Dead wyreS: Not Even a Footnote in History

By Tommy George
In the winter of 1973, a droll, gnomish seventeen-year-old stopped his car at a freeway ramp near Detroit's Wayne State University to pick up a hitch-hiker, me. He didn't know me, I didn't know him. I was simply a man out in the cold. The good-hearted kid who stopped to give me a lift was teenage Joel Bacow, who years later was to produce Dead wyreS and also some artists of which you've actually heard. (Incidentally, among the Dutch a "gnome" is a financial heavy-hitter.)

My young 1973 rescuer was driving an old Volkswagen bug. The car's interior reeked of
Tommy and Joel
leaking exhaust, but we kept its windows up due to the elements. We talked about music, and Joel whipped out a harmonica and riffed as he weaved through rush-hour traffic--to show me that he really could play. It further came out that he owned the tiniest music store in Creation, The Hole in the Wall--once a hat-check counter at the Belcrest Hotel.

17-year-old Joel had a guitar shop across the street from the university's Music Department--where I took my classes. I wasn't much of a music student, but I dreamt of writing popular songs. Joel had some musical aspirations too, and a winning way with people. He was so funny and forthcoming that by the end of my hitched '73 ride, he had offered me a job at his Hole in the Wall, where I played guitar and worked on songs in free moments.

Homeless Like Me: Cedar Rapids, Iowa 2009

by Homeless T
CEDAR RAPIDS, IA, USA * 29 AUGUST 2009: Over 24 downward-spiraling months, my life crashed from being a community college professor--with family, home, cars, full fringe benefits, and freedom to do as I wished--down to that of a lone, homeless person. Maybe you saw me walking the streets of downtown Cedar Rapids. I was still wearing a yellow neck-tie (all I had left of my profession), but it was filthy. I had learned to rummage the trash for refundable pop-cans, and scavenge curb-side ashtrays for half-smoked butts to quiet my craving for tobacco.  

Pyrates 'o' the Poop-Deck

by Tommy George 


Ye be sailin' into biblical headwinds, Matey
moonin' over that frilly yellow-haired doll
who felled ye in the first place, a-falling
drownin' yer soul in her poisonous squall.

Denied a Dignified Death: Elizabeth Ann Tasseff

by Tommy George

2015-10-18. Today would have been her 100th birthday. During the shortening days of December 2005, my mother, probably the only real friend I ever had, fell into a deep depression from which she never recovered. "Failure to thrive" was doctors' enigmatic diagnosis. It seemed more apt for an infant than a geriatric patient, but it had by then depleted most of her life reserves. 

Addiction: It's Not Just For the Depraved Anymore

Fun, fun, fun 'til the bank takes your credit away.
by Tommy George
2015-10-25. Some homeless suffer real physical and/or mental illnesses, and are incapable of untangling the red tape required to get themselves the services they need. These forgotten people don't belong among those described here, and deserve everybody's help.

Killing Your Prick-of-a-Hubby with Hammy, Mammy

How's your love-life, Married Ladies? 
by Joan E Thurman

2013-06-06. Girlfriends, have you ever seen, heard, and smelt a truckload of pigs on their way to the house of slaughter?--a hundred unwashed swine squeezed closely together, squealing and incontinent from terror, their pink noses poking through bars of a death-wagon driven by some grinning, idiotic human male--who watches in his rear-view mirror, laughing his head off at your reaction to the atrocious reek as he s-l-o-w-l-y passes your open convertible.

Male Hotel Maid Confessions, Part II

Men have feelings two

by the Man-Maid
2013-04-12.  Being the Man-Maid (a male motel maid) is not as sexy as most people imagine. Or maybe I should say it is not sexy like they would imagine it to be. You know, the kind of running around up and down the halls, being chased around by big hairy truck drivers who want to have carnal relations with the beautiful young maid. It could happen someday, but it hasn't yet. No, being the Man Maid is more like being a matinee movie idol, except real movie stars don't have to clean up after truck drivers, or haul big bags of trash around.

Cockroaches: Smarter than You Think

Come on in and join the party!

by the Man-Maid
2014-12-12. How dangerous are cockroaches, really? Or are they a blessing in disguise?--a divine instrument of karmic cleansing for individuals of tormented conscience before they die? I ask because I know a seaman who spent his retirement years in a kingdom of roaches. His tiny apartment was home to vast hordes of cockroaches who did not hide themselves away. The man's only prohibition on the roaches was that they stay off his plate when he was eating.

Otherwise, it was their apartment.

Male Motel Maid Confessions, Part I

by the Man-Maid
2013-2-14  During my giddy days as a part-time male motel housekeeper, I would sometimes lose perspective on my life. I began to resent the lack of respect and recognition given me for the high-quality deep-cleaning I regularly did on the rooms and suites of the 9-unit motel that employed me. I did my best, just like my mama taught me.