Between the Silences: A Collection

By Rick Spisak Jr.

Ali Baba had his forty thieves, Between the Silences has its forty adventures, some not much more than an overgrown jungle path, others provide a blazing historic epic, still another present a touch of intergalactic danger. Join us!

This vivid collection of humorous and sardonic short stories will whisk you away to jungles and gardens, laboratories and then drop you stage side, at a ballet performance.

The reader who dares drink this mystic potion will one moment be translated into a fabulous scented garden of the gods. Later another leads you to detour through the back door, of a dentist office then seat you in a dentist's chair providing you a front row seat to an alien invasion... interrupted.

Another story is a spoof of Occupy-Wall-Street, another fable will upload the reader into a high tech 3D adventure. We will also surf the winds, playing hide and seek with a hitchiking lizard.

Another moment we'll be backstage only to witness a dangerous attack by sound system. You'll also be presented a seat on some unrepentant crockery. High drama and low comedy combined in 40 strange tales from this and other topsy turvy worlds.

Each strange story was hand carved, written and curated by Rick Spisak, International Humorist and Storyteller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984558503

Rick Spisak Jr.

Richard W. Spisak Jr. An artist since he could hold a crayon, and a poet since he first fell in love. After winning a poetry slam in Coconut Grove three weeks in a row, he met a radio producer and was invited to write a radio show. When he was asked what would be the theme of the show. Spontaneously Richard announced it would be a SCI-FI Comedy! He called it "Martian Ambassador, and the Captured Chorus," He invited a rotating team of talented "captured" comedic actors, and together they assembled the show. He wrote, produced and directed this Live Hour of science fiction comedy on Miami's public radio station WLRN FM. Richard has continued to write poetry, essays, short stories, and plays, (commercial as well as Avante garde pieces) One play commissioned by a Miami producer was written to publicize a Community-wide Literacy Project, it was titled "READ RABBIT READ" and was performed in the largest mall in Fort Lauderdale. It was followed by a very successful bilingual-production for the Quincentennial Salute to the Columbus Adventure entitled "Christoforo Columbo's Dreams," staged in Hialeah one of Florida's most bi-lingual communities. This play explored a little-known backstory, the court intrigue that explained Christofero's staying power at the Spanish royal court. Chris’had a powerful backstage ally in Isabella's Court. Later works included an operatic performance-art piece entitled "The LoveSong of Godzilla and Mothra." And a political work entitled "Bedside Manor", revolving around a dramatic confrontation over torture during Attorney General Ashcroft's hospital stay while James Comey was acting Attorney General. His first short story collection was published under the title “Two small windows, in a pair of mirror doors” in 2011 to rave international reviews. Richard is often invited to contribute essays to local and international media and continues to write, with one goal, to catalyze with humanity and high-irony, his post planetary zest. Richard married his high school sweetheart Linda, and they have enjoyed 48 years together. They have three beautiful children and four delightful grandchildren.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Rick Spisak Jr.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018912087

ISBN:            Hardcover                978-1-9845-5852-7

                      Softcover                 978-1-9845-5851-0

                      eBook                       978-1-9845-5850-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/18/2018

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1   Civics

Obama Trilogy

Building the Mexican Wall

Human Rights… the long slow climb from Hammurabi to Independence Hall

In the narrow confines.

Shrinking the National Monume…

National ACLU Convention

Watching Protests at the Cavanaugh Hearing

The Technology Report

Is Progressivism the New Communism?

Adventures in Trumpland (Parts 3, 2 & 1)

Trail of Tacos - a satire

Chapter 2   Dreams

A dime for your time

A transcendental encounter at a sandwich shop in St Augustine

Broken Trailer Scholars 2647

Christmas Travel Today

Dennis through the wall

Down the ‘ole

Froggy did a panting go!

The Hero of Dishwasher Gulch

Light Center of the Round Table

Mad Jane and the capturing spell

One Hundred Lot …as told by Double-A

The Poetic Lizard

Remember your Aztec Heritage.

