well. No longer would I have to feel the hood of the car. No longer would I fear being at the table for dinner. No longer would I have to fear having been at a friend's house when he came home from work. No longer would I find peace by going to or staying at school. No longer would I have my pants yanked from me to see if I had hit puberty yet or held down and forced to kiss my sister. No longer would the shower door get ripped opened while I was in it. No longer would I be told that I had been peeing in the shower because there was condensation on the ceiling. No longer would I be baited with semen like substances like hair conditioner, dripped on the toilet, or by porn being left out, only to be spied on through the cracks in the walls or door. And it wouldn't be long before I no longer wet my bed. My healing began when he was no longer there to constantly pick at my scabs to keep my wounds festering.

My dreams were of having my own wife and raising kids that didn't fear my coming home. But because of my visible mental wounds, I would never have a high school sweetheart to help put all of that into motion.

Having never been loved, or not ever knowing what love was, I was truly handicapped in the worst way possible. And soon, I would become handicapped even further by alcohol, confusing it's sweet kisses for the affection I so desperately searched for.

Thanks for reading my stories. I sincerely hope that you find value in what I am trying to do.
I am always watching- leave comments below.
Thanks-Zach 4-12-17

Love and Seasons

Summer keeps a place in my heart but I cannot Love Summer without Spring. And I cannot Love Spring without Appreciating the Winter. And Fall.... Fall is Lovemaking and intercourse- making Love to them all... A pregnancy is Winter, and a new birth is the Spring. Summer is foreplay. And Fall drips it's beautiful juices. And I cannot help but to savor every drop.

I said that. ZSP

Escaping The Despondent Sea is Available on Amazon and thru Goodreads.com

Zachery Scott Polk

updated 4-6-2017

Crozier Country

Water made its signature sound as it splattered unseen beneath the house. Siena was showering in the master bathroom since her bathtub had a crack in it. The garden needed tending, which placed me close in proximity of the shower. The sound was recognized but disbelieving, I told myself it was a loud drainpipe. 

Several days passed until I got up the nerve to do what my conscience said, and that was “get under the house and inspect it.” The year started off quick for me since I was released from prison one week into April 2012, beginning with our new Akita having gotten into it with a Porcupine.  One hundred and thirty quills later and six hundred dollars for the poorer, I found myself behind the eight ball of life. Now, six and a half months later, I am climbing down under the house. This was not something I looked forward to doing. I had already avoided going down for the two years we have lived here, especially after discovering this year that we were infested with Black Widow spiders. The first one I found was in the woodpile. 
There was a tree on the edge of the driveway that needed some trimming up, dead trunks etc… I cut it up with my chainsaw and had it in a pile with all the other tree messes from a recent storm. It was a good sized pile of wood, about two face cords. Jenny wanted to chop wood while I was entering a recent hand written manuscript into the computer. After about a half hour I began to feel guilty because I had just “sat around” for a year in the joint while Jen was left to fend for herself out in the forest; recently transplanted from Lansing with no prior life outside of the city.  
I went out and started throwing the cut wood closer to where it was to be stacked while explaining that I couldn’t let her work so hard by herself. I had her move to stacking, and started chopping. Placing a second piece on the chopping block, I noticed a glossy black spider. On it’s back were two red dots. 
“Jen, I said. “You know, I have never seen one before but I am willing to bet that this is a Black widow. My father always told us about them being in the log piles and dead limbs.” She ran into the house and jumped on the internet. She hollers back a few seconds later and say’s, “That’s what it is.” I told her to get Siena’s bug box to put it in. 
Days went by as I studied its habits and traits. My computer took me to files about them from many different sources. I learned to recognize their web and where to concentrate my search in the yard. Twenty-two Female Black Widows, and two males later I am even more afraid of going under the house. These spiders were all found within twenty yards of the front door. 
Finally one day I just say “fuck it” and slide the couch away from the trapdoor. I open the door see the ladder and climb down. Everything is nice and dry like it’s supposed to be. The concrete block foundation wall and footings look great. The framing looks nice and cleanly put together. It’s a nice addition job to a trailer. One problem is I can’t access the other side because there is no entry made to be able to. There is a spot where the blocks are stepped down in one place, a couple missing blocks, allowing me to be able to see a little bit. The other side is a concrete slab with a about a foot and an half to two feet of space between it and the underside of the trailer. It just depends if you are between the main beams or if there is blanket insulation hanging. The trap door side is more of a full basement depth, earth exposed, and a dirt floor. It is suprising how free it is of cobwebs and insects. 
Now I go around the house to the crawl space access under the back door. Removing the steel door panel, the first thing I see is a spider web and a spider. It is a male Black widow. “Dammit,” I yell. Shining the flashlight back toward the shower, I see water puddeling, trailing from the shower drain. There is a piece if grey sheet metal hanging from one side where it is nailed to a joist. There is black woven fiber fastened to the underneath, covering the insulation. It is sagging in the middle as if being weighted down with something heavy. The water main coming into the house is sticking up through the cement floor within reach of the access panel. It has insulation taped around and a blue electric heat-tape to keep it from freezing. I wonder if it works. The water heater is above it, sealed in the walls of the laundry room. This place was just remodeled while I was in prison after a pipe had broke and sprayed water for weeks unnoticed by Jenny, causing the subflooring to lose integrity.
 The people who remodeled it were hacks, low-balling the bid and then going back and raising the price as they went along on the job. I went inside the house to look down the drain to see if I could see anything, and there it was… the cement floor. “Unbelievable!” I yell. There is a small piece of the joist that falls in-line with the drainpipe, making for it to need to be carved back to fit. They never hooked the drain up to the shower when they installed it.  

