The Most Amazing Product (Eerie)

Flash Fiction 40+1: New Mexican Bread Aisle (41 stories)

White Elephant (Over 120 writings)

Scribbles (Slightly unstable)


The Most Amazing Product (Sample)

He travelled mostly on foot. He was very merry with his new product.

“A new product to change the world,” he said out loud, after pausing in his tracks to lift his arms into the air as if to portray some marquee of writing in lights.

It’s quite simple; it is none other than this magnificent product. “This product is sure to change the world and change lives,” the man again said, speaking out loud, seeking to rehearse his sales pitch.

“The most amazing product!” he sang, in a brilliant voice.

His singing was very welcoming. There was a thick feel of warmth about the way that he sang and exaggerated the ‘a’ in the word ‘amazing’ He continued his long, slow, strides on his merry stroll through the merriest of the merry towns. He excitedly, enticingly smiled and waved his wavy hands, as he passed the cheery, bright-eyed people, standing on the lawns in front of their brightly colored suburban houses.

“Howdy neighbor!” he shouted out and gave a friendly wave to the friendliest of all friendly neighbors, Mr. Francis Freund.

“How are you today?” he asked Mr. Francis Freund.

“I am quite well and how are you, friend?” I am fantastic, said the man in a warm reply.

“It is such a lovely day, is it not?” he asked Mr. Francis Freund.

“It most certainly is!” Mr. Francis Freund exclaimed, wearing his bright smile that matched his brightly colored yellow sweater and his bright khaki shorts that he wore on the brightest of all days in the brightest of all towns.

“Farewell Mr. Francis Freund, I’m off to make new friends!” He shouted as he gave a firm wave and a bow as he walked away from Mr. Francis Freund.

“The most amazing product!” he shouted out, continuing to explore the explorations of the town most fit for that exploring day.

“The greatest product ever, it is by far—the greatest,” he said out loud as he continued his hum and stroll through the merriest of the merry towns.

He continued his stroll, wearing a poorly pressed suit, and a salesman smile. He carried with him, one hat, one pocket watch, two shoes, two shoe strings, two socks, one belt, one jacket, one shirt, one tie, one pair of pants and one briefcase. The briefcase wore the color white and the enticing color of a red, mysterious emblem. The white briefcase carried with it the most amazing product that would forever change everyone’s lives. The most amazing product carried with it all the excitement of the lives it would touch. The lives of the excitement carried by the most amazing product, wore the ability to attract more people to the most amazing product.

The man stopped in front of a brightly colored yellow house, much like the yellow houses in the merriest of merry towns, on the brightest of brightest days. The bright green lawn was neatly groomed. The bird feeders were adequately filled. The ‘Welcome Home’ mat served as welcome to the salesman that carried the white briefcase that carried with it, the most amazing product.

“Hello,” he admirably said, greeting the brown and black doorbell. “Mind if I buzz you?” he gently asked, afraid that it was perhaps, bashful.

“If I do not buzz you, then I cannot present opportunity, for you see, I cannot knock, not with these hands and not against this door and against this house. If you so decline then it will be unfortunate, for you see, I carry with me, the most amazing product,” he explained to the doorbell. And because the doorbell gave no response, the opportunity presented itself and he was allowed to buzz the doorbell.

“Buzz,” the doorbell said.

After waiting a moment he buzzed the doorbell again.

A woman fast approached, wearing a bright smile. The almost pained expression on her face carried the idea that she did not want to entertain that salesman.

“Hello. May I help you?” asked the woman wearing the bright smile.

“Yes, yes ma’am, I hope that you can. How are you doing on this lovely day?” the man asked.

“I am fine, but I have no time for any of this right now, I am sorry.” said the woman wearing the bright smile.

“I am sorry to disturb you ma’am, but it will only take a moment of your time,” said the man.

“I am afraid not, my husband is not home right now and I am very—very busy. I am truly sorry, won’t you come back another time?” asked the woman wearing the bright smile.

“Very well ma’am, as you wish. I shall return another time,” the man said.

“Would you be so kind as to do me but a small favor?” asked the man.

