Threshold

Stuck in the queue....
And old bulletin that ne'er went out (1/13/07). (Haw! Haw! I hate it when I'm right.):

After a small passing miscommunication, Frank knew he would never have a chance to
speak to Cherries Gordon again. This was typical of her gender and he knew or at
least suspected the score right away. She wasn’t the first gal to get needlessly snippy
when looking to distance herself from him. She was obviously/obliviously in or
embarking upon a new relationship. She didn’t need Frank dropping too many loving
notes in her mailbox anymore.

So Frank made the small miscommunication grow into a larger one. Why not? He was
too jealous to see the girl of his dreams in love with another. And He was tired of
apologizing for his own feelings and was ready to hit the road. If caring is an
inconvenience then the poets had lied. A new day and a new direction will come and
there is not a soul in sight as he tosses his old beta cam behind the Dodge’s bench
seat and tucks Tom Horn and Junior Bonner into their travel crate. Kitties aside, he
wishes he didn’t have to embark on the next adventure alone as usual, but some frogs
just stay frogs and never princes.

Frank’s boss left that day too. Not as romantic. But he’s not dead either, just another
soul, who’s not watching the road ahead of Frank for potholes.

Even when all’s reasonably well, FT works without a net; he must walk arms splayed out
grasping for purchase, feeling out each step in the darkness with his toes.

Now he runs headlong down the dark path, chasms on either side. He chuckles and
sucks a vodka bottle.

Revenge is a dish best served table d'hôte...
But they never put out enough snow crab legs and the succotash is lukewarm, and the
bowls are not big enough for the soft serve or a decent salad. And the "house
dressing" is labeled simply "house dressing" on the ladle, but its a congealed viscous
mystery yellow. And there is a loose crouton stuck to the brisket. There's plenty of
beets. The meatloaf's a bit dry but tasty nonetheless, slathered in a crusty tomato
paste. Its so much better than gnawing the cold chicken legs for a scrap of meat. The
cookies are hard, some oatmeal, some choco-chip, I dare you to guess which is which,
have a white frosted cupcake instead and remember kindergarten birthdays as the
diabetic coma ensues. Glypicide, you lifesaver. Mashed potato, mashed potato,
mashed potato. Fried okra, greens and mac and cheese.

But the sneeze guard works, I just tried it.

Also the best revenge is to live well. As is, tired and alone down at the crossroads in
Anytown, USA, cut brake lines are also not beyond the pale.

Frank is on the road seeing the odd parts of America and its buffets. But there's new
crap on his site including a weepy new blog. Keep it rusty and musty fer yer ditch
diggin' comrade...

Comin round the back door;

Love someone else and I won’t be round no more
Fuck someone else and I won’t be round no more
Cry to someone else and I won’t be round no more
Tear my notes asunder, break my flower pots
Put yer tears in a thimble
And stick em in my mailbox
But I won’t be round no more
There’s jars of whiskey in the courtyard
A nest of empty paper sacks
The cat howls at the empty
And I won’t be round no more

My head gasket is totally blown...
... my regulators aren't coming on-line, I'm leaking fluid everywhere and I cannot
operate in any gear except reverse...

also my truck won't start.

Somewhere a car idles and a garage door stands
ajar...
its all electric stoves and slip knots
and rusty knives and 3 bedroom ranchers
and sugar pills and safety catches
and bengin this childproof that
non-toxic, non-retardant
gloomy sunday

23 hours on the sun
drink yer little drink
rip one out
cry yer feral cry
park it on the dock
sigh yer woesome sigh
put money on the clock
the fleet has gone asea
so its tidal dregs fer we

Ahoy!
We're sailing the seas of corn and rye,
the ship is in a bottle and
satan paces the deck before a skeletal crew
and I am the scarecrow in the crows nest drinking old crow
and you?

Death be not proud!
It be lemon-scented and individually packaged for your covenience.

