the road home longer than the road there it's as if home had heard they were coming and had slipped over into the next valley
perhaps donned a pair of fake glasses nose and mustache maybe dyed its hair changed it up a little
who knows every day ron ain't there it just don't seem to care it just keeps on keeping on
and about half way home maybe half way away from home billy and his buddy bobby come up from the opposite direction headed right towards ron and steve and allison and sally going back towards savannah away from jesup about half way home at first they're just a glint of sunday afternoon sunshine a sparkle coming over the horizon then they're a distant dream a cobwebbed memory a chrome grill grinning wiggling winding just a bit even though it's a long straight road connecting two points of nowhere every now and then the wiggle goes too far the back tires squiggle off the blacktop onto the soft shoulder throwing up a cloud of dust
puffalo soldier
spinning in control steve he sits back way back in the bucket seat arms extended long and skinny all the way to the steering wheel eyes forward focused on the task at hand in some post fungal intensity that seems to have evaded miz allison who sleeps in the passenger bucket laid back head to one side a long thread of drool escaping from the corner of her mouth leaving a trail on her cheek as gravity claims it dripping down onto her tank topped breast one leg foot out the open window her loose wrap around hippie skirt fallen down up past her thigh to her crotch exposing pale yellow cotton panties just a touch of seventies bush some fringe garden peeking out from the edges
billy and bobby come speeding up horns a'blarin' arms a'wavin' passes them gets a couple hundred yards down the road u-turns around in a sidewinding fishtail off the soft shoulder speeds back towards them eventually pulls up alongside them pulling up from almost out of nowhere a redheaded billy grinning from behind the steering wheel looking across and out the window looking out through the windshield back and forth like he couldn't make up his mind a shirtless bobby leaning out the passenger window his long blonde curls flapping in the wind catching mosquitos and love bugs and all manner of flying creatures bobby leaning across the divide leaning out of the car over
the double yellow line
right arm extended a lit joint in his hand motioning for steve to take it steve inching the car left the dull reflection of the sun hitting the glass of an oncoming car maybe a half mile away steve reaching out thumb to forefinger open and close like he was some stoned operator of one of those concessions at the county fair plop in a couple of quarters twirl the knobs this way that way the little crane enclosed in the glass box it jerks this way that way up down the cars they move this way that way in out steve carefully grasping the joint bobby falling sliding jumping back into his seat steve braking a bit slowing down billy zipping on around back into his proper lane the oncoming car horn blasting screaming
a long white middle finger connected to an arm extending stretching to the heavens billy and buddy bobby slowing their car a ragged excuse of a seventy two malibu run nearly to its grave pulling off the road letting steve and the cuda gang go by before whipping another u-turn and heading after bird man shirtless bobby back out the window both arms raised middle fingers extended from each he screaming a loud rebel yell
steve passes the joint back over his inside shoulder to ron and exhales out the window
Friday, April 22, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Jesup, part the fourteenth, a homecoming of sorts
and that first week the same parties out in the same break in the woods maybe down by the bend in the river after work after dinner the same friends the same stories the same shit
some places time it just stands still
and that weekend they head over toward someplace not far just this side of savannah just south of there off in some big old field to pitch a tent under the moon at the edge of some big piney wood spend a couple of days listening to some pickin' and grinnin' kicking up the dust all barefoot and shirtless maybe wear his straw cowboy farmer's hat he and sally they hop into steve oh's white barracuda along with miz allison
packed stuffed into the cuda with tents and sleeping bags and a cooler full of beer and a bottle maybe two of wild turkey and a bag of lemons from the tree in miz allison's back yard
and copious amounts of marijuana a bag of athens dick weed and some thai sticks that ron had brought home from atlanta a bag of gainesville green miz allison had brought home from her year at the university florida she the turncoat she who even in the company of true believers sports her gator orange
and the first ten miles of the ride it rains that late south georgia afternoon rain rains for ten miles and then they drive another ten miles as the bastard sun still high in the sky expressing his disdain upon the land as the sun sucks the steam up from the rain slicked tar and gravel back roads
as if god himself is chasing the dragon inhaling the sliding steaming sweat of the earth's cunt and her offspring offered up on an asphalt runner suckled up through some celestial straw zeus flicking his bic big plastic rainbow colors lighting up his crack pipe creation
grumpily mumbling
ah noah we need to renegotiate
and they drive through that post rain shower south georgia summer afternoon and they turn off the tar and gravel road onto a dirt road rain clotted dust chunks flying behind them a dirt road that follows the field
pine trees to the right cow field to the left
follows the dirt road on around the little patch of woods where the field dogleggs on around pulls the car over under an old pecan tree sitting on the edge of the field
ding dong cling clang dingle dang
the sweet clear ringing bells draped upon their bovine necks their tones so sweetly calling oh come to the church in the dell just a back wooded side of a small cow field that steve and ron had discovered in their explorations these mushroom hunters these kit carsons of fungus they explored they farmed they were gatherers
oh the way those magic fungi just spring forward so soon after the rain pushing through piles of cow shit popping up in just such short order crying out for them to claim their magic consume their powers it is indeed a castaneda moment
and with practiced precision the four leap out of the car each with a paper bag in hand over the middle strand under the upper strand of barbed wire that separates the those from the them a hit and run mission they fan quickly across the field stopping at each prominent and steaming pile of cow shit bending over taking a quick glance ignoring the stringy white capped spaghetti looking fungus searching for that stumpy curved top with the purple edges
almost expecting the cheshire cat to be lounging atop hookah hose to lips
and upon finding it that mystical special it that nonchalant flip of the coin that sitting in the meadow daisy in hand plucking petals she loves me she loves me not who knows will this be the special one that shares its love tonight
bending over reaching just above the shit surface giving it a short sharp but loving tap and a thump leaving her with a shudder and shake birthing little truffle tripping babies dropping her spores for tomorrow's rain tomorrow's psychedelic scout harvesting the daily dose
they picks their self-determined allotted quota never picking more than they can personally consume code of honor among shroomers they pick their quota proceed on down toward savannah a couple of journey joints a couple of beers to tide them over the cuda roars down the back road
on their way to be reborn
happy
on their way to rejoicing and singing his praises for jesus is near them and there he will stay yes yes they're happily on their way pull into the campsite before dark pitch a couple of small tents in a site beneath a large pine tree right in between an old couple with one of those fancy camper trailers and a hippie couple with sleeping bags rolled out in the back of a sixty-three chevy sidestepper
needs a paint job little bit of rust running alongside the wheel wells
they listen to music that whole night the whole night long watches them play on stage they dance stomp in the dust until midnight then hang out til three four in the morning sitting around various campfires wandering through the camp talking to those they know those they recognize but can't remember and those they have no fucking clue about hippies rednecks church-goers students farmers truckers a few navy boys up from kings bay steve and allison ron and sally
they wander they laugh they shar stories they listen to tales of bragging and woe
later that night maybe it is already morning in the tent ron loosens her halter top and ron loosens her shorts and ron picks her banjo while the fiddles moan outside til dawn when
they all go skinny dipping in the river big rope swing hanging from a big live oak out over the river rednecks with farmer's tans hippie chicks with big flopping tits swinging out in the dull coastal sun screaming swinging dropping into the black water scaring the hell out of catfish and gators and moccasins and gar alike
late afternoon fire going boiling down the mushrooms truck camping couple wander over they share smoke a joint or three or four they all peer into the skanky solution they strain out the shriveled mushroom bodies
forgive them father they know not what they do
and ron dumps in a package of pre-sweetened grape kool aide don't help much but choking that shit down without some sort of sugary somethin' somethin' gags their gut stains their souls they pour off six equal parts let it cool just a bit hold their nose gulp gulp gulp about ten minutes later ron walks back to one side of the magnolia sally goes to the other
they puke smile kiss each other on the cheek fetch a beer wander the camp
steve and allison go off with the hippie couple for a while ron and sally wander around walk down to the river walk up to the stage the front porch string band they play a corinna corinna that melts ron's heart melts his fingers and eyeballs they move in a funky chicken meets hoedown wiggle squiggle ron getting giggles from the crowd sally getting those whistling stares her cute little country mary ann titties jiggling braless beneath that grass and clay stained shirt tied up in a knot above her belly button bejeweled with
a little black daub of mud
and they slow dance to a lonesome ballad of conquered love of love lost and found and lost again of outsiders coming down from a far away land and taking what was not theirs and ron holds sally holds her rocks her listens to her fears listens to her heart listens to god strumming the fine hairs on the back of her neck