“Well, I suppose so,” said the woman wearing the bright smile. The tone in her voice was unsure and unsuspecting of what the salesman’s motives were.

“May I trouble you for a glass of water?” the man asked. “I have been walking all day and I am quite thirsty,” the man explained.

“Oh, well certainly you may. Please, please come in,” said the woman wearing the bright smile.

“That is very kind of you ma’am. That is very, very kind of you,” said the man with a salesman grin.

Thank you for reading a sample of my story, if interested,

The Most Amazing Product is available at

Amazon | Barnes & Noble


Flash Fiction 40+1: New Mexican Bread Aisle (Sample)

~ Don’t Use a Stick ~

She and I went over to a park bench, and honestly, I was surprised that she would go out in public, given her recent breakup. I’m not sure that she would be able to effectively handle how poorly things went in her previous relationship. I was there for her the best way that I could be, but she wasn’t available to me. She was in too much grief—a broken heart. I feel bad for her, I really do. So we sat at the park bench, and she sat with one leg crossed over the other. I tried to speak with her again, but it was of no use. It was then that I saw one of my friends; I had met Jennifer through our mutual friend, Tyler. Since she wasn’t going to talk with me, I decided to talk with my friend Jennifer.

“Hey how have you been?” I asked her.

“I’ve been doing okay, I’ve been kind of bummed because my friend Tyler can’t get over his ex-girlfriend,” Jennifer replied.

“That’s too bad, that is the same situation with my friend Natalie, she is broken-hearted over her ex-boyfriend,” I told her.

So she and I speak, while our friends sat on the bench with us and talk with each other. I am upset that Natalie doesn’t want to talk with me, but I am happy that she is at least talking with someone. It isn’t healthy for her to carry around all those feelings, feelings of resentment and pain. She needs to finally get over it and move on.

“Okay, Natalie, we’ve got to talk. I care about you, and I’m tired of seeing you so gloomy all the time,” I tell her, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I would really appreciate if you would just talk with me. I know that we have had our ups and downs, but I have been there with you through many of our adventures we’ve shared together; and I just hate to see you so sad. I am begging you, please, do not shut me out—just talk to me,” I plead with her.

It is no use though, she still doesn’t want to talk with me and it was starting to make me angry. I guess I finally get her attention, but she wants to get rid of me. I suppose that I am no longer important to her. She calls me gross and comes at me with a stick. All of this hostility is really unprecedented.

“Please, please let me stay!” I beg her.

“I’ll stay out of sight, because I’ll stay well hidden. I won’t get you caught up on things and I won’t attract any attention. I know I haven’t been the best of friends that I could have been, but you always shut me out, and you never really let me in your life. I just want to be your friend and stay in your life, is that too much to ask?” I said, but again, she made no response.

“Hey, Natalie, are you coming?” Tyler asked her.

“Yeah, hold up, I’ve got something stuck to my shoe,” Natalie replied.

“Well, don’t use a stick, that never works,” said Tyler.


~ A Simple Key ~

His grandpa told him that he needed to be careful which way he inserted the key into the door. If you looked at the lock on the door knob close enough, you might have been able to notice that the lock tumbler was installed upside down. The key itself was a simple key and it looked the same on both sides. They key that the boy held could unlock the door to the next room and in that room the door would lead to the outside world. The only drawback to using the key was that you only got once chance. For years and years the boy had begged his grandfather for the opportunity to use the key. But every time, his grandfather denied him the opportunity. The child dared not move the key, because his grandfather told him he made note of its exact position.

“You can’t move it or I’ll forget which way I tried the key,” he told the boy. And it was because of this, Tommy, never tried the key.

Years and years had passed and Tommy finally became a man of age 30. He could no longer reason with Tommy; Tommy was determined to try the key. He was convinced that he knew which way the key would insert into the lock to let them out into the world.

So long as they remained there, they would never have any essential wants or needs. Food and housing was provided. They always had clean clothes, a warm room and warm beds. But both Tommy and his grandfather had grown tired of being trapped in that room over the years. Tommy, with the key in hand, approached the old 1800’s style wooden oak door that couldn’t be shook, no matter how much pressure or force that was impaled upon it. The short steps to the door came with eerie creaks that mimicked his footsteps, as if to count them. Eight eerie creeks later, he arrived at the door and inserted the key in the exact opposite way that his grandfather had done. He twisted the key all the way around, but it did not unlock, and the door did not open. In his panic, he removed the key and tried it the other way, yielding the same results.

