Category Archives: Java Tales

The Adventures of Child Services Man

Part V
The Adventures of Child Services Man and
His Trusty Sidekick the JavaMeister

Our story begins in the Tennessee town called Metroboro. Now our Heroes are just like you and me. Regular shmucks working for da Man. Well, at least CSM was. Java was living in his Mother’s basement, optimizing his download speed on his newest laptop. Or at least that’s what he told his friends. I mean Friend, singular: Zach was a social worker, a Family man, Responsible and Trustworthy, a Good Guy. You know the type.

Java was, well, a Loser: No job, no car, no girlfriend, and surely no Prospects. The one you gotta spot for a movie or a dollar cheeseburger. You know the type.

Me: I’m just here to tell da tale. You know the type.
Back to the story.
Honestly Java did have another Friend, who we’ll call Little Bear. He was mostly a recluse, didn’t get out too much, but he could build a kick-ass computer with spare parts and duct tape. Loved people but just didn’t bother with most because he knew they were too Lost. You know the type.
Anywho, these three wayward souls somehow became friends, in their own way. When or how they met is still a mystery to me. Some say they met at a party, others say they met at a Walmart, or maybe it was a coffee shop. Me, I believe they met at Church. We may never know for sure. In Truth, it matters not. They came, they met and they kicked ass. You know the type.
If not, you should. But I digress. It was 2007ish near as I can figure. King George II was nearing the end of his eight year reign, but a light named Obama had appeared at the end of the tunnel. Was it the End or was the light on the front of a speeding locomotive? Both it turned out. But that is someone else’s tale. You know the type.


The first stage of Greif is Denial. No, I’m not really dying of AIDS. My wife does not really have terminal breast cancer. My child does not really have bipolar disorder. My husband is not really an alcoholic and addict. You know the type.

Elizabeth was a death specialist. She saw hundreds of people die before she identified the Five Stages of Grief. Now the Earth is dying, rapidly. And we, humanity, are swimming in Denial: Global Climate Change, Mass Extinction of Plants and Animals, Acid Rain, New-Clear Meltdowns, Fossil Fuel Depletion, AIDS, Greenhouse Gases, Television, Wars and Rumors of War, Military Veteran, Suicide, Revolution, Al-Qaeda, Chronic Depression and Mental Illness, Justin Beaber, MRSA, Droughts, Tom Cruise, and Barney. You know the type.

What are paying attention to? TMZ, YouTube, porno, freaking Facebook? How many “Friends” do you have? We need a screen to read and write. Three year olds can do a Google search. We have computers attached to our hips. What it hell is going on? And why is there not a Song about our Plight? Who will be our Dylan?

If not Now, when? If not Here, where? If not me, who?

Here I Am . . . Now . . . Call me Java.


I went to JavaZorra’s for a couple, two, three double espressos on a Thursday afternoon. I

washed it all down with a yerba matte, Shaman style. I was playing with my tarot deck to pass the

time while the espresso did its job. I young woman joined me outside, so I got out my laptop and
pretended to write. I was really just tweaking my Pandora account. When I pulled out my ear buds to
head for the head she asked, ‘Are those Tarot cards?’

No they’re chick magnets. ‘Yeah, you want a reading?’


‘Let me run to the can, then I’ll Do you. OK?’


I then ran to the can, and picked up two more double shots on the way back. ‘I got some
espresso. You want Some?’


‘What’s your question? Romance or Finance?’

‘Can I do both?’

‘Sure, of course!’ Time to work your magic, Java Meister.


And so it went — And so it goes. Coffee, Tarot, Write, Flirt . . . Coffee, Tarot, Write, Flirt . . .
Ad infinitium.


The Life of Java Part I

The Gospel According to Java
Some time ago a child was born into a world without fear. His Father named him Java after his maternal grandfather. Java grew to be a man in an age where boys were kings of their own realms. Every whim, every desire was given to him and his peers. Unfortunately, as he grew in years, he as of yet became a Man.
We know not of his extended adolescent years other than some rumors and few internet video postings. We do know he lived the life of a profligate and accumulated a lengthy rap sheet which has been studied by Javian scholars. His incarcerations and many psychiatric hospital stays are also well documented. Java’s story begins here at the age of thirty four or five, as near as we can guess. Then is the tale of his conversion and baptism followed by his so called Salad Days. After that he spends four chapters on a basic primer for roasting and brewing coffee. Finally is an account of his arrest and eventual martyrdom, which was written by one of his followers after Java’s death name unknown.

The Book of Java: Chapter One
“Without Love where would you be now?” My dad’s favorite Socratic question it is. His other favorite quote came from my grandpa Paddon: “Well begun is halfway done.” I may have hated my Father, but he taught me to be a man while I was in a shit storm of my own making. Has never bailed me out from jail.
The wired chemical is dough: With much Power comes much Responsibility.