If not satisfied by my love please sent back unused portion;

c/o
Graveyard Frank Trautman
1313 Agina Way
Trainwreck, LA 66666

The Graveyard Frank Express
Next Stop Hell and Points South. All Aboard.

Thanks for the kind notes all night, surely my friends on the outside, the non-digital
ones, have been less supportive....
yours
gyf

Duane Peter has a Small Penis
Graveyard Frank is a man defined by his job. As my friends know, I have been Ill-
defined for a very long time.

I am now Undefined.

For those of you have given me support in the last couple of weeks: Thanks, you know
who you are (Moo, Evil German Sharon, Jen Strangelove, K, etc.); it has meant more to
me than you know. As candles burn out, I hope yours continue to light the voids ahead.

For those of you that have ignored my cries for help. (You also know who you are.):
Fuck off, bastards. I am tired of apologizing for the world crashing down around me.

Yours,
gyf

Dibs
Organ donor...

I wasn't much to look at:
but
hands were clever but not deft
same goes for tongue
liver is shot
heart has some miles, but still functions
graveyardfrank.com

The Void
Wasted Sentiments have been scattered thru the blackness;
there's Cure and Brandy and Rum and
Thoughts thumbtacked above nagging, lonely headboards and silent mattresses
there's bullets and chambers and temples
razors and wrists
and
frank

Automaton
she's COMPLETELY gone now
nothing left
nothing left

sorry for love, sorry for sad, sorry for mad
sorry for all emotions

i'll be marble by morning

A Peaceful, Queasy Feelin'
The new/old Dodge needs a heavy foot on the gas in park
And a light touch in drive.

My old tom sleeps in my knapsack along with Ray,
Paws bicycling in the air.

I left crusts on the porch for the geese, water for the plants.
And a saucer of beer for the hobos

And we're thunderin down VA 306, cracking, whizzing
With smoke from 2 exhausts.

Arteries and fuels lines deteriorated.
Faces and paint jobs faded.

Farmville is aptly named, South Boston not-so-much.
And Leno is on in every market.

You can't git a wireless, photocopy or money order for 100 miles.
Hell has no broadband.

While you microwave soup; she is with dashing beau of the week.
See his ranking on Myspace.

But Me, my comments and bulletins and love notes are deleted.
And so am I, for sure.

And I'm out here on the fringe, counting valium and methodone.
And smoking to the filter.

Crossed phone lines offer stupid hope.
As if there was any other kind.

A piston has cracked in my brain...

God bless you, wherever you are, Rod Sunshine.
And give my regards to Johnie Macacca.

Put a candle on the stove and the kettle in the window, Iris, I'm comin' home.

We'll sit on the porch and watch the sun rise, then sit in the tub and watch the
bathroom sink.

Also new pix in the Gallery and some new video by dawn, if I git'er fired up...
yours,
gyf

Hecho en Infierno
Thoughts while trying not to jump out a Thirteenth Story Window:

Johnny Depp and Somalia have annoyingly and decidedly made 2006 the Year of the
Pirate. As such I propose a whole new zodiac, because an overthrow of the Chinese-
GypsyAxis of Evil is long since overdue...but I propose using the Depp momentum to
base calendar years on other out-dated & unsavory characters. Thusly:

2006 Year of the Pirate
2007 Year of the Gravedigger
2008 Year of the Carnie
2009 Year of the Doorman
2010 Year of the Bookie
2011 Year of the Organ-Grinder
2012 Year of the Clown
2013 Year of the Salesman
2014 Year of the Hobo
2015 Year of the Ninja
2016 Year of the Barista
2017 Year of the Walmart Greeter
gyf
Geronimooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

The Web-Toe Funk
Once upon a time in a magical kingdom, far, far away, a beautiful princess was sitting
by a deep cool spring, tossing her favorite toy, a golden ball in the air. She threw it
higher and higher until she threw it so high she couldn’t catch it, but let it bound off the
rocks and into the pool. The Princess was fretting and crying on the bank wondering
how to retrieve her ball when to her surprise a little frog, spoke out to her from his
nearby lily pad: “I hate to see you so sad, Princess.” spoke the horrid little thing,
“Perhaps I might dive down into the cold water and pull your golden toy back to the
bank for you.” The Princess said she was oh-so-grateful and promised to reward the
wee creature with a kiss were he successful, and so he hopped gladly into the deep
water.