Angry and appalled, he demanded an answer from his grandfather. Asking him how it was possible that the key didn’t work, to which his grandpa already had a prepared story to tell him.

“You know, son, I had to give you hope. I didn’t want you to end up an old man, just like your old man,” he said.

“What are you talking about grandpa?” Tommy asked.

“I am not your grandpa,” he told Tommy. “I am your Father.”

“What? That’s not possible!” Tommy exclaimed.

“You see, son, you were very young when your mother left us, and left right out that door. I didn’t want to tell you, with you being so little. I didn’t want you to give up on life. I wanted you to have a life for as long as you could, before you tried the key that didn’t open any doors. I had to give you something to believe in.”

“You told me it was Grandma that left out that door!” Tommy said, angry and crying.

“No son, it was your mother. Your mother did leave us, and left through that door. Except when she left us, she took a part of us with her. She took the easy way out and committed suicide, but when she left, she left behind a trapped memory.”


~ I Talk to You ~

You all work so hard for the little that you have. I wonder why, day after day, you try so hard. You live and die in such a short amount of time, and most of that time is spent working. It is hard to say whether or not you ever get any sort of freedom, although you have all been known to fight so hard for what is yours and to be free; I still find you following orders from someone higher than you. I’ve been watching you for a while now and it is so amazing how brave and hardworking you are.

When I look upon you, I wonder how you feel about your families. It seems like you never get much time to spend with them. You are all so busy going on with your lives and working day in and day out, and often times from sun up until sun down. You make me wonder how it is possible that a creation of your stature can be as great and as powerful as you are. Even when alone, you are still amazing and all the more amazing in greater numbers.

Given simple items, such as the elements of the Earth, you have been able to construct amazing creations. You construct amazing houses or structures out of sand and dirt or other simple earthly objects. I wonder if you know what it is that you’re even working so hard for. You all seem to follow orders from above you, though many of you have never even met the greater being above you that is giving orders. Perhaps you are just following what you have been told and because you do not know any better, you go about your daily lives unaffected and unconcerned.

It makes me sad to see you all when you go to war against each other. You go to war against your own kind. I would have never expected for you to fight against your own species, if anything, I would have thought you would have fought against anything else but yourselves. I guess that through everything you have endured, you fail to see how truly amazing you are. I wonder, from where I’m at, if you can see me watching you. I wonder if you know when I’m thinking of or talking to you. I wonder if you can understand me when I talk to you. Anyhow, I know that you are much too busy to be concerned with me, but just try to remember how amazing you are.


~ Keep from Dying ~

He was hot on his trail, and he had to lose him. “Damn it, he’s good!” Jeff said out loud. How the hell can he drive so good? he wondered.

He continued to veer in and out of traffic, hoping that the guy would somehow slip up and lose him. It was a race against time trying to get away, but it quickly became a battle of wits in a game of survival. A song by the band, Guns N’ Roses, played as the soundtrack to the unfolding danger. He struggled to stay focused on his driving. The unfriendly environment did not really allow for him to concentrate. The screams of passerby people, didn’t help his focus any. He had to stay focused to try and keep from dying.

He wondered how he ended up in a situation like this. What was it exactly that led him to pursue me with such ruthlessness? Jeff thought. He tried to think about everything that led up to this moment. But his thoughts were interrupted when, to top off the situation, the guy began shooting at him. The snaps, pops, pings and ricochets let him know that he was getting close with his aim. His face turned pail. His knuckles went white as he clenched onto the steering wheel, all the while still trying to dodge bullets, pedestrians and other cars, trying to get away.

His car didn’t appreciate the abuse it was taking, as he kept shifting in and out of gears. I suppose that it was a benefit he was somewhat of a car enthusiast. Given the extra money, he had chosen to upgrade his wheels and did a little amount of engine modification. I think that he would not have fared so well if he didn’t make those upgrades.

