Wednesday…December 2nd….You can step on my Blue Suede Shoes….and it might just take a…..phone call or a few magic spells….you know….?

“Why didn’t I come home last night…well?”  2009

“A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it” – Oscar Wilde

we’d never been that close….you know….close enough to feel the mist but also the heat…it was like going into an oven for the first time….just for a few minutes though…and I’d rather have worn some sort of heat proof jacket instead of the white T-Shirts from Hanes….I realized it was preparing us…preparing us for the eternity we’d chosen for the bad things….the Adolf Hitler things we hid…there in that metal box….that Jim buried under the tree when we were children…he…knew it too…but somehow he got away with it…wore the size 30 waist…spent 5 hours a day fixing his suit….swore to God on God’s grave he’d never swear…drink the drink…or tarnish his metal for anything……yeah right….anything other than those secret nights….under the cheap knit blankets from the discount store…with the whores…the young whores who promised they were virgins…for him…even though he knew….differently…but here it was a new home a place we’d never live comfortablly…and he still knew….I often wondered what awaited him…I started the new job in a few days….

she was never going to accept this I thought…stale bread…I called wheat…and poured the wine over the top….pretending we were playing house….the “Easy Bake Oven” going all night…just for a few cupcakes…that was never going to work…at least not for long…but really who made these rules anymore….who decided what shirt and shoes he wore…he was a big boy now…big like tall…and old…not a boy after all…and if he wanted her as the hood ornament…and she didn’t mind the screws…who the fuck cared…he was going to get what he wanted…even if it was what he didn’t want…so where do you lose with that..always win his father screamed from the bleachers…always win…seemd so absolute…so perfect in such an imperfect game as little league baseball….they were kids….designed to pick their noses…ask stupid questions…only hit a ball if they could because they had to….he grabbed at his chest…felt that searing pain until it just washed him like ocean does a beach…there was no bright light…no singing angels…no deep voice..it was a blink…a cool white room…as I remember….they didn’t have their shoes on…and he was playing a child’s piano….smiling like a circus clown….I smelled cinnamon….

Waymon was a stupid child…thought his big ideas made his stature…different…wore blue suede shoes….with stacked wooden heels….he raped a girl in the early years of his life….but called it love…and prayed she did too…but he always had the key….that key that fit any lock…and could open any door…it was better than a Monopoly…”Monopoly”….he slapped me across the face that day…it was just a game…but he lost…and if gum in his hair hadn’t been enough….maybe the day his poodle…darted to the street…only to be met by a city sanitation truck…did…it made sense…enough…to us all…realized we were different from each other….much different…and to think I could dress like a bear….and be one was absurd….so the idea now…of wearing the snake suit just didn’t seem very realistic…I didn’t need more bites….more useless….chatter of the plastic keys….on the fake ebony board…it all just seemed far to desperate….what next…a laundrymat…then maybe a doughnut shop…or perhaps when all of that wanes how about a used appliance store….the fingernails were the only thing holding anything together…and I could see through them…when the sun was just right….they could too….I think everybody could….but the emperors…well thier new clothes were no different from the other…..emperor

those days where they lived…always seemed like a dream…the wooden worn porch…turned gray from rain…had splinters that dared you to walk barefooted….but it was the smell…and how it all looked…stacks of pipe as far as the eye could see…balanced on the freshly painted white racks….the coyote heads…dried  in the sun….their tongues…long picked from the birds that knew this spot well….just blank vacant faces…missing all of the important stuff….the stuff that allowed it all to dream further than that second…the extra stuff we don’t think about until maybe it’s to late…or we decide that things really need to be different….it’s those old rolls of twine my father kept in the bottom drawer….waxy…they were special…used for special stuff…and “Don’t ask me what I mean….I just use them when I need them”….I watched the black silhouettes above….making sure what safe looked like to them…and I can’t say it was safe….at all….I had a Benjamin Pellet gun…in my lap…I was waiting….for just one blackbird to land near by….and those winds that day…blew that refinery smell deep into my soul….I squinted my eyes…waited…..I laughed…thinking of the song…..

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