the bands leave the stage they disperse throughout the camp ron and sally along with them they find an old fiddle player keeping time with a young guitar player they find an unbroken circle they play with their fire their fire plays with them and ron and sally walk the camp walk the woods they walk the river
they walk through jerusalem just like john
walk through this home that was no longer home the trees at the edge of camp murmuring above the rustling of the leaves stirring in the early morning coastal breeze murmuring suggestive promises and threats
coyote tiptoeing tauntingly from behind the bush teeth bared hissing
what are you doing back boy why didn't you keep on going you caught that train why'd you get off
and sally holds his hand leads him through the wilderness of campfires and banjoes and drunken braggadocio and accusations and more murmurings of love lost whispers of love found leads him over behind a pile of felled logs where he can unzip and unleash a long overdue piss the violence of his stream spraying splattering against the trunk spattering down onto his ankles creating giving birth to tiny yellowish mud gobs each hanging on to a leg hair desperately clinging a thousand little dully glowing smiley faces staring up at him from within the shadows with teeny weeny glowing eyes
twinkling in the predawn
little fangs bared
who washes away with the walk back across a grassy meadow thick with the not yet morning dew grasshoppers with wings so wet they can't lift themselves to fly away mosquitos swarming for their morning meal
doubt retreats into just another wearied end of the road amusement a sigh of relief a questioning shake of the head a nodding acknowledgement to the god of sleep the bus slows to a halt he stumbles down the steps makes his way back into the light
the sun comes up and it is sunday morning
and it just ain't no time to sleep ain't got no time to quit goddamn don't they know it's time for sunday morning gospel music
sunday morning
walking through jerusalem just like john
and the sun comes up and it is a bluegrass sunday morning reserved for god and singing his praises starting with sunday morning vespers with the ringing of the church bells a glorious announcement to the day they're ringing for them all and they all gather round the alter that is the stage under the little grove of wind break poplar and they pray that their souls be free they all turn to each other they say hey
they ask one another
and how are you on this fine day within the confines of this fine church on this fine sunday morning
they kick back on that fine sunday morning ron and sally she leaning back against him in his arms he leaning back against a tree they hold each other while the singers sing the fiddlers fiddle the banjo players pick sally runs her finger along the tattoo on his forearm his tattoo a dark dark silhouette of a blackbird perched upon a sharp bowie knife a black heart plunged stuck upon its tip letting go bloody black drops onto a stained blackened banner emboldened with the stars and stripes of these here united states of america
punkabilly bluegrass gospel with a hint of last night's mushroom
they ron and sally they the filthy earth children campground dirt caked campfire soot smudged on their bare feet on their ankles and legs dirt beneath their fingernails they sing all sorts of people gathered around them they all sing they sing ballads and hymns they sing in drunken fungal baked hungover harmony they slap spoons they clap they yee haw they yahoo they get up kick up some dust singing his praises
and they steve and miz allison wander over they say hey ron and sally they say hey
and miz allison sways back and forth with her hands over her head palms open fingers splayed
and they load their things back into the barracuda and they make the slow drive home to jesup
and ron and sally snuggle into the back seat him sitting back in the corner behind the driver's seat she spread across what little was left of the back her head on his lap her dirty bare feet toes wiggling out the window
some places time it just stands still
and that weekend they head over toward someplace not far just this side of savannah just south of there off in some big old field to pitch a tent under the moon at the edge of some big piney wood spend a couple of days listening to some pickin' and grinnin' kicking up the dust all barefoot and shirtless maybe wear his straw cowboy farmer's hat he and sally they hop into steve oh's white barracuda along with miz allison
packed stuffed into the cuda with tents and sleeping bags and a cooler full of beer and a bottle maybe two of wild turkey and a bag of lemons from the tree in miz allison's back yard
and copious amounts of marijuana a bag of athens dick weed and some thai sticks that ron had brought home from atlanta a bag of gainesville green miz allison had brought home from her year at the university florida she the turncoat she who even in the company of true believers sports her gator orange
and the first ten miles of the ride it rains that late south georgia afternoon rain rains for ten miles and then they drive another ten miles as the bastard sun still high in the sky expressing his disdain upon the land as the sun sucks the steam up from the rain slicked tar and gravel back roads
as if god himself is chasing the dragon inhaling the sliding steaming sweat of the earth's cunt and her offspring offered up on an asphalt runner suckled up through some celestial straw zeus flicking his bic big plastic rainbow colors lighting up his crack pipe creation
grumpily mumbling
ah noah we need to renegotiate
and they drive through that post rain shower south georgia summer afternoon and they turn off the tar and gravel road onto a dirt road rain clotted dust chunks flying behind them a dirt road that follows the field
pine trees to the right cow field to the left
follows the dirt road on around the little patch of woods where the field dogleggs on around pulls the car over under an old pecan tree sitting on the edge of the field
ding dong cling clang dingle dang
the sweet clear ringing bells draped upon their bovine necks their tones so sweetly calling oh come to the church in the dell just a back wooded side of a small cow field that steve and ron had discovered in their explorations these mushroom hunters these kit carsons of fungus they explored they farmed they were gatherers
oh the way those magic fungi just spring forward so soon after the rain pushing through piles of cow shit popping up in just such short order crying out for them to claim their magic consume their powers it is indeed a castaneda moment
and with practiced precision the four leap out of the car each with a paper bag in hand over the middle strand under the upper strand of barbed wire that separates the those from the them a hit and run mission they fan quickly across the field stopping at each prominent and steaming pile of cow shit bending over taking a quick glance ignoring the stringy white capped spaghetti looking fungus searching for that stumpy curved top with the purple edges
almost expecting the cheshire cat to be lounging atop hookah hose to lips
and upon finding it that mystical special it that nonchalant flip of the coin that sitting in the meadow daisy in hand plucking petals she loves me she loves me not who knows will this be the special one that shares its love tonight
bending over reaching just above the shit surface giving it a short sharp but loving tap and a thump leaving her with a shudder and shake birthing little truffle tripping babies dropping her spores for tomorrow's rain tomorrow's psychedelic scout harvesting the daily dose
they picks their self-determined allotted quota never picking more than they can personally consume code of honor among shroomers they pick their quota proceed on down toward savannah a couple of journey joints a couple of beers to tide them over the cuda roars down the back road
on their way to be reborn
happy
on their way to rejoicing and singing his praises for jesus is near them and there he will stay yes yes they're happily on their way pull into the campsite before dark pitch a couple of small tents in a site beneath a large pine tree right in between an old couple with one of those fancy camper trailers and a hippie couple with sleeping bags rolled out in the back of a sixty-three chevy sidestepper
needs a paint job little bit of rust running alongside the wheel wells
they listen to music that whole night the whole night long watches them play on stage they dance stomp in the dust until midnight then hang out til three four in the morning sitting around various campfires wandering through the camp talking to those they know those they recognize but can't remember and those they have no fucking clue about hippies rednecks church-goers students farmers truckers a few navy boys up from kings bay steve and allison ron and sally
they wander they laugh they shar stories they listen to tales of bragging and woe
later that night maybe it is already morning in the tent ron loosens her halter top and ron loosens her shorts and ron picks her banjo while the fiddles moan outside til dawn when
they all go skinny dipping in the river big rope swing hanging from a big live oak out over the river rednecks with farmer's tans hippie chicks with big flopping tits swinging out in the dull coastal sun screaming swinging dropping into the black water scaring the hell out of catfish and gators and moccasins and gar alike
late afternoon fire going boiling down the mushrooms truck camping couple wander over they share smoke a joint or three or four they all peer into the skanky solution they strain out the shriveled mushroom bodies
forgive them father they know not what they do
and ron dumps in a package of pre-sweetened grape kool aide don't help much but choking that shit down without some sort of sugary somethin' somethin' gags their gut stains their souls they pour off six equal parts let it cool just a bit hold their nose gulp gulp gulp about ten minutes later ron walks back to one side of the magnolia sally goes to the other
they puke smile kiss each other on the cheek fetch a beer wander the camp
steve and allison go off with the hippie couple for a while ron and sally wander around walk down to the river walk up to the stage the front porch string band they play a corinna corinna that melts ron's heart melts his fingers and eyeballs they move in a funky chicken meets hoedown wiggle squiggle ron getting giggles from the crowd sally getting those whistling stares her cute little country mary ann titties jiggling braless beneath that grass and clay stained shirt tied up in a knot above her belly button bejeweled with