Remember Your Aztec Heritage PART II

Remember Your Aztec Heritage

The Cockroach and the Chameleon

the rolling stoned -

Mittsy’s dream

Chapter 3   Pace Adventures

Attacked by a PA

Battery Backedup Ballet

Saving Battery Life

Fountain bleu and the Piano

The Royal London Philharmonic at the Orange Bowl

Chapter 4   Technology

3 Civil Engineers

The Domain Speculator

pour it out

*the brain trainer

Young Dan Young

CHAPTER 1

Civics

Obama Trilogy

The day Obama joined: OCCUPY WALL STREET

H E TOLD THE Secret Service to get the chopper ready, he was headed to a meeting at Goldman Sachs. So they warmed up Marine One and a few minutes later with his usual retinue of handlers advisors and a few staffers, he crossed the lawn and climbed into the copter seconds later and headed off east nor east. They landed about an hour later on the roof top helo pad atop the GLASSINE TOWER that obscures the corruption at Goldman Sachs. The president was all grins, as he tucked his briefcase under his arm and walked briskly across the roof to the elevator that would take him to his place beside the seat of power. Far below in the streets thousands had joined the Occupiers that had now, begun the 30 th day of the encirclement of the Goldman Sachs building. The occupiers had taken up positions circling the buildings non-stop while the police who have not allowed any sitting or standing on or around the building permitted them to parade around the building provided they didn’t blockade the entrances. The police union had promised the occupiers, they would defend their constitutional rights to assemble and protest. Provided they agreed not to blockade any entrances. This truce had stood for two weeks. The circling crowd, never counted less than several thousand.

Not long after Marine One had disgorged its passengers, the crowd surged around the entrance. A galvanic impulse seemed to energize the crowd. A clot of secret service had appeared at the main entrance to the building. The crowd surged forward and then lurched back as the corporate security team pressed outward against the shifting and slowly circling occupiers.

Stand Down, the secret service, waved the security guards off, they were rumored to be a wet team from Xe, each one an example of beefy steroid excess reeking of mercenary bloodlust. The had stood silent guard at every entrance heavily armed bristling with automatic weapons and more.

Seconds later the lanky figure of a black man exited the building surrounded by the secret service contingent that quickly formed the flying wedge that would provide the normal phalanx of protection for a head of state in a public arena. Those closest to the entrance turned to see what would happen next. Instant consensus was that the president would shake a few hands, maybe exchange a few comments and move on, the press hadn’t even arrive yet. After all, hadn’t Nixon chatted with Anti-War protestors?

The president walked right into the crowd which parted, both in deference to the wedge of secret services and partially out of civic respect. It was only a few of the curious with cameras perched high overhead and a few souls in close proximity who actually gathered what in fact, was happening. The president strode right into the crowd, with secret service in tow and headed right down the street toward the park that had become the epicenter of the occupation.

The president stopped briefly at the park edge and spoke to a pair of colorfully coiffed teenage girls. He then turned to some of the media activists and after a few brief exchanges was seen nodding and smiling. He continued wading further into the park. He walked among the seated people pausing here and there, the secret service team twitchingly alert. But eventually one of the occupiers, offered the president some salad and a cushion to rest on, and the crowd shifted to accommodate the newcomers. Some moved closer to catch the exchanges between those near enough to toss a question and retrieve an answer from this adventurous politician.

Some of the secret service hunkered down, after a bit and settled in for what seemed to be an extended stay. A camera crew and producer from Democracy Now, made their way through the crowd, and with battery powered lights opposed the dimming sunset, and the president conducted a brief press conference, from the heart of occupied Liberty Square. One by one, the commercial media crews found their way most for the first time to Liberty Square. They set up their cameras, and equipment and took up positions ringing the president. He sat, holding court while a couple toddlers, alternative dove in his lap, or raced their toy fire engines over his head. Ringed by cameras he held forth on the importance of the Liberty Park occupation sitting on a cushion next to a young family who had offered him a bowl of their family salad dinner. Their child had grown comfortable with the president and had begun, occasionally to climb on him, as children will on a person who is the center of attention. While the young mother had twice, tried to pull back when he ran his firetruck over the presidents head, Barack had smiled and gave the toddler a thorough tickling while an uncomfortable Dan Rather balanced uncertainly against a tree.

The press eventually tired of the president’s TIME FOR JOBS theme and as the lights were shut off Barack began talking with the occupiers. Every few minutes for the first couple of hours, the secret service would lean in and ask, was he about ready to go? Clearly the president had no, interest in leaving anytime soon.