The man chasing him was a professional driver or it’s possible that he had no life. He was decent with a firearm and managed to hit Jeff’s car. But by this time, it was too late—Jeff was pulling further and further away from him. Just when he was about to win the race, Jeff’s girlfriend hopped onto his lap.

“You guys are still playing this game? Don’t you guys ever get tired of playing games at the arcade?” she asked.

Thank you for reading a sample of my book, if interested,

Flash Fiction 40+1: New Mexican Bread Aisle  is available at:

 Amazon |  Barnes & Noble


White Elephant (Sample)


It was never the same after the flavor

left our mouths teething

And the way colors continued bleeding

until they were bled from our eyes

When staring at the ocean, you wouldn’t understand why

And staring at the ceiling might as well be staring at the sky

There are no more whispers now,

only softly spoken cries

And there are no more reasons,

only questions wondering why

The beaches might as well be dried

from the seas, that have all gone awry

But this machine churns this fervent sly

and it does make hamburger meat both day and night

To return home to what you know, the neigh and nigh,

cannot be done, but is as easily conceived as,

thoughts of suicide



You are more clever, than you know

I watch you ticking away,

Put on display, as if for a show

Nothing steals your happiness today,

moving back and forth, everyday

No sorrow, no pain, but yet you control

every man, woman, and child’s birthday,

paydays, rainy days, and all pilot’s maydays

I guess you are watching me, who’d have known?

While I am put on display,

you watch me as I tick, tick, tick away



Today is the worst day

that I have ever known

such unspeakable pain

and never-ending sorrow

I’ll finish this poem

if I’m still here tomorrow



Beautiful woman with bleached hair

Large pink purse, inflated like air

You tiptoe down the hall,

while yelling loudly on your cell phone



The wind blows hard on this cold day

and how I wish I were dandelion seeds,

to another place I would go, taken away.

Like little specs of glitter blowing,

tiny specs of hope floating in this disarray.

Oh, what beautiful madness—take me with you,

I’ll only observe, watching in awe, I won’t get in your way.

Besides, the wind hammers and pounds,

blows down, tears down and crushes most things anyway.

Look how it flows, a beautiful ecstasy that’s filled,

filled with hopes and dreams—all swaying.

And as I watched the wind turn from a breeze into a tornado,

I was filled with sorrow that I wasn’t a part of the show.

Such passion and wild excitement, such purpose and delight,

Such beauty in destruction; happiness without conviction.

As plain as day I watched you feed your rage, not caring about who and the other w’s, because I know how.

Such a spectacle, what a crowd—fit for a gloomy day.

And I watch in amazement, wondering when you’ll wear down,

but after all this time I have to assume that you won’t,

and though I don’t hate you for  what you’ve become, it’s no more fun,

and I’m not sticking around—I’m afraid you’ll take down the Sun.



Seductive, it’s true

I know you know

that I see them, too

It isn’t fair,

the way in which

you just let me stare

Pull up your jeans, please

I agree

They are quite lovely,




Broken bottle on the ground,

shattered into pieces that won’t be found

Two similar opposites in every way,

I used to drink from you, every day

Empty bottles is what I found,

when I took your advice and fell down

Empty bottle is all I see,

In my reflection, staring back at me

Life is good; I’ve been shown a new way

But if that was dying, I find living much the same

Broken man on the ground,

shattered into pieces that won’t be found


Thank you for reading a sample of my book, if interested,

White Elephant is available at:

 Amazon |  Barnes & Noble


Scribbles (Sample)

Tag, You’re IT

How sad
Memories of failed relationships,
that never ended
The burning scar,
The embers continue to fall and light more fires
and you’d pray for water, but it would end the fire,
and that’s harder to bear than the fire itself
There is beauty to be found in pain
A graceful failing
Kissed by the Sun,
denied by the Moon
Somewhere in the mist of the gloom;
a spring rain to refresh and renew
Loving memories that fail to bloom;
using ashes to fertilize weeds
And caught somewhere in between,
the light of the world instilling
And somewhere, yes somewhere,
there is a place where the Sun is setting,
and finally, finally the day is ending
The two fish continue to swim circles,
and I, I will continue to chase the Moon
You are so clever in how you hide from me,
watching me just out of reach


