Stack Jones is an award winning writer, photographer, and musician who performs in a wide variety of genres. In contrast to his music Stack’s social, religious, legal and political commentaries are scathing. He tells it like it is, without allowing external influences to mar his perspective.

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That Damn Bird!

The old man spent a good portion of his morning clearing away the garbage that was strewn about in his yard. This had become a weekly, no, bi-weekly event as trash was to be carted away each, and every Tuesday, and Friday afternoon. It seemed that any precautionary measures that were resorted to in an attempt to avoid this ongoing dilemma was always countered with a further counter measure. Actually, since those counter measures were always successful, all of the retired man’s counter, counter measures were failures. He failed miserably, and he knew it. Clearly, that damn bird succeeded on each, and every one of those Tuesdays, and Fridays to make the retired plumber look the fool. And he was beginning to feel like one too. Despite all of this, it could not be said that the retired man was one who had an aversion to the ways of nature, and its instinct to survive. In fact, the man cared for animals in general. But, when it came to that particular bird, he hated it, and referred to it as that foul, and feathered foe, or that damn bird.

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Mako From The Uninhabited, And Unknown Eighth Island Of Hawaii

Mako was born on the uninhabited, and unknown eighth island of Hawaii. The island is not well known because it’s a great shame to the people of the powerful nation that destroyed it.

Years earlier Mako’s island was inhabited by a happy, and peaceful people. They respected the land, and sang songs of joy, but over time that joy would turn to great sorrow. The invaders from that terrifying, and far off land cared not for peace, nor for joy. They were destructive by nature, and had annihilated the island by fire that rained down from the sky. What kind of beings would destroy one of the world’s most beautiful places? And for what ends?

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The Pink Bicycle

I had only been in the city of Fukui for a short time when I realized that something wasn’t right with the company I was engaged as an employee. JALI, or the Japanese American Language Institute was owned, and operated by a man named Edward Miller. I had been working for Miller for about a month, and when it was time to get paid, hadn’t received any money. I confronted him, and he said the Japanese government allowed him to withhold a workers salary for up to sixty days. I knew his statement was false, and he knew, that I knew  it was bullshit. Red flag! Despite this, I said, I don’t care what the Japanese government permitted, two months was an unreasonable time to wait until getting paid. I demanded to get paid for the work that I had performed. Further, I had thoroughly read, and was already familiar with the Japanese labor code prior to entering the country. The Japanese Labor Code is quite clear regarding the limitations placed on when an employee may receive their salary.

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Red Is My Favorite Color

I reckon it all started with my Paw. He was always mean and angry. A big strappin’ man with a yearnin’ for fightin’, and drinkin’. I remember the day he left for good. He bloodied up Maw real bad. Even laid on her gruntin’, and howlin’ like a dog that heard a noise that I couldn’t hear. But this time Maw, she didn’t recover for a long time. She was in the hospital for weeks. I know cause I counted. For a long spell thereafter Maw didn’t know if she was a comin’ or a goin’.

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Mr. Seldon’s Magical Garden Of Life

Seldom does one enter another person’s world, bringing with it life changing experiences. Mr. Seldon would be that person for me.

I grew up on the northeast corner of my hometown on 174th street in North Miami Beach, Florida. On the northwest corner, on the same side of the street sat an empty house. The place was in disrepair due to years of neglect. It could hardly be called a home. The yard was nothing more than sun burnt, overgrown weeds, with sparse vines that were unsightly.

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Hell Is Highwater

The USS Indianapolis had just completed a secret mission vital to the Allied victory in WWII when a Japanese torpedo turned the cruiser into a fiery coffin, killing hundreds of American sailors and plunging hundreds more into the oily waters of the Pacific.  They expected a swift, routine rescue but what they faced was an ordeal that lasted for five agonizing days.  Navy high command was unaware that one of its own cruisers had been sunk and that the survivors were slowly dying amidst a sun-parched hell of shark attack, madness and dehydration.  By the time the crew was found only 316 men from the original 1196 were barely alive.  This is the story of the USS Indianapolis and the unimaginable horror its men had to endure.  The shameful aftermath, and an official cover-up and the court-martial of the Indianapolis commander Captain Charles McVay III, a third generation high Naval ranking officer and the scapegoat for an unavoidable disaster.  The charges against McVay; “Suffering a vessel to be hazarded through negligence.” (Failing to steer a zigzag course.), and “Culpable inefficiency in the performance of duty” (Failing to make his men abandon ship in time.) This is the true story of Captain Charles B. McVay III and the WWII Cruiser the USS Indianapolis that he commanded and the Indianapolis’ crewmen.

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The Crazy Woman And The Fiery Snow

Before the astonishing event occurred, nobody had any idea who the woman was, or where she had come from. Even after it was over, the woman remained as much a mysterious as on that day when she first arrived. All they knew, that is to say, the people of the small village, located in the mountains of Yamagata, was that the woman was not from Yamadera. The fact that she wasn’t from that village was easy to ascertain, as all the town’s folk knew each other, and if they didn’t know that woman, then she simply wasn’t from their community.

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