A few more days go by while I stew over the situation, me, having a habit of blasting away at people, and not wanting to mishandle the opportunity of working the contractor over because of it and everything else he did fraudulently on this house. 
Finally I decide to go in. The thought of sliding underneath the house with the spiders and sewage does not settle well in my stomach so I put together a suit consisting of an expensive pair of fishing waders, a hooded rain/windbreaker, and a pair of safety glasses. Checking to see if my flashlight is good, I head for the panel. The spider at the door is nowhere to be seen. Diving in through the opening, I keep making the phone in my pocket come on, so I lay it underneath the deck between the rain lines from the planks above. Walking with my elbows and forearms, I drag myself under the house. There is even more standing gray water than ever before. I grit my teeth in spite. The dangling sheet metal becomes reachable and I turn to look up. The wood joist is about three inches wide and the drain rests a quarter of an inch over onto it, keeping it wet. I roll and maneuver my body to get a different perspective.  The black belly liner is all ripped up around the drain area and the insulation is all removed under the shower. My hand does not reach onto any pipe that it could have been hooked to, thinking maybe they just forgot to glue the pvc together but then again there are no parts lying on the floor either. I conclude that it was never hooked up. Looking around I see the best place for me to tie a drain in is about ten feet away. This is going to make for two cuts in the main line, a cut on the pipe to tie it in, one cut on a drain stub, and a trap. Plus a street Y: six inch with a 2 and one quarter fitting. Already sliding in sludge, I inspect the rest of the area while rolling and crawling/crawling and rolling. The heat is leaking out in several places. They never put the material back as it should be when they did the work. So, now I have two bathrooms and three bathing units. The bathtub/shower in the main bathroom has a hole in the bottom. The shower in the master bath is draining under the house, which now is linked to Jenny’s mysterious coughing when she lays down in our room. And then there is a garden style tub in the master but you have to use all the hot water to fill it AND be careful not to let it get up on the tub face because they never finished it off with a backsplash or caulked it in any way. They never caulked the kitchen countertops in either. There is a big gap all around the top of the splash and the seams are delaminating on the surface. 
A couple days later my computer kicks out a bunch of information on the contractor. I see a bunch of places where I can rate his business. Having a plan of tricking him into coming out for an estimate on the siding, I call and leave a message at his office. He calls me back a day later but I let it go to voicemail.  I let him run with the line a couple more times. Still, have yet to call him back. The plan is to draw him in closer and then lift the sheet off of the project. Then I’ll give him an option of doing the work himself or paying me to do it. Either way I plan to execute a smear campaign to slow him down on the internet.  
A plumber called me back and I described in detail, what the job incurred for a price accordingly. Mike said it would be three hundred and fifty dollars just to plumb in the shower drain. That’s about what I figured it would cost. I had already rehabbed the front entrance floor, 125.00, and painted the garage doors- 250. Yesterday I finished applying asphalt roof patch over everything that looked like it leaks- 250. This alone was a day and a half. The subfloor in the main bath has to be removed and replaced due to the decay around the toilet and tub. That is going to require taking the shower/tub enclosure out along with the sink base and toilet, which pretty much guts the room completely. I already have the carpet and pad pulled out but stopped when I realized I would need a saw-zall. 