a little black daub of mud
and they slow dance to a lonesome ballad of conquered love of love lost and found and lost again of outsiders coming down from a far away land and taking what was not theirs and ron holds sally holds her rocks her listens to her fears listens to her heart listens to god strumming the fine hairs on the back of her neck
the bands leave the stage they disperse throughout the camp ron and sally along with them they find an old fiddle player keeping time with a young guitar player they find an unbroken circle they play with their fire their fire plays with them and ron and sally walk the camp walk the woods they walk the river
they walk through jerusalem just like john
walk through this home that was no longer home the trees at the edge of camp murmuring above the rustling of the leaves stirring in the early morning coastal breeze murmuring suggestive promises and threats
coyote tiptoeing tauntingly from behind the bush teeth bared hissing
what are you doing back boy why didn't you keep on going you caught that train why'd you get off
and sally holds his hand leads him through the wilderness of campfires and banjoes and drunken braggadocio and accusations and more murmurings of love lost whispers of love found leads him over behind a pile of felled logs where he can unzip and unleash a long overdue piss the violence of his stream spraying splattering against the trunk spattering down onto his ankles creating giving birth to tiny yellowish mud gobs each hanging on to a leg hair desperately clinging a thousand little dully glowing smiley faces staring up at him from within the shadows with teeny weeny glowing eyes
twinkling in the predawn
little fangs bared
who washes away with the walk back across a grassy meadow thick with the not yet morning dew grasshoppers with wings so wet they can't lift themselves to fly away mosquitos swarming for their morning meal
doubt retreats into just another wearied end of the road amusement a sigh of relief a questioning shake of the head a nodding acknowledgement to the god of sleep the bus slows to a halt he stumbles down the steps makes his way back into the light
the sun comes up and it is sunday morning
and it just ain't no time to sleep ain't got no time to quit goddamn don't they know it's time for sunday morning gospel music
sunday morning
walking through jerusalem just like john
and the sun comes up and it is a bluegrass sunday morning reserved for god and singing his praises starting with sunday morning vespers with the ringing of the church bells a glorious announcement to the day they're ringing for them all and they all gather round the alter that is the stage under the little grove of wind break poplar and they pray that their souls be free they all turn to each other they say hey
they ask one another
and how are you on this fine day within the confines of this fine church on this fine sunday morning
they kick back on that fine sunday morning ron and sally she leaning back against him in his arms he leaning back against a tree they hold each other while the singers sing the fiddlers fiddle the banjo players pick sally runs her finger along the tattoo on his forearm his tattoo a dark dark silhouette of a blackbird perched upon a sharp bowie knife a black heart plunged stuck upon its tip letting go bloody black drops onto a stained blackened banner emboldened with the stars and stripes of these here united states of america
punkabilly bluegrass gospel with a hint of last night's mushroom
they ron and sally they the filthy earth children campground dirt caked campfire soot smudged on their bare feet on their ankles and legs dirt beneath their fingernails they sing all sorts of people gathered around them they all sing they sing ballads and hymns they sing in drunken fungal baked hungover harmony they slap spoons they clap they yee haw they yahoo they get up kick up some dust singing his praises
and they steve and miz allison wander over they say hey ron and sally they say hey
and miz allison sways back and forth with her hands over her head palms open fingers splayed
and they load their things back into the barracuda and they make the slow drive home to jesup
and ron and sally snuggle into the back seat him sitting back in the corner behind the driver's seat she spread across what little was left of the back her head on his lap her dirty bare feet toes wiggling out the window
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Jesup, Part the Thirteenth (a re-write)
and ron's daddy he piloting his dull gold electra two twenty five with the white vinyl top and a little rust showing down around the back window a little more over there right beneath the driver side door ron's daddy sitting stoically behind the wheel the car sliding so silently they don't even know he is there until after he eases that deuce and a quarter right on into a parking spot across the street and the door opens with a squealing creak that leaps over to ron and his mom arcs across like a charge between two poles leaps over with a familiar splat followed by a long squeaky pull
kind of like a frog tongue suddenly smacking a fly across the lily pad then taking its time
reeling it in
the long low scream of the fly beneath the breeze fading fading to nothing as it approaches the waiting amphibian gulp
ron's daddy steps out his cowboy boots step out one at a time boots covered by crinkled khakis going all the way up mister johnson's granddaddy longlegs hanging on to his skinny frame by a wide rawhide threaded leather belt gripping a big buckle image of a fanged fat faced drooling ugga the georgia bulldog the apostle of all that is good in the state that he serves at the pleasure of vince dooley his lord and master who will sit at the right hand of god hisself our god who grants us victory on the field of battle
such a special relationship between dog and god that any possible loss is the fault of satanic intervention at a magnitude against which even god's apostle has difficulty defending
ron's daddy mister johnson he looks both ways more as a matter of courtesy than out of necessity he spits he crosses the street with lanky rubber band man steps he tightens the knot of his skinny tie as he hops up the stairs kisses ron's momma on the cheek lightly but with a generosity not lost on ron he sees her eyes they sparkle just a bit through the worry he ron's dad he looks at ron he looks at ron's momma he looks back at ron he says hey now you ready to go in get this thing over with ron he nods he's still looking out across the lawn they each look out over the lawn mister johnson ron johnson's momma ron johnson they all look out over the lawn mister johnson
he says well
and they turn and walk on into the courthouse the heavy door opening inward a slit of light expanding into a framed gentle beam the ghosts of a thousand souls float and twinkle in the sudden brightness sparkling dust caught dancing in the lightest of drafts a giggling gaggle of mischievous faeries frozen fiercely en flagrante and the door closes and the elven magic disappears fades into the cruel dank coolness that is this heartless objectivity of the law
walking down the corridor to visit with saint peter himself perched up on his barstool hunched over his scrivener's desk his beard tinged on the edges with splotches of blue black ink dripped shaken splattered a bottle of bourbon cork removed sitting half empty next to the thick large ledger from which he manages the fates of all those who enter who approach who come crawling in on fraying threads of hope never mind that he is
a love supreme
he is old he may forget to forgive us this day our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us
and months before this musty courthouse stroll before the band began its august sonata the spring it would come and bring its showers and flowers and humidity and heat and memories and moonshine and love and lust and it would bring in the month of june
that month of hope that month of beginnings and endings of weddings and funerals
and ron he would travel south from the big city he would cross the line he would make his way across the creek that defined the here from the there he would broach the divide of yesterday and tomorrow of forgiveness and damnation
and ron would come home at the end of spring quarter beginning of summer break he had a job lined up he was going to work with his friend bobby over at bobby's daddy's store the jesup feed and seed
and ron would come home and bring all his belongings clean out his dorm room stuff everything he could fit into the big old trunk an army footlocker his old man had bought him at the local surplus store
and ron would come home with his belongings which besides his clothes included only a desk lamp his stereo his album collection his portable typewriter his rolled up skynrd posters his three bongs small medium and large the large one hidden in wrapped up in his sleeping bag and the other two in his back pack
and ron would come home with his belongings including his clothes two pairs of jeans two pairs of cut offs a bathing suit his momma had bought him but that he had never worn one steal your face and an assortment of punk rock emblazoned tee shirts acquired at various concerts during the year his blue jean jacket and his ten pairs each of permanently penned and john hancocked underwear tee shirts and white calf high socks
and ron would come home to jesup for the summer home again home again jiggety jig jiggety jig indeed returning to town in the backseat of the johnson family station wagon his mom and dad up front mister johnson leaning forward left ear over the steering wheel trying to detect some click some clack some serious sound seemingly hailing from beneath the dash from the front of the car but ron could hear the same burping growl coming from behind him where he knew the faux wood panel peeled from the rear door in long thin strips curling away from the muffler's gradually blackening exhaust as it parrumphed and harrumphed
belched and blew
ron johnson had returned to jesup trumpets blaring
kind of like a frog tongue suddenly smacking a fly across the lily pad then taking its time
reeling it in
the long low scream of the fly beneath the breeze fading fading to nothing as it approaches the waiting amphibian gulp
ron's daddy steps out his cowboy boots step out one at a time boots covered by crinkled khakis going all the way up mister johnson's granddaddy longlegs hanging on to his skinny frame by a wide rawhide threaded leather belt gripping a big buckle image of a fanged fat faced drooling ugga the georgia bulldog the apostle of all that is good in the state that he serves at the pleasure of vince dooley his lord and master who will sit at the right hand of god hisself our god who grants us victory on the field of battle