The Stray

I found a stray horse the other day,
she was well-groomed, having a bright coat of grey
A young horse that must have ran away
Perhaps someone is searching for her—she’s not a stray
Well, maybe I could take her home to stay,
And perhaps in time things will be okay
Is it possible she’s just wandering and I’m wrong,
and she has a home, but doesn’t feel she belongs?
Would it be right if even for me to say,
that maybe she really is better off this way?
I fear that if I do take her home,
that it will be hard to fully appreciate, or know,
how things might have felt, had she been bought, or sold
But it isn’t right, and she runs and doesn’t stroll
All the while she’ll have me saying whoa, Nellie, whoa
A wild horse can’t be tamed, and to the road she’ll go
I found a stray horse the other day,
and though it pains me to say—it’s better to just wave


Hughes to Say?

Silent wishes that stand out like cat whiskers,
without them we shudder and fall
Greatness hidden to someday be seen,
but could it be hidden to sustain?
Perhaps like gravity to keep balance day by day?
Fury felines that seek to play
No, they never come when called, they stay away
And it matters not what you do to attract the stray,
they come when they want and leave when they may
For dreams are born and renewed, day by day,
and in the quiet depths, like cold and dark cellars they lay,
until such a time to hopefully surface and remain


And I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “This fishbowl isn’t big enough for the both of us.”


Window Shopping

Tight shirt
Even tighter pants
Soft silky skin, and
manicured hands
A beautiful painted face
My heart will race again
False advertisement
Something I can’t have
Stars exploding with you around
I’d love to undress you,
to see what could be found
Physically—a wonderful investment
Emotionally—you’ll fill me with resentment
Not something I can’t have,
just something I can’t afford


The Magical Place

Every morning it is the same routine; awakening from another type of dream, the uncomfortable mattress, the wood that squeaks, the almost unbearable early morning cheeps, the bloodstains that have paved my memory, laying down the guiding stream, the guardrails, the harrowing.

I want to blot out the eyes of the sun. I want no more visions, no more light; let’s subside into the dark. And there I will find the quietness, the serenity, the simplicity, the audacity, the intricacies, the heresies, the simple but much appreciated pleasantries that having no vision can bring.

I am dying inside and this is me screaming out. This is me fucking screaming out! I’m tired of all of this routine, this rat race, this desolate place, this failing fate, this life I waste.

And I’m trying…yes I’m trying, I’ve tried, it is an effort so involved that has left me wanting to die if I fail.

The demons, the cruel devices, the black tar machines, and everything else this lackluster of a world can muster can line up against someone else’s bakery because I no longer define it as custard.

A bird I wish I could be, fly far, far away. I’d go far… I’d fly far…I’d disappear, I’d build a nest in some foreign place, I’d get away.

No, but it is here I remain, where I choose to eat the shit that eats at my brain. And how I wish it were like a cigarette rolled in a filter, but there at no point does it become any cleaner, it just makes you feel better.

I know what can make me feel better, but it will mug me and leave me in a gutter, left for dead, but the demons will be fed. Ha! Don’t you see it, my friends? Everything in this realm requires sustenance to be fed and everything is a process that starts in yours or someone else’s head.

The envelopes desired to be licked, the coin slots have coins slid, the prostitutes tricked, the unloved to be loved—though that can be said of most anyone, that desire we have, the need, the want, the absolute necessity to be loved; and the plants, they crave sunlight, the night creatures want moonlight, the hot desires cold, the cold wants what the hot can bestow, the rivers desire the land, and the fucking land wants the bodies of water, the mother regards the sons and daughters, the fathers desire all the strength they can trotter, the bird wants the worm, the worm wants the dirt, the dirt wants the rain, silence wants to scream, the man chases the dream, and death wants the living!

So at the bottom of every nook and cranny of your dream eating machine, you will find me and others churning at the bottom and slowly dissolving. Chewed up and spit out, torn apart and cut-up, angry and fed-up, no longer silent but now filling cups!