It began to drizzle and across the crowded square tarps and plastic sheeting appeared to envelope the activist village. Somebody passed the president a poncho and the secret service team scrambled to locate umbrellas, but the president waved them off. Down the street, bright lights appeared and began slowly to work their way toward the park. The secret service lead man, leaned down several times and exchanged information with the president. A large smile played across the president’s face. Eventually the bobbing lights approached the edge of the park nearest the president. The crowd parted and the lights approached more rapidly. Soon, it was clear who was joining the occupiers at Liberty Square. The president’s daughters appeared in a gap in the crowd, trailed by the stately Michelle. Daddy, DADDY - we’ve come to spend the night. Michelle was carrying sleeping bags, and an aide held a child’s colorful tent rolled up. Daddy Daddy, we’ve come to be with you and THE PEOPLE!

End of Part I

Obama on the Ramparts (Part II)

She arrives very early, the streets still dark. Security waves her through, surprised at her early arrival. Madame Secretary, isn’t accustomed to these early hours, Bill had pointed out that she’d forgotten to apply her lipstick. Her staff had scrambled so she was assembled and delivered in time for the 5am meeting, an hour she hadn’t seen in many years. She arrived at the ante room, and found, Secretary Chu and General Holder waiting. Hilary asked the president’s secretary what time the President had come down this morning. He’s been staffed all night, Madame Secretary, was the response. Mrs Obama, and some of their friends from Chicago have been in and out all night. No! Now! The President’s voice rang out from behind the door to the Oval office. Seconds later the door opened and a chastened Rahm Emmanuel, stepped out, looking pale. He looked up briefly to identify those assembled, but left without a word. The President appeared, at the oval office door and with a jerk of his hand beckoned the three administrators enter. He was behind the desk in three strides, his body language betrayed his intensity. He didn’t take a seat, but leaned over the desk, hands resting on the papers strewn across his desk. He looked even thinner in the early grey of dawn. His eyes raked the three faces with an intensity they hadn’t seen since the early campaign days. Clinton, he said, he seldom called her Hilary, tell Bill the deals off. He looked from Hilary to Chu, we will not be bisecting the country with that damn pipeline, I don’t care what they’ll pay. Secretary of Energy Chu, whose background in high energy physics had prepared him, for the unexpected only nodded and said yes, Mr. President. Make the calls, now. But Mr. President, there’ll be no one at the offices at this hour. Genuinely angry, the president pointed to a phone across the room, You call them from that phone, they will take a White House call. CALL THEM NOW! Hilary stunned hadn’t moved, that pipeline deal would have set them up for life, but she knew, it was over. Now she’d have to break the news to Bill. He wouldn’t like it.

Chu! the President called out to Secretary of Energy while he waited to be connected to the Petroleum Giants, yes Mr. President? I’m issuing an executive order right now. His hand finished his signature with a flourish. I want solar panels, and wind turbines on every federal building from Honolulu to Kennebunkport, make it so. Yes, Mr. President right away, Mr. President he turned back to the phone but now he was smiling.

Attorney General stood opposite the big desk, waiting his turn. Eric, I’m tired of this crap, I want indictments filed today. Mr. President, we’ve think we’ve cracked the encryption on the hard drives. today or tomorrow we’ll know who was behind the short sale of all that airline stock the week before nine-eleven. Indictments, Eric, I want indictments today. This is national security. His arm waved above the cluttered desk. We know where the money went, by the time we’re ready for the trials we’ll have everything we need. Will we need military trials, Mr. President? The president considered the question for a second. We’ll cross that bridge soon enough. Now call Mueller have him meet us.

Holder knew that look, he’d seen it a lot lately. He saw it when the President signed the arrest warrant for George Walker Bush, and the former Vice President. Those short sales are over, as of this morning. The president scribbled furiously, and looked up only long enough to say, I want Marine One made ready. We’re going to New York, this morning. General. I want draft legislation on my desk today, to nationalize the Stock Exchange. Tell Mueller to meet us on the steps of the Exchange.