such a special relationship between dog and god that any possible loss is the fault of satanic intervention at a magnitude against which even god's apostle has difficulty defending
ron's daddy mister johnson he looks both ways more as a matter of courtesy than out of necessity he spits he crosses the street with lanky rubber band man steps he tightens the knot of his skinny tie as he hops up the stairs kisses ron's momma on the cheek lightly but with a generosity not lost on ron he sees her eyes they sparkle just a bit through the worry he ron's dad he looks at ron he looks at ron's momma he looks back at ron he says hey now you ready to go in get this thing over with ron he nods he's still looking out across the lawn they each look out over the lawn mister johnson ron johnson's momma ron johnson they all look out over the lawn mister johnson
he says well
and they turn and walk on into the courthouse the heavy door opening inward a slit of light expanding into a framed gentle beam the ghosts of a thousand souls float and twinkle in the sudden brightness sparkling dust caught dancing in the lightest of drafts a giggling gaggle of mischievous faeries frozen fiercely en flagrante and the door closes and the elven magic disappears fades into the cruel dank coolness that is this heartless objectivity of the law
walking down the corridor to visit with saint peter himself perched up on his barstool hunched over his scrivener's desk his beard tinged on the edges with splotches of blue black ink dripped shaken splattered a bottle of bourbon cork removed sitting half empty next to the thick large ledger from which he manages the fates of all those who enter who approach who come crawling in on fraying threads of hope never mind that he is
a love supreme
he is old he may forget to forgive us this day our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us
and months before this musty courthouse stroll before the band began its august sonata the spring it would come and bring its showers and flowers and humidity and heat and memories and moonshine and love and lust and it would bring in the month of june
that month of hope that month of beginnings and endings of weddings and funerals
and ron he would travel south from the big city he would cross the line he would make his way across the creek that defined the here from the there he would broach the divide of yesterday and tomorrow of forgiveness and damnation
and ron would come home at the end of spring quarter beginning of summer break he had a job lined up he was going to work with his friend bobby over at bobby's daddy's store the jesup feed and seed
and ron would come home and bring all his belongings clean out his dorm room stuff everything he could fit into the big old trunk an army footlocker his old man had bought him at the local surplus store
and ron would come home with his belongings which besides his clothes included only a desk lamp his stereo his album collection his portable typewriter his rolled up skynrd posters his three bongs small medium and large the large one hidden in wrapped up in his sleeping bag and the other two in his back pack
and ron would come home with his belongings including his clothes two pairs of jeans two pairs of cut offs a bathing suit his momma had bought him but that he had never worn one steal your face and an assortment of punk rock emblazoned tee shirts acquired at various concerts during the year his blue jean jacket and his ten pairs each of permanently penned and john hancocked underwear tee shirts and white calf high socks
and ron would come home to jesup for the summer home again home again jiggety jig jiggety jig indeed returning to town in the backseat of the johnson family station wagon his mom and dad up front mister johnson leaning forward left ear over the steering wheel trying to detect some click some clack some serious sound seemingly hailing from beneath the dash from the front of the car but ron could hear the same burping growl coming from behind him where he knew the faux wood panel peeled from the rear door in long thin strips curling away from the muffler's gradually blackening exhaust as it parrumphed and harrumphed
belched and blew
ron johnson had returned to jesup trumpets blaring
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
the surface of normal
mixed stirred shaken poured pounded rolled and sliced tis a blessing tis a curse tis a wondrous fulfillment of love lust and loathing the seconds in a minute the minutes in an hour the hours in a day
this day this daze coats the surface of his normal
not unlike the thousand year old salt evaporated from the sweat of swimmers stripped of speedo and cap coating the redwood benches floors and walls incapsulated in the sauna squeezed slipped and separated from bodies born before betelgeuse
a crusty crackly crustaceous coating
protecting tender feet from feral foot fungus present since the club’s founding in that year of our lord eighteen hundred and seventy three claimed proudly stated loudly horns blaring flags waving chest thumping corner pissing mary hailing self declaring
they are a proud people they are a boastful bunch they are brazen sons of bitches sporting corpulent coltish cocks and paul bunyan balls that glow red and purple as they thaw in the dry heat
they are strong like bull
red and yellow black and white they are precious in his sight
angel and demon noble and savage an ordinary folk of demotic language who have yet to find a body of water they couldn’t swim a splash of rum they couldn’t drink a piece of ass they couldn’t mount
they hold court in the sauna pontificating on points substantial and subsidiary shameless and surreptitious
while the world outside passes by unnoticed
they walk in they shiver they shake they plop their post plunge derrieres on the dried kindling their consciousness slowly returns from the chill memories temporarily lost give rise to awareness awake and avail themselves to neptune and his nymphs
oh goddess of the water
thank you for taking me into your arms
rocking me gently
delivering me
safely back to shore
this day this daze coats the surface of his normal
not unlike the thousand year old salt evaporated from the sweat of swimmers stripped of speedo and cap coating the redwood benches floors and walls incapsulated in the sauna squeezed slipped and separated from bodies born before betelgeuse
a crusty crackly crustaceous coating
protecting tender feet from feral foot fungus present since the club’s founding in that year of our lord eighteen hundred and seventy three claimed proudly stated loudly horns blaring flags waving chest thumping corner pissing mary hailing self declaring
they are a proud people they are a boastful bunch they are brazen sons of bitches sporting corpulent coltish cocks and paul bunyan balls that glow red and purple as they thaw in the dry heat
they are strong like bull
red and yellow black and white they are precious in his sight
angel and demon noble and savage an ordinary folk of demotic language who have yet to find a body of water they couldn’t swim a splash of rum they couldn’t drink a piece of ass they couldn’t mount
they hold court in the sauna pontificating on points substantial and subsidiary shameless and surreptitious
while the world outside passes by unnoticed
they walk in they shiver they shake they plop their post plunge derrieres on the dried kindling their consciousness slowly returns from the chill memories temporarily lost give rise to awareness awake and avail themselves to neptune and his nymphs
oh goddess of the water
thank you for taking me into your arms
rocking me gently
delivering me
safely back to shore
Sunday, March 13, 2011
i know a girl
i know a girl well yeah he says with that grin that toothy dirty old man grin he says yeah i guess really she is all woman
i know a woman
this woman i know she give me a wink when i say this this woman she give me a wink because she know i know she plays both sides of the fence she know i can see both sides this woman she is torn nee perhaps stretched between betwixt that communal world that peace love and tie dye the universe will provide save the world loose skirts and cotton tops that expose all that bossily loveliness of the hippie
and that pouty faced green purple tequila sunrise colored hair middlefinger to the air stern nihilist kiss my ass fuck you fuck your mother fuck your sister fuck your dog and the horse you came in on combat boot wearing yeah i’m talking to you punker
and that most uncomfortable middle ground of corporate vice presidency where they just don’t want to know they just don’t want to care
i mean that hippie thing i mean it’s not like she’s that old hippie hanging out down by the statue in the panhandle the old hippie that maybe might have touched his tongue to tab a few too many times
might have got on that magic bus might have kind of forgot that he got on that bus next things he knows that bus driver of the mind he’s nudging you in the consciousness in the middle awareness with the toe of his boot he’s saying the bus driver he’s saying
hey buddy last stop
just like my friend fred with no hair on his head he used to get kicked off the five fulton all the time that was after he got kicked out of his apartment way back when way back in the day when i first met him turns out that night i met him he was being asked to leave his place
fred he just didn’t know it at the time
i mean we both me and fred we both knew these guys who went to college with me these guys e and m and and these guys e and m and a few others chrono and stenks and black-man and a few assorted stragglers we all played cards we played cards every wednesday night started playing middle of freshman year kept it up til we graduated
except black-man he never graduated perhaps he gave too much gave more than he could afford
and e and m they used to have this little business they used to collect package and distribute via the official postal service of these here united states of america certain illegal contraband acquired by rather questionable and most certainly unsavory means sent from atlanta georgia air mail to brockport new york boxes upon boxes filled with lovely lovelies both natural and manufactured they didn’t discriminate they were businessmen they discussed transactions over speaker phone during said wednesday night poker game
quantities strains brands prices shipping aliases shipping logistics rented mail boxes
yes quite the enterprising young men misters e and m and fred with no hair on his head
and i graduated and moved to san francisco and fred with no hair on his head he moved to san francisco and either e or m one of them sent post cards to us both sent to me and sent to fred with no hair on his head yes even then at the young age of twenty one twenty two fred he had no hair on his head and so yeah we each got this post card making the intro