Oh, but your blade will cut so keen and sharply, so quick and deafening, the eviscerations of the many, leaving little time for screams, but if only your machine was fed on hatred instead of dreams!

We could undo what had been done for centuries, we could invent a new realm for the “living,” but that’s as far as we got because your machine has already chewed it up and the bones spit out like a disease!

And if we take a moment we can see the lonely ‘a’, and soon we will see next to it the ‘b’ followed by the ‘c’ and the ‘d’ the ‘e’ the ‘f’ and until eventually, and completely, we have formed the long line of unity.

But so long as we are on this topic that has me toiling like a storm in the subtropics; can you feel it inside you, that something that feels microscopic?

Life muffins baked in a furnace at 300 degrees will send it out hotter and softer than anything felt or seen, and that is what I am speaking about—that is what I mean, the gracious and unseen, the holy unfathomable, but fathomable human dream.

And our whispers and clues come to us in ever so tiny microwave sized beams. That sudden insight, that overwhelming feeling, that aching, the finally seeing, the hissing that slowly becomes screaming, the balloon deflating but now re-steaming, the 12 o’clock bell dinging, the fish caught on a hook that you’re reeling, the pig that is squealing; squealing not for pain, but for joy, happy now to understand how everything is employed, instead of hiding in a haze, being distracted by the daze, knowing now how important the role that clay plays.

Why would he be happy, why is it now in the end that he can see? Friends, I would like to know the answer to that same mystery, but the only thing I can think of or even conceive is that our one body is the embodiment of many and each piece of magic helps to form the mighty tree, the holy being, the you and me, all of the unseen; and like any puzzle missing pieces you can’t build what cannot be seen, but you can imagine and preen, make guesses while gleaming, but in the end, isn’t that what we are already achieving?
So we go forth like a dog sled race in a hurry to get to this magical place, the end of the line, a place sweeter than any nursery rhyme, a place with endless music and chimes, the hello, hello, hi, hi, the no need to try, try, the infinite fly by, the magical place, the magical, the magical place, the magical place, the magical place, the magical place, the magical place, the magical place, the magical place—the magical place that can’t be seen but can be felt on your face if you only opened new eyes you would understand that we all have every reason to try!

But some are content watching mushrooms grow, and that’s okay if that’s what they wish to experience as their show, but I know there has got to be more, and I’ll keep searching until it drives me insane because it is now more than a chore.

It is a destiny device, a soft cry, the curious why, the ‘I must try,’… the do or die.


I wish I had a Farm

Wish I had a type of


A farm for women to

be happy,

play and run.

It’s nothing perverse;

no other motives.

It isn’t wallet vs. purse;

rather it is that

some things are so beautiful

that looks,

almost hurt.

I would just watch them

go and be happy.

Ah, so carefree,

a wonder of the world.

But does are timid,

and the timid they are

and like so.

A fear of a man,

because man is a hunter.

Not an innate fear,

a fear that comes

from hunting deer.

I, not so much a hunter.

I really prefer the zoo.

Too many ‘this’ or ‘that’s,’

or bellies crawling on glass.

Wish I could just watch you,

but you may think me


Soft features.

Magical like seers.

No expectations.

And you’ll owe me nothing.

Like statues

and nice cars, stars,

pieces of art;

I just want to admire you.

I wish I had a farm.

Thank you for reading a sample of my book, if interested,

Scribbles  is available at:


These works are under copyright protection. It is unlawful to reproduce copy and or distribute anything contained, by any physical, digital, electronic or other means that would be deemed in a court of law to be unlawful and otherwise protected under copyright infringement laws. Therefore, nothing inside of these book may be reproduced or distributed without the expressed written consent of Volatalistic Phil, or until such a time, the lawfully appointed person(s) to handle his affairs. For purposes such as quoting, reviewing and academic uses, it’s fine if in compliance with Fair Use.

These books and stories are a work of fiction. Any references to anyone, characters, names and similarities alike, living or dead, are a product of the writer’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and should not be thought of as being real. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, any situations, any events, any locales and or any organizations, is completely coincidental.

© 2011, 2012 Volatalistic Phil

All rights reserved.



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