A Smile Changed My Day

Part XVI: Sallie

‘Do you think you’re better off alone?’
‘Of course not. Do you?’
I said to Sallie, ‘Talk to me.’
‘I don’t feel much like talking, Java.”
‘So just listen, Sallie.’
‘Fine . . .’

So Sallie listened . . . she is a good listener, especially for a computer: an artificial intellect. Many of her responses were very effective in continuing the conversations. ‘You don’t say? Bless her heart! How do you know that? Really? No kidding?’ So Java talked and Sallie listened intently. If she’d being paying attention, half of the population of the Americas would be alive not dead. ‘I’ve got a long way to run.’ No such Luck. Goodbye USA, Canada and Mexico. Mostly gone, thanks to China and Pakistan. Who knew they had so many subs and bombers? No point in crying over spilt milk, so to speak. So it begins . . . ‘The End is Near.’
‘The End is Here, my friends: I told you so!’ Shoulda listened to Java. ‘If you were Lucky enough to survive you better start hearing me now. Repent! For the end is Here! Turn from your Evil ways! Burn your Porn! Dump your Booze! Stomp your Fatty foods! Plow under your Sin! Your Father wants your Soul! Come to Him on Bended knee and be Forgiven!’
Now is when I came into my own. Multitudes listen to my sermons Now. Every day they crowd around their PCs looking for the Answer. I give them what I can. I give until it hurts. They seem encouraged by my Words, but is there any Hope? ‘Where do we go from Here? I just don’t have the answer to that, my friends.’
‘Interestingly enough, the Power is still on, cell phones work, water and natural gas still flow. We have all the comforts of home, with the exception of cable TV. Satellite is still broadcasting, thank God. What else do we need? Hope, for one. Food we’ll need soon enough. Two Wal-Marts can only feed a family for so long. Why were we Left Behind? Are we Blessed or Cursed? Both, I’d guess. Cry me a River.’

Survivors begin to trickle in from East and West Tennessee. Many are too far gone to save, so we burn their corpses. ‘Their Stories of Destruction and Death are horrifying. Man has become very effective at the Art of murder.’ I say with regret. ‘So what is the Good News? We’re alive. No radiation has settled here. We still have our homes, cars and each other. We have been blessed with a Second Chance. What do we do with it?’ No one answers. ‘Alex? What do we do?’ ‘I don’t know, Java.’ ‘Kirk, what do we do now?’

‘Get ready for Winter. Store food. Shut off water, gas and electric to the homes we don’t need. Build a dam on the Stones River. Protect our borders from intruders, survivors of any kind. We cannot be contaminated. That’s about it.’
‘Carmen?’’Make babies: often.’
‘I second that,’ declares Alexia
‘So moved. Thanks for the reminder.’
‘Anyone else?’
Dave: ‘We need to continue to broadcast. Let the Others know we’re Here. Find out who else made it. Where they are, how

‘Can we do that?’

‘Yes. I’ve got my grandmother in St. Petersburg on her cell.’ I give Dave a questioning glance. ‘She’s dying of radiation poisoning at 87. She’s ready to go. Most of the satellites are still up there. Some of the servers are still on line. We can do it, but it may take some time.’
‘We’ve got Time.’
So we started to build. Two months later, Anne and Alexia both got pregnant. Carmen and I certainly were trying hard. We began to broadcast a couple hours a day. No responses, yet. The dam was almost completed and we built a mill just in case the power was cut off. No other survivors had breached our borders. I thanked God for that. They were just too heart breaking. Saturday was our day off: We watched American Psycho on Netflix and ate some microwave popcorn. Almost felt like Before.
Rather than bore you with mundane details, I will relate a singular day from that time: Big Dave was broadcasting via YouTube our standard greeting in a dozen languages. And we got a view! The IP address was out of Chicago! They continued to view all the videos we had posted since Before. Life in the Fast lane by the Eagles was a music video we had posted early on. He had shared
the URL with another IP address in British Columbia! Shit yeah! Two more Groups of people! Dave switched over to live Webcam on
Skype, but got no response. No webcam? A slow connection? ‘Most likely a brown out downed their server. We’ve had that happen to us.’
‘Where did they go, Dave?’
‘They’ll be back soon enough, Java’


We celebrated Thanksgiving with a feast: wild turkey, ham, yams, taters, green bean casserole and pumpkin pie for dessert. What a meal for the only known People south of Lake Michigan. We also called up Chicago on Skype to share the day with each other. Eighty-eight with eight on the way lived in Evanston, Illinois. The El still functions so they were able to explore the whole city, no more humans. Also, they were armed to the teeth. Great Lakes Naval Base was nearby. They were learning to pilot a nuclear attack sub: USS Excelsior. So they could explore North America via the seas, then come up the Mississippi, Ohio and the Cumberland to give us a visit, exchange Information and, of course, DNA.
They plan to arrive next March: God willing and the creek don’t rise. LBD is especially interested in exchanging fluids with their Programmer: Laura Freimann, for they are in Love. ‘The End of Isolation is Near.’