and we gave each other a call he called me i called him i forget who called whom first but we met at this bar over on geary and masonic because fred heard it was the greatest and with fred as i came to know fred with fred everything was the fucking greatest
man that weed was the greatest man that burger was the greatest man that weekend was the greatest the fucking greatest man i gotta tell you
and we met at this bar at geary and masonic it was called the pig and something some irish bar yeah go figure some irish bar on geary it’s not there any more but we met at this bar
we were having beers fred had just come from barbecuing at his place and well it seems while we were sitting around drinking beers and getting to know each other and telling stories like twenty year olds tell stories and getting drunk and laughing and yelling in the bar like assholes who just got legal and
it seems that while all this knee slapping good time all this revelry all this merriment trending toward ribaldry was going on whilst we bellied up to the bar and drank pint after pint with a random jameson’s woven into the order seems that old fred well he had forgotten to completely put out the fire had neglected to douse the coals like old smokey had been asking him since he was but a wee one spinning his dreidle back in westchester and
those back decks down in the mission they can get kind of windy down there those little whirlwinds coming whipping down off the hill and that little fucking hibachi it just danced across the dried up redwood planks and lit that thing on fire and
the fire department got summoned via the magic of nine one one and since dear old fred with no hair on his head was not home since old fred was out getting drunk with me since old fred was otherwise indisposed the firemen in all their finest rubber suit helmeted keppele and hoses our heroes had no choice but to take ax to door
chop chop
and fred with no hair on his head in the early hours of the morning he returned home to yellow tape criss crossed and up and down his door or rather what was left of his door and his landlord who patiently explained that the place was now uninhabitable because well the firemen had felt it necessary to spray water through his apartment to the deck and
maybe it would be best for fred to find another place to live
and so fred he moved to his brothers house his brother who was older and wiser and had moved out to san francisco years before and had married and had become a very successful salesman of the highest regard and whose wife was a bit of an agoraphobic and she rarely left the house
and yeah i forgot to mention that fred well he was unemployed at the time
and fred and sister in law well let’s just say that not only was sister in law agoraphobic and rarely left the house well she was a bit compulsive about the cleanliness of her own personal hoosegow and our dear fred in the midst of his unemployment felt perfectly fine simply hanging around the house getting stoned and drinking beers and watching television and talking on the phone to his friends back east talking about what a great set up he had and well he was the oscar of this unlikely relationship and sister in law she had words with hubby and
fred moved in to my place shortly thereafter
and slept on a palette on the floor in the living room my dog she liked to cuddle up with him at night i’d come walking in before going to work going to take the dog for a walk there they were i felt bad splitting them up and i lived on fulton street a one bedroom flat near the museums and the five futon it came right by the house and fred
he’d go out drinking take the five fulton home well back to my place and just about every time he’d pass out he’d wake up out by the beach the bus driver kicking him in the ribs saying
hey buddy hey pal
last stop
it’s not like she’s that old hippie no
and
i mean it’s not like she’s all sid and nancy either she’s not some frail pale white punker chick listless and uncaring and anarchist and talking smack
and doing a lot of heroin
it’s not like she’s that stringy haired brunette who moved in with who lived with n b after college that would drape herself over him like curtains like a bathrobe
n b and she after college they drifted into the world of not giving a shit
unbelievers agnostics
whose art was all about giving up not surrendering but simply fucking letting go
they’d go to shows but they didn’t mosh they didn’t slam they stood on the side and grooved and critiqued and n b wrote cynical reviews rants polemics for the local underground newspaper for pennies a word
and she would paint using only black oils and white oils and any shade that she could concoct using black and white oils
it was all so dobie gillis stereotypical that
yeah they got bored and
yeah they floundered a bit
toying with politics
but the anarchist party in atlanta georgia was not exactly a growing phenomena in the reagan eighties and so
yeah they had to drift into doing a little heroin
snorting it at first maybe chasing the dragon if they got hold of some good choice black tar then they popped it then they hell what the fuck then they just shot up heroin what the fuck
and then they had no money
because n b he spent all his trust fund that went pretty quickly and they moved to a place down in that no man’s land near the marta line between georgia state and inman park and they tried to start a little business on the dregs of his trust fund and that failed
because they liked to do a lot of heroin
and they started this cleaning service
and they would clean out houses
but that kind of ended when they got caught casing the places coming back later and stealing stuff
and then they found a very creative outlet they called it
shopping
hey what you doing man well dude we’re going shopping this afternoon
yeah they would hit high end department stores shoplift incredibly expensive things and then return them the next day for cash refunds
because they liked to do a lot of heroin
and they were serious punkers and n b would put on headphones and play his bass to the stooges late into the night and smoke fag after fag and she would talk about how fucked up the system was how the president was a fucking faggot crook and how the fucking hippies were faggots and how the fucking panda bear at the national zoo was a faggot and how the faggots were faggots
because they liked to do a lot of heroin
and then they just disappeared
and then one day they just weren’t there then one day they just didn’t show up
they just disappeared
and
he says no
he says no it’s not like she’s that listless punker no she’s not
he says yeah
i know a girl well yeah he says with that grin that toothy dirty old man grin he says yeah i guess really she is all woman
i know a woman
this woman i know she give me a wink when i say this this woman she give me a wink because she know i know she plays both sides of the fence she know i can see both sides this woman she is torn nee perhaps stretched between betwixt
those two worlds
he say yeah he say she fight so hard to touch both sides she try so hard to keep in touch with both sides maybe every now and then actually getting down in that puddle and wallering around getting all dirty
maybe mixing up with the dead kennedys
maybe nibbling on some marijuana tainted chocolate toffee till she gets the nods
but hey he says
but hey
she still
fighting the man
fighting from becoming the man
goddamn he say goddamn she put up quite a fight
so she don’t get stuck in that vice presidency of corporate america middle
those shoes though they be hot they way they put that wiggle in her walk the way they put that shake in her shimmy
and he say and he grin you know how i dig those starched white shirts pulled all tight pulled all snug across those sugary cones of delight high beams up and bright and blinding
but she don’t want she just dread that middle ground that most uncomfortable middle ground of corporate vice presidency where they just don’t want to know they just don’t want to care
he say yeah best simply to get on the bus and disappear
i know a woman
this woman i know she give me a wink when i say this this woman she give me a wink because she know i know she plays both sides of the fence she know i can see both sides this woman she is torn nee perhaps stretched between betwixt that communal world that peace love and tie dye the universe will provide save the world loose skirts and cotton tops that expose all that bossily loveliness of the hippie
and that pouty faced green purple tequila sunrise colored hair middlefinger to the air stern nihilist kiss my ass fuck you fuck your mother fuck your sister fuck your dog and the horse you came in on combat boot wearing yeah i’m talking to you punker
and that most uncomfortable middle ground of corporate vice presidency where they just don’t want to know they just don’t want to care
i mean that hippie thing i mean it’s not like she’s that old hippie hanging out down by the statue in the panhandle the old hippie that maybe might have touched his tongue to tab a few too many times
might have got on that magic bus might have kind of forgot that he got on that bus next things he knows that bus driver of the mind he’s nudging you in the consciousness in the middle awareness with the toe of his boot he’s saying the bus driver he’s saying
hey buddy last stop
just like my friend fred with no hair on his head he used to get kicked off the five fulton all the time that was after he got kicked out of his apartment way back when way back in the day when i first met him turns out that night i met him he was being asked to leave his place
fred he just didn’t know it at the time
i mean we both me and fred we both knew these guys who went to college with me these guys e and m and and these guys e and m and a few others chrono and stenks and black-man and a few assorted stragglers we all played cards we played cards every wednesday night started playing middle of freshman year kept it up til we graduated
except black-man he never graduated perhaps he gave too much gave more than he could afford
and e and m they used to have this little business they used to collect package and distribute via the official postal service of these here united states of america certain illegal contraband acquired by rather questionable and most certainly unsavory means sent from atlanta georgia air mail to brockport new york boxes upon boxes filled with lovely lovelies both natural and manufactured they didn’t discriminate they were businessmen they discussed transactions over speaker phone during said wednesday night poker game
quantities strains brands prices shipping aliases shipping logistics rented mail boxes