Two hours later, Marine One landed on a secured Wall Street, directly in front of the New York Stock Exchange. New York National Guard troops recently returned from the mountains of Kurdistan, home long enough to get an eyeful of foreclosed neighborhoods, and shuttered factories had been puzzled when they boarded buses headed for Manhattan. A phalanx of FBI technicals was waiting on the steps as the President, and Attorney General Holder raced up the steps. Director Mueller signaled his FBI team follow. The president of the NYSE stood in stunned silence arriving on the floor in time to hear President Obama order the computer team from the FBI to shutdown trading. He attempted to sputter an incoherent objection. Attorney General Holder, put a hand on his shoulder and explained that the exchange was closed and sealed, as a crime scene. He looked from the General to President Obama to object. President Obama raised his palm to the sputtering billionaire, and explained simply, you’ve been nationalized as a National Security Asset. You’re done. But Mr. President, he whined. FBI director Mueller waved two agents over, and they placed him under arrest. Seconds later row by row the terminals began to blink off, only then had the traders, noticed President Obama standing at the edge of the trading floor. An ugly sound, emanated from the crowd on the floor, as traders and runners, began to realize that the tide had run out. Two lines of National Guardsmen had entered the Exchange and took up positions surrounding the trading floor and secured the exits. The monitors were dark and the floor was eerily silent as the traders, surged toward the president, and his retinue. The Attorney General was handed a microphone. His voice booming in the now nearly silent hall, he explained to the members of the exchange and the traders, that they would each be interviewed by the Justice department before leaving. The President and the FBI director turned to leave as the Justice Department staff prepared to conduct initial interviews.

Quietly and peaceably the president tossed the thieves from the temple of the nation’s exchanges. Shutting down the thieving short sellers, knocking over corrupt traders and yanking down the schemes that had bankrupted Americans. Stunned faces greeted the President as he and his flying wedge of Secret Service raced back down the front stairs of the exchange. He climbed into one of the Black FBI SUV in-front of the now Federalized New York Stock Exchange. They drove away blue lights flashing. CSPAN broke away from yet another CONSERVATIVE GAB-FEST leaving Grover Norquist and Dick Armey gasping for Media attention, to announce the President’s closing of the NYSE.

Obama trailing a team of FBI men with kevlar armor, hemmers and automatic weapons pushed through the tall double doors into Jamie Dimon’s platinum plated private office, at JP Morgan Chase. Obama walked up to Dimon’s desk, put a finger in Dimon’s chest and informed him, that he’s under arrest for Treason. Read him his rights, were Obama’s only other words before he left the room. Two federal agents spun Dimon around, patted him down, then cuffed and hooded him. They grabbed his arms, and half-carry, half-drag him down a flight of stairs to a waiting waiting PADDY WAGON driven by a newly deputized Michael Moore. When they opened the rear door to toss in Dimon, it revealed a cuffed and hooded Lloyd Blankfein and a weeping Glen Beck. Moore gave the President a THUMBS UP and the President said, take em away. Moore drove off to the nearest Xe holding facility for questioning.

Xe has arranged for some expat-Egyptian subcontractors to do the questioning. After their first interview Dimon, Blankfein and Beck were placed in a cell already occupied by Donnie Rumsfeld, and his buds the Shrub and Cheney. They were on ice awaiting their next round of interviews reclining in what Al Gonzales’s Justice Department used to glibly refer to as, stress positions.

END of Part II

Part III Obama The Exorcism

Rosalee, You’re new here, listen closely and keep your mouth shut, and you might stay. The officious senior secretary sneered at the newcomer. Rosalee who’d just started yesterday, had arrived as part of the White House shakeup that followed the President’s denouncing insider trading on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Once the President turned on Wall Street, many working at the White House, saw their career no longer advanced by time at the so called people’s house. The last straw for many had been the two week open house the President and first lady presided over during the National Conference on Family, Health and Housing. The people, had been permitted wander anywhere in 1600. Not only that, but funds that had been earmarked for the hollow leg that was the TSA budget had instead been redirected to expanding Medicare for Families. For Families?

It seemed half a lifetime ago, Rosalee set her studies aside to join Occupy, the movement to renew Civic Rights and Economic Justice. She had been a teaching assistant to Professor Elizabeth Warren at Harvard, and had also joined Professor Warren during her stint overseeing the TARP Process. Later