Actually, I needed the saw-zall for the front porch too but when I realized I could use the chainsaw I got it finished. The chainsaw isn’t a good option for the bathroom due to it being so far inside the house. The front entrance was practically outside. Two-stroke oil smell would hang in the house forever if I use that. SO, here I sit at a halt. 
In the meantime my gal, Jenny, is driving one hundred and eighty miles a day to work and back, which is roughly four hours, which means we have to find something closer. My stomach aches when I think of what it would cost to have the tranny rebuilt or something. Subaru Outbacks are great cars but I get nervous when it’s being ran so hard. Winter encroaches and we have no back up vehicle but for my motorcycle.  Between rent and fuel expenses we have fifteen hundred dollars off of the top of our budget. She is required to take call on the weekends requiring her to be within twenty minutes of McLaren Hospital. It’s aggravating because we have to incur the added expense of driving round on her days off, looking at houses. 
Especially aggravating is that I am on parole, so if she gets pulled over for a taillight I go to jail on a parole violation. It makes me uneasy anytime we drive anywhere.  The top of the heap is that it takes away from our time alone together. The last house we looked at had a deed holder that would have really cut in on our time. Thankfully we didn’t do business with him. The last absurd requirement is that he wanted us to have the septic tank drained if we moved out. I have heard a lot of shit in my day but that was a first. 
It wasn’t so bad that he insisted on plowing the driveway at my expense for fear that anyone else will knock the posts down for the upper deck. I could deal with that. Then he said we could use the barn but only in pictures. There was an animal pen and a fenced in area. When I mentioned how we had been thinking about a couple pigs or a couple calves. He immediately jumped in saying he would go in half with me. 
The roof is a really low-pitched thing with many flat spots and transition lines. The snow has to be removed routinely but it’s a trick to use a shovel on the shingles, so he had to do that at our expense as well. 
The house has a wood furnace and there is a large stone chimney and hearth area that extends out into the room eight feet, beautiful to look at but there was no woodstove because he had taken it out… okay, we’ll get a stove for it. 
He would sell us our wood. There were two big bedrooms that each had a nice closet and great windows. There was no flooring installed yet and it wasn’t quite ready for paint. If I wanted to cut the hole in for the door etc… I could use those too. They were only part of the house. 
This guy, Crozier, went on and on rambling like a madman on speed. I could feel he was greasy but I just let him run with his sales pitch while he groped our arms and flirted with my gal. Oh, he was the nicest guy. 
I didn’t like him. He was a tyrant. Hundreds of acres of forested land on a hillside overlooking Deer Lake, and he wouldn’t get off an inch of it; just enough to hold the house … and a strip along the driveway twelve feet wide to the road one hundred fifty yards. Lake access came with the house if we decided we wanted to purchase it, access that’s deeded to three people. 
Come to find out this guy is in hot water with property taxes. He owns so much land and has so many homes. The one he is showing us needs to be his primary residence. His problem (out of the very many) is that he doesn’t want to rent the other house out to anyone because of the maple floors. So he has to sell it. 
He lead us to the bank where we withdrew one thousand dollars. Jen and I were discussing it the entire time. We both felt really weird about it and drove out of there to home immediately. 
He was so pissed off, having us so close to putting the cash in his mitts but we backed away. “I just want a little honesty,” he said a few times. Well, honestly, he was out of his mind. He told Jenny that if he saw our dog in the woods he would shoot it.
 While at the house with the maple floors he showed us his mounts. Big Whitetail Deer, some Boone and Crockett’s. One had a dropped tine, he pointed out to us. There were ten or twelve of them, all taken from these woods. I couldn’t find a place to shoot that he’d have allowed. Or I could shoot along the driveway or, to a spot up on the deck, down to a low area. Either way it would be a lot of running around. 
 As for the interior of the house, it was finished of in almost all areas, with a stained wood paneling. It was done board and batten style. He wanted 165,000 for the place. It looked like it was a bear to heat up, quite large with high ceilings in areas. “Seventy a cord,” he told me, “You find some place else to get wood, good luck.” I couldn’t cut any trees up around the area. This was all his, right down to the dead rabbit he threw in the weeds near the house. His “dog had killed it the day before”, he told us as I find it with my foot in the weeds. Sure enough, a rabbit. I picked it up and show it to him, asking “this rabbit?” He took it from me and threw it a little farther into the trees. 
“There’s a pen, I think they had goat’s, or, no. It was a pig, they had a pig. They had goats too but the pig stayed there."
Truth was that he was a pig entirely, robbing his "wife", a mail order bride, of her children that he had with her. I knew there was a problem when he explained having a mail order bride from Honduras. The fact that he could not find a wife in his own area was very telling. But then again, I can't find one either, so... yeah.