But of course, the beautiful golden ball was the least of the Princess’ worries that
beautiful morn. For the handsome Prince Charming had already smacked the crap out
of her for being out all night, but she kept her damned mouth shut because she had a
huge car note that the Prince had promised to make this month; little did she know that
he had already dropped 200-bones into Sudafed and paint thinner and lost it all when
his mobile meth lab caught fire up in the Motorlodge out on Rte 16. You know the
place, on the left about a quarter mile past what used to be Krumpke's Dairy farm
before the coliform got into the spring.

And the tireless little frog struggled and struggled and finally dragged the glistening
golden ball ashore, whereupon asking for his kiss, the Princess said that she really
didn’t think of him in that way at all. But he still put her safely into a cab, threw her some
bail for the Prince and promised to baby-sit during his arraignment.

And the frog died and ironically the flies ate him.
And the moral is:

RIBBITT!

Up fer days
thanks, sharon....you help!
check moi out now.
Its only a matter of time before we host violent throat-gagging porn. Wave of the
future..........!

Life was a Bowlful of Cherries
Sorry, Cherries Gordon, for being a man who lives with beasts and demons. I am a
lonely and jealous man who loves you.

Unmailable explanation here:

Apologies R' US

Where Everybody Slurs Your Name....

In 1996, Frank was busted by the man for operating a speakeasy called "the Rusty
Trowel."

A Speakeasy!? So very 1920s retro, like Flappers and State-sponsored castration.

Yea! Sounds quaint and silly, but explain that to the Erie County District Judge...

A tribute is in the works...

Hobo Decisions

Hmmm...I went to tha' store and came back wih muffin mix and whiskey.

Whom shall I spend the evening with?

Unless......

{new crap all over site.}

graveyardfrank.com

Frank’s House of Platonic Bliss now serving the Atlanta Community!

Brrrriiiiing! Brrrriiiiing! …Hello! Welcome to Frank’s House of Platonic Bliss, we been
loved, but not in that way since 1992. Please listen carefully the menu options have
changed or to speak directly with an operator please stay on the line…To be told
you haven’t gained weight please press one, to schedule a trip to or from the
airport or to request pet sitting please press two. To discuss your outfit for
tomorrows big date, press three…

Please be patient all of our operators are listlessly surfing for porn.

Click.

Hello, this is Frank. Thank you for waiting. That’s okay we were merely sitting
around and waiting for your call……You can now upgrade to our Gold Member
Level Service, We will hold Gold Members tightly all night long, while he’s out
drinking with friends or getting his band back together, don’t worry. We expect
nothing in return. We’ll make you laugh and listen about your day! It’s completely
unfair what that bitch Sylvia from accounting said about your new blouse!

All you need to do is promise that if things were different there would be a chance
for US. We know sex can’t top how you feel about our friendship. At Frank’s we
know you can love us both but only copulate with him. You’re not easy after all!

Don’t worry we’ll gladly take the carrot or the stick. We know our smile is not so
toothy, our muscles not so defined, but we're so damned happy to be your Number
2. If nothing is permanent in this world, why have a fling with a dud like us? We don’
t even have a load of cash to throw around! You’d be a fool not to have a stud on
your arm in public!

To subscribe, please send 8 x 10 portrait, so we’ll know whose image to cling to on
the cold, lonely nights hiding under our bed while you’re out fornicating.

Emotionally & conversationally unfulfilled only. All operators are certified as 100%
Quality Listeners and guaranteed as sentimentally castrated.

Remember if unsatisfied by our love, please send back unused portion for a full
refund. Operators are standing by.