yes quite the enterprising young men misters e and m and fred with no hair on his head
and i graduated and moved to san francisco and fred with no hair on his head he moved to san francisco and either e or m one of them sent post cards to us both sent to me and sent to fred with no hair on his head yes even then at the young age of twenty one twenty two fred he had no hair on his head and so yeah we each got this post card making the intro
and we gave each other a call he called me i called him i forget who called whom first but we met at this bar over on geary and masonic because fred heard it was the greatest and with fred as i came to know fred with fred everything was the fucking greatest
man that weed was the greatest man that burger was the greatest man that weekend was the greatest the fucking greatest man i gotta tell you
and we met at this bar at geary and masonic it was called the pig and something some irish bar yeah go figure some irish bar on geary it’s not there any more but we met at this bar
we were having beers fred had just come from barbecuing at his place and well it seems while we were sitting around drinking beers and getting to know each other and telling stories like twenty year olds tell stories and getting drunk and laughing and yelling in the bar like assholes who just got legal and
it seems that while all this knee slapping good time all this revelry all this merriment trending toward ribaldry was going on whilst we bellied up to the bar and drank pint after pint with a random jameson’s woven into the order seems that old fred well he had forgotten to completely put out the fire had neglected to douse the coals like old smokey had been asking him since he was but a wee one spinning his dreidle back in westchester and
those back decks down in the mission they can get kind of windy down there those little whirlwinds coming whipping down off the hill and that little fucking hibachi it just danced across the dried up redwood planks and lit that thing on fire and
the fire department got summoned via the magic of nine one one and since dear old fred with no hair on his head was not home since old fred was out getting drunk with me since old fred was otherwise indisposed the firemen in all their finest rubber suit helmeted keppele and hoses our heroes had no choice but to take ax to door
chop chop
and fred with no hair on his head in the early hours of the morning he returned home to yellow tape criss crossed and up and down his door or rather what was left of his door and his landlord who patiently explained that the place was now uninhabitable because well the firemen had felt it necessary to spray water through his apartment to the deck and
maybe it would be best for fred to find another place to live
and so fred he moved to his brothers house his brother who was older and wiser and had moved out to san francisco years before and had married and had become a very successful salesman of the highest regard and whose wife was a bit of an agoraphobic and she rarely left the house
and yeah i forgot to mention that fred well he was unemployed at the time
and fred and sister in law well let’s just say that not only was sister in law agoraphobic and rarely left the house well she was a bit compulsive about the cleanliness of her own personal hoosegow and our dear fred in the midst of his unemployment felt perfectly fine simply hanging around the house getting stoned and drinking beers and watching television and talking on the phone to his friends back east talking about what a great set up he had and well he was the oscar of this unlikely relationship and sister in law she had words with hubby and
fred moved in to my place shortly thereafter
and slept on a palette on the floor in the living room my dog she liked to cuddle up with him at night i’d come walking in before going to work going to take the dog for a walk there they were i felt bad splitting them up and i lived on fulton street a one bedroom flat near the museums and the five futon it came right by the house and fred
he’d go out drinking take the five fulton home well back to my place and just about every time he’d pass out he’d wake up out by the beach the bus driver kicking him in the ribs saying
hey buddy hey pal
last stop
it’s not like she’s that old hippie no
and
i mean it’s not like she’s all sid and nancy either she’s not some frail pale white punker chick listless and uncaring and anarchist and talking smack
and doing a lot of heroin
it’s not like she’s that stringy haired brunette who moved in with who lived with n b after college that would drape herself over him like curtains like a bathrobe
n b and she after college they drifted into the world of not giving a shit
unbelievers agnostics
whose art was all about giving up not surrendering but simply fucking letting go
they’d go to shows but they didn’t mosh they didn’t slam they stood on the side and grooved and critiqued and n b wrote cynical reviews rants polemics for the local underground newspaper for pennies a word
and she would paint using only black oils and white oils and any shade that she could concoct using black and white oils
it was all so dobie gillis stereotypical that
yeah they got bored and
yeah they floundered a bit
toying with politics
but the anarchist party in atlanta georgia was not exactly a growing phenomena in the reagan eighties and so
yeah they had to drift into doing a little heroin
snorting it at first maybe chasing the dragon if they got hold of some good choice black tar then they popped it then they hell what the fuck then they just shot up heroin what the fuck
and then they had no money
because n b he spent all his trust fund that went pretty quickly and they moved to a place down in that no man’s land near the marta line between georgia state and inman park and they tried to start a little business on the dregs of his trust fund and that failed
because they liked to do a lot of heroin
and they started this cleaning service
and they would clean out houses
but that kind of ended when they got caught casing the places coming back later and stealing stuff
and then they found a very creative outlet they called it
shopping
hey what you doing man well dude we’re going shopping this afternoon
yeah they would hit high end department stores shoplift incredibly expensive things and then return them the next day for cash refunds
because they liked to do a lot of heroin
and they were serious punkers and n b would put on headphones and play his bass to the stooges late into the night and smoke fag after fag and she would talk about how fucked up the system was how the president was a fucking faggot crook and how the fucking hippies were faggots and how the fucking panda bear at the national zoo was a faggot and how the faggots were faggots
because they liked to do a lot of heroin
and then they just disappeared
and then one day they just weren’t there then one day they just didn’t show up
they just disappeared
and
he says no
he says no it’s not like she’s that listless punker no she’s not
he says yeah
i know a girl well yeah he says with that grin that toothy dirty old man grin he says yeah i guess really she is all woman
i know a woman
this woman i know she give me a wink when i say this this woman she give me a wink because she know i know she plays both sides of the fence she know i can see both sides this woman she is torn nee perhaps stretched between betwixt
those two worlds
he say yeah he say she fight so hard to touch both sides she try so hard to keep in touch with both sides maybe every now and then actually getting down in that puddle and wallering around getting all dirty
maybe mixing up with the dead kennedys
maybe nibbling on some marijuana tainted chocolate toffee till she gets the nods
but hey he says
but hey
she still
fighting the man
fighting from becoming the man
goddamn he say goddamn she put up quite a fight
so she don’t get stuck in that vice presidency of corporate america middle
those shoes though they be hot they way they put that wiggle in her walk the way they put that shake in her shimmy
and he say and he grin you know how i dig those starched white shirts pulled all tight pulled all snug across those sugary cones of delight high beams up and bright and blinding
but she don’t want she just dread that middle ground that most uncomfortable middle ground of corporate vice presidency where they just don’t want to know they just don’t want to care
he say yeah best simply to get on the bus and disappear
Monday, March 7, 2011
Random Acts of Sanity
first there is this then there is that
flip the card roll the dice take a coin rub a dub dub scratch the itch scratch off a winner anyone can win all it takes is one lucky guess pull it from a dream pull it from a vision pull it out his ass shake shake shake the eight ball what does it say
he don't know he just thinks hey they just gave me a number when i was young
oh lawdy
friday it do lead on into sattidy just like it do just like it always do
the institutionalization the ritualization of love almighty if it's tuesday it must be belgium if it's wednesday it must be meatloaf
bay bridge crossing riding the ribbon running the top deck into the city norcal winter moving into spring not quite there on its way getting around to it the tempers of youth flaring the toddler of the season just can't make up its mind it rains it doesn't it ain't right now it ain't raining right now it's saturday afternoon and the clouds they gather like a tantrum brewing it's going to it's going to rain
but not yet
but not just now
that time of the year though tis the season for the reason don't you know sorta in between stretched not squeezed
maybe it's more lift and separate mother earth frisky teen that she is she be so tempestuous and sexy right about now
silly little tart telegraphing her blood orange crack of dawn dip dip dipping her little finger into the bowl of desire tasting the crystalline cries of christian blood
saints and sinners simmer and stew
while white puffer clouds move across the azure palette a little bit of grey edge a little cranky maybe not enough sleep perhaps they move across the heavens with a purpose with such speed it seems maybe he is traveling within some magical weather channel blessed time elapsed photography exhibit at the exploratorium
not only does he glimpse them flying past his open sun roof not only does he catch them winking at him suggestively he also contributes he complements he leans back his head he sends big rasta wafts floating upward and onward
puff-la
it's a wondrous world not a bad day for a drive not a bad day to be alive hey diddle diddle jumping over the moon jumping the shark whatever either or
phat hand-rolled joey filter to lips smoke to lungs tingle to mind and body an easing of the gas pedal sun poked and jabbed through the windows driving through a plate full of sparkles and smirks
lo the hint of skin brushing skin still fresh
the tickle of tongue tattling secrets never to be told only to taunt tease til maybe tomorrow some tomorrow someone's tomorrow
humma humma ding dong din faux sayonara sends the mix to loop to groundhog day to the doorstep of deja vu
just another southern born middle aged white male wannabe redneck cracker hippie punker hipster hepster sacrilegious spiritualistic pseudo intellectual pretender to the throne behind the wheel of his late model beemer in third gear near redline not a complaint not a single whimper or protest the ipod full of tunes he recognizes but cannot name or claim any sort of relationship with other than some unrequited need for immediate gratification that expeditious satisfaction granted by some instant internet moment of i'll take one of those and i'll take it now thank you very much
the crisp march air reaching down through the roof through the open wound slapping him in the face like bruno the barber his pink palms slick with aqua velva
wintergreen sting
to remind him tis time to break from his quietude and rejoin the world
zion i and jah
come down off the mountain deliver the tablets thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife forgive me father for i have sinned ain't no sunshine when she's gone
he glances to his left as the vehicular stream approaches the ess curves before the tunnel
short red wine stain of a car some chevy cavalier hyundai kia mazda something or other with vague nevi of confused metallurgy several smudges not really knowing if they should be the dull burgundy or the freshly oxidized flakes of corrosion the venn diagram of the two so subtle as to suggest some sort of arranged marriage some sort of symbiosis
mistletoe hiding in the crotch of the old oak towering over the side yard
he glances to the left just as the rust bucket sidles up next to him just as a cute young twenty something sitting passengerside backseat glances right a large colorful buttplug of a blown glass pipe sliding from her lips followed by a billow of smoke and a smile as she sees him remove the joey from between betwixt his teeth it too followed by his own billowing shroud
a temporary fuzzy envelope hiding his lecherous leer for one brief second swirling about before whisking upwards and out the sun roof
seminolish semaphores
puff-la
sending suggestions signaling his smug complacency devoid of any intention other than thought and theory oh darlin' if he may if he might have this wish tonight
she waves a childish finger wiggling of a gesture teeth broad and white she reaches forward taps the shoulder of the scraggly bearded pork pie wearing black tee shirt adorned hipster headbanger with his ass attached to the front bucket doing the whiplash while playing knick knack paddywhack give a dog a bone on the dashboard
he turns left dazed and confused shrugging a little what the fuck interrupting a knick a knack then he too glances right grins that sly stoner's grin toothy and knowing spoils the moment and he knows he spoils the moment how does he know the boy just does
he just does
and a sprinkling a spritzing
stretched not squeezed
the season just can't make up its mind it rains it doesn't now it is right now it's raining it's saturday afternoon and the clouds they gather like a tantrum unleashed yeah it's going to rain yeah it's raining
pulling down into fourth he passes the bus on the right lips like wine passes the vee dubya camper on the left with a burp and a belch the current of the stream does the big mix the big stir the big weave moves them both on through the ess curves through the yerba buena tunnel and out the other side
random acts of sanity and all that
flip the card roll the dice take a coin rub a dub dub scratch the itch scratch off a winner anyone can win all it takes is one lucky guess pull it from a dream pull it from a vision pull it out his ass shake shake shake the eight ball what does it say
he don't know he just thinks hey they just gave me a number when i was young
oh lawdy
friday it do lead on into sattidy just like it do just like it always do
the institutionalization the ritualization of love almighty if it's tuesday it must be belgium if it's wednesday it must be meatloaf
bay bridge crossing riding the ribbon running the top deck into the city norcal winter moving into spring not quite there on its way getting around to it the tempers of youth flaring the toddler of the season just can't make up its mind it rains it doesn't it ain't right now it ain't raining right now it's saturday afternoon and the clouds they gather like a tantrum brewing it's going to it's going to rain
but not yet
but not just now
that time of the year though tis the season for the reason don't you know sorta in between stretched not squeezed
maybe it's more lift and separate mother earth frisky teen that she is she be so tempestuous and sexy right about now
silly little tart telegraphing her blood orange crack of dawn dip dip dipping her little finger into the bowl of desire tasting the crystalline cries of christian blood
saints and sinners simmer and stew
while white puffer clouds move across the azure palette a little bit of grey edge a little cranky maybe not enough sleep perhaps they move across the heavens with a purpose with such speed it seems maybe he is traveling within some magical weather channel blessed time elapsed photography exhibit at the exploratorium
not only does he glimpse them flying past his open sun roof not only does he catch them winking at him suggestively he also contributes he complements he leans back his head he sends big rasta wafts floating upward and onward
puff-la
it's a wondrous world not a bad day for a drive not a bad day to be alive hey diddle diddle jumping over the moon jumping the shark whatever either or
phat hand-rolled joey filter to lips smoke to lungs tingle to mind and body an easing of the gas pedal sun poked and jabbed through the windows driving through a plate full of sparkles and smirks
lo the hint of skin brushing skin still fresh
the tickle of tongue tattling secrets never to be told only to taunt tease til maybe tomorrow some tomorrow someone's tomorrow
humma humma ding dong din faux sayonara sends the mix to loop to groundhog day to the doorstep of deja vu
just another southern born middle aged white male wannabe redneck cracker hippie punker hipster hepster sacrilegious spiritualistic pseudo intellectual pretender to the throne behind the wheel of his late model beemer in third gear near redline not a complaint not a single whimper or protest the ipod full of tunes he recognizes but cannot name or claim any sort of relationship with other than some unrequited need for immediate gratification that expeditious satisfaction granted by some instant internet moment of i'll take one of those and i'll take it now thank you very much
the crisp march air reaching down through the roof through the open wound slapping him in the face like bruno the barber his pink palms slick with aqua velva
wintergreen sting
to remind him tis time to break from his quietude and rejoin the world
zion i and jah
come down off the mountain deliver the tablets thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife forgive me father for i have sinned ain't no sunshine when she's gone
he glances to his left as the vehicular stream approaches the ess curves before the tunnel
short red wine stain of a car some chevy cavalier hyundai kia mazda something or other with vague nevi of confused metallurgy several smudges not really knowing if they should be the dull burgundy or the freshly oxidized flakes of corrosion the venn diagram of the two so subtle as to suggest some sort of arranged marriage some sort of symbiosis
mistletoe hiding in the crotch of the old oak towering over the side yard
he glances to the left just as the rust bucket sidles up next to him just as a cute young twenty something sitting passengerside backseat glances right a large colorful buttplug of a blown glass pipe sliding from her lips followed by a billow of smoke and a smile as she sees him remove the joey from between betwixt his teeth it too followed by his own billowing shroud
a temporary fuzzy envelope hiding his lecherous leer for one brief second swirling about before whisking upwards and out the sun roof
seminolish semaphores
puff-la
sending suggestions signaling his smug complacency devoid of any intention other than thought and theory oh darlin' if he may if he might have this wish tonight
she waves a childish finger wiggling of a gesture teeth broad and white she reaches forward taps the shoulder of the scraggly bearded pork pie wearing black tee shirt adorned hipster headbanger with his ass attached to the front bucket doing the whiplash while playing knick knack paddywhack give a dog a bone on the dashboard
he turns left dazed and confused shrugging a little what the fuck interrupting a knick a knack then he too glances right grins that sly stoner's grin toothy and knowing spoils the moment and he knows he spoils the moment how does he know the boy just does
he just does
and a sprinkling a spritzing
stretched not squeezed
the season just can't make up its mind it rains it doesn't now it is right now it's raining it's saturday afternoon and the clouds they gather like a tantrum unleashed yeah it's going to rain yeah it's raining
pulling down into fourth he passes the bus on the right lips like wine passes the vee dubya camper on the left with a burp and a belch the current of the stream does the big mix the big stir the big weave moves them both on through the ess curves through the yerba buena tunnel and out the other side
random acts of sanity and all that
Friday, March 4, 2011
Jesup, Part the Twelfth (and something new)
jesup part the twelfth read by jimbob
and ron johnson he believes that he'll go find sally he'll find her and he believes they'll get together
and they'll fuck
they will make out and they will touch each other and they will pinch and tickle each other and kiss and bite and nibble and giggle
and they'll fuck
sometimes they'll fuck in his truck parked down by the river out through the woods back in that little clearing where one night when it's raining and they can't get into the back into the truck's bed when they stay in the cab and the steam from the outside and the steam from the inside cause the metal roof to sweat and drip and in the dusky dawn of the dashboard light scramble her sandaled foot knocks off the rear view mirror and she bumps her head on the steering wheel and raises a whelp so big the next day she has to brush her hair back into an off kilter pony tail claim to her mother that it is fashion
during these times these weekends these holidays they will not talk much at all they will hardly ever speak have no time for conversation the notion of the spoken word of language lost to the nuance of whimper and moan there is no room for any such see spot run
ron he'll come driving over late in the evening he'll find sally about to leave her friends those friends of sally that ron doesn't really know jesup being small but rather cliquish and set in its ways
and sally
she will be about to leave
this crowd her friends
she'll wander off
coy
tipsy
knowing
she'll hop right up into the truck his truck they'll drive off sometimes down to the river sometimes over to the elks club pond over round back near the edge of the pine woods sometimes out back in the parking lot behind the kmart sometimes the best times they'll go to her house if perhaps her parents are off away for the weekend maybe away down at the lakehouse
yeah sometimes the best times they'll go to her house her home a big rambling two story with a wrap around porch set in the middle of what used to be an old pecan grove
they'll run up the wide staircase to her room her room all the way upstairs in the converted attic with the peaked ceilings and dormers providing pockets and nooks and crannies for the day's heat to have settled and simmered to linger long past dinner and their clothes will be off before they hit the last step and they will fall upon her bed together arms around each other grabbing at each other and she so wet and he so hard and his cock will slip will slide tab aa slot be and they will fuck
long giggling loud
and ron and sally they will have at it with wild wiggling abandon crazy old fashioned teenage acrobatic hanging on for dear life desperate fucking rolling around on the white cotton sheets swimming through the clouds of humidity the day's diaphoresis pouring from bodies all a'blur stirring sweat and semen and spit and venom and juices of all sorts into a frothy attempt
to find the love
that should be that is supposed to be
that really can be if only they let it
if only if only if only
they could believe
but the fire of youth oh now it does burn hot sizzles bacon in the pan radiator bursting blacksmith banging all a'glow how can such heat persist where can it go from here how do they find that place where do they find that spot where do they find that open window where they can simply look out see the world feel the world breathe it in take a deep breath
let go that sigh that it's all gonna be all right
that comfortable sigh
shoulder lifting exhaustive god thank god that part's over thank god they can pause still the heart do the eye gazing thing hold hands go the movies maybe plant a garden paint a fence think about finances rent groceries cable tee vee shop for a new washer dryer combo find the right diaper service montessori school ballet lessons little league braces
like keith and julie who got knocked up when they were all juniors last year who got married while keith got his gee eee dee so he could say yeah i graduated keith he went to work at his old man's television and appliance repair shop while julie got big and skinny and angry and sad
keith and julie who moved out to live at julie's family's house out by the lake
keith and julie who would sometimes come by to parties and julie would peck on keith about drinking and julie would peck on keith about smoking dope and keith would sneak out past the edge of the crowd sneak outside by the garage sneak out on the deck say he was going to go take a leak he'd pop a beer and he'd smoke a joint and he'd come sulking back into the party and julie would give him that look that told them all that telegraphed the future to all who paid attention who bothered to notice
keith and julie barely eighteen and they they were already bored and the sad part the really sad part the part that scared the shit out of everyone the terrifying part is that they weren't even angry bored they weren't the bored that they had been a year ago that i'm so fucking bored i just want to get drunk and fuck and fuck things up kind of bored no they weren't angry bored they were accepting bored they were settled bored they were so what the fuck
and ron and sally they see keith and julie and ron and sally they fight to keep the flames ablaze they keep the fires so fucking hot walking across that south georgia asphalt hot gun barrel hot firecracker hot
ron and sally they see that they have plenty of time the road it's long the road ain't got no end they got plenty of time dancing down the road way down the road should they live that long ron and sally they drink down the future in big thirsty gulps
even when they sleep that long deep curled up in each other's arms war weary afterfucking sleep beneath the ceiling fan whirring through the still they burn they burn hot
blood pouring from a wound hot the feel of the deer's heart cut fresh from the kill hot
and ron johnson he believes that he'll go find sally he'll find her and he believes they'll get together
and they'll fuck
they will make out and they will touch each other and they will pinch and tickle each other and kiss and bite and nibble and giggle
and they'll fuck
sometimes they'll fuck in his truck parked down by the river out through the woods back in that little clearing where one night when it's raining and they can't get into the back into the truck's bed when they stay in the cab and the steam from the outside and the steam from the inside cause the metal roof to sweat and drip and in the dusky dawn of the dashboard light scramble her sandaled foot knocks off the rear view mirror and she bumps her head on the steering wheel and raises a whelp so big the next day she has to brush her hair back into an off kilter pony tail claim to her mother that it is fashion
during these times these weekends these holidays they will not talk much at all they will hardly ever speak have no time for conversation the notion of the spoken word of language lost to the nuance of whimper and moan there is no room for any such see spot run
ron he'll come driving over late in the evening he'll find sally about to leave her friends those friends of sally that ron doesn't really know jesup being small but rather cliquish and set in its ways
and sally
she will be about to leave
this crowd her friends
she'll wander off
coy
tipsy
knowing
she'll hop right up into the truck his truck they'll drive off sometimes down to the river sometimes over to the elks club pond over round back near the edge of the pine woods sometimes out back in the parking lot behind the kmart sometimes the best times they'll go to her house if perhaps her parents are off away for the weekend maybe away down at the lakehouse
yeah sometimes the best times they'll go to her house her home a big rambling two story with a wrap around porch set in the middle of what used to be an old pecan grove
they'll run up the wide staircase to her room her room all the way upstairs in the converted attic with the peaked ceilings and dormers providing pockets and nooks and crannies for the day's heat to have settled and simmered to linger long past dinner and their clothes will be off before they hit the last step and they will fall upon her bed together arms around each other grabbing at each other and she so wet and he so hard and his cock will slip will slide tab aa slot be and they will fuck
long giggling loud
and ron and sally they will have at it with wild wiggling abandon crazy old fashioned teenage acrobatic hanging on for dear life desperate fucking rolling around on the white cotton sheets swimming through the clouds of humidity the day's diaphoresis pouring from bodies all a'blur stirring sweat and semen and spit and venom and juices of all sorts into a frothy attempt
to find the love
that should be that is supposed to be
that really can be if only they let it
if only if only if only
they could believe
but the fire of youth oh now it does burn hot sizzles bacon in the pan radiator bursting blacksmith banging all a'glow how can such heat persist where can it go from here how do they find that place where do they find that spot where do they find that open window where they can simply look out see the world feel the world breathe it in take a deep breath
let go that sigh that it's all gonna be all right
that comfortable sigh
shoulder lifting exhaustive god thank god that part's over thank god they can pause still the heart do the eye gazing thing hold hands go the movies maybe plant a garden paint a fence think about finances rent groceries cable tee vee shop for a new washer dryer combo find the right diaper service montessori school ballet lessons little league braces
like keith and julie who got knocked up when they were all juniors last year who got married while keith got his gee eee dee so he could say yeah i graduated keith he went to work at his old man's television and appliance repair shop while julie got big and skinny and angry and sad
keith and julie who moved out to live at julie's family's house out by the lake
keith and julie who would sometimes come by to parties and julie would peck on keith about drinking and julie would peck on keith about smoking dope and keith would sneak out past the edge of the crowd sneak outside by the garage sneak out on the deck say he was going to go take a leak he'd pop a beer and he'd smoke a joint and he'd come sulking back into the party and julie would give him that look that told them all that telegraphed the future to all who paid attention who bothered to notice
keith and julie barely eighteen and they they were already bored and the sad part the really sad part the part that scared the shit out of everyone the terrifying part is that they weren't even angry bored they weren't the bored that they had been a year ago that i'm so fucking bored i just want to get drunk and fuck and fuck things up kind of bored no they weren't angry bored they were accepting bored they were settled bored they were so what the fuck
and ron and sally they see keith and julie and ron and sally they fight to keep the flames ablaze they keep the fires so fucking hot walking across that south georgia asphalt hot gun barrel hot firecracker hot
ron and sally they see that they have plenty of time the road it's long the road ain't got no end they got plenty of time dancing down the road way down the road should they live that long ron and sally they drink down the future in big thirsty gulps
even when they sleep that long deep curled up in each other's arms war weary afterfucking sleep beneath the ceiling fan whirring through the still they burn they burn hot
blood pouring from a wound hot the feel of the deer's heart cut fresh from the kill hot
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)