Thursday…December 10th…Changing The Corruption in Afghanistan…One Paragraph at a Time….Even though we all know…”Time is not real”…..and Junkies….never steal….

“Lion with Sunspot and Beer” 2009

If time is not real, then the dividing line between this world and eternity, between suffering and bliss, between good and evil, is also an illusion. -Herman Hesse

so here we were…the four of us…around the campfire of life…the official “Campfire  of Life”….fire without heat…without the benefit of real flame…just clear orange paper that rustled under the wind from the fan….made that crackling noise…like at Grandma’s house…when you caught her house on fire in 1966…that same noise…just smaller…and Grandma’s not here crying…like she did that day in 1966…when you and Ohio Blue Tip….become partners in crime….and dad made you wear the “Arsonist” sign around your neck for the whole summer…it was worse than a cast for a broken arm….people could feel a little bad for a broken arm….but an arsonist….they hated you from the get go….even lost your job at the commisary…as a sack boy…couldn’t even carry groceries to the rich colonel’s wives cars….because you liked matches….remember Georgie….and his retard brother….the one dad made you look at cause he got burned by gasoline….because he was stupid like you…and kicked the plastic bowl filled with gas that was…on fire….he lit up like a torch…looked like he was made of melted plastic….this was all we got…a fire that did nothing….but make noise…and you could turn it on and off…with a switch…and the motor hummed all night…while we pretended…to camp….

I never knew their was another and another….and maybe a few more anothers…it always seemed like the one reflection was the one I had to believe in….fear like a lightening bolt from God’s hand….praise it like it had some real value and promise…oh I played the blues and the ballads…then….. sang for a few Saturday night drinks….and forgotten all about those others…they were no longer important….sort of forgotten…like that fancy crystal my mother had but never used…dusted it…polished it…made bird shadows on the wall with it…but…we never set anything other than cans on the table…that kind of green gray table that looked like a rotten artichoke heart….made to look old by some machine…or some Mexican guy that had one of those white over eyeballs…..that stares at you but never says anything…..plays in your dreams for a few days before leaving you with a little cut mark on your arm…and you can’t figure out where it came from…..so you blame the cat…and it all feels like it should….sort of a lucky star you just didn’t see…so it never was lucky….he sat there getting a star tattooed on his shoulder….the guy doing the work was really sweaty…and kept looking at the girl sitting on the barstool….she was cute….but money cute….needed to support that baby that sucked her breast flat…and maybe a few bags of the white….make the day go by easier…but who was this all about….star man….some junkie…or were there much deeper lines in the faces we …hadn’t paid enough attention to….it was beginning to look like an end was closer than that….creeping up slowly…like a shadow on the wall….but you’d have never know….you were to busy asking her in bad Spanish what you’d get for  ten dollars…..

they were never afraid of anything…at least that’s what the t-shirt they wore said….”Never afraid of anything”…I wondered what trailer park they lived in…maybe in Rosamond California where the signs say you can’t do much of anything ….except sit there until you don’t….it’s further past the “Y” than  you’d want to venture…..she said…it started to sound like the beginning of a horror movie…like the “Y” was some devil’s symbol…we’d be boiled alive after they tortured us for a few gory hours on screen…leave without a ticket….swear I’d never see anything like that again….load up the pistol and rob another….convenience store…was a typical Saturday night….anywhere they were….that’ was the way he made a living…his arm had some guys name on it….and no one wanted to know about…no “In Memory Of” or “RIP”…just “Buddy”…..like a tail wagging cat I once knew….his name was Buddy…but I knew they weren’t the same….not same like twin same…they were the same like name same….which didn’t mean a thing…what was the same was often never the same…..at least not for long…and how it appeared on the paper…was only one way of making it seem so official….my father flew over my house this morning……he and 5 of his black feathered friends…checking up on me I supposse…wondering what I was doing….right…thinking something else…I’m certain…..

I couldn’t hold on any longer…the frayed steel cable bite into the palms of both hands…..kind of like I was holding something so hot it was ice cold…freezing me right there…..the drop was a slow fall…like fizz from an alkaseltzer…never ending…..or putting too much gum in your mouth….chew becomes survival…can’t spit it out….can’t swallow it….maybe choke the life right out of you….a wad of some pink…..mortor…stuck just far enough down your throat….that you start swearing the “I wont’s”…and “I promise”…..it was typical of a fall day there on the lake….the boys fished with Coke cans and Masa Harina…maybe they’d catch a carp….full of bones…like eating a bag full of bones…..right there by Western Playland…. Ascarate Lake…..where he threw up on the ride…..we sat there at the top….just waiting for something to happen…other than more….it was hard being easy…when easy was difficult…..even when you squinted your eyes…acted like a little man…..pretending to be something that was a few years away…because it was still calm in those days…the water was close….but not to far over the top…..and the wind felt like a wet towel sting on the back of my legs…..but I was getting used to it…..quiet for it…never said a word…..it was all just part of the eye squinting lesson…..learning the ropes…”Gonna be a cowboy someday”…..I’d tell him….yep…”Gonna be a cowboy”……..

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “Thursday…December 10th…Changing The Corruption in Afghanistan…One Paragraph at a Time….Even though we all know…”Time is not real”…..and Junkies….never steal….

  1. “I wondered what trailer park they lived in…maybe in Rosamond California where the signs say you can’t do much of anything.”

    Ahhh, Rosamond. They even pronounce it “Rose-mond” there. I knew a guy once, who lived in the only trailer park in Rosamond (now there are many). He wrote poetry in the kitchen of his single wide, turning out scraps of philosophy on a chipped, built-in formica table. He worked as a utilities guy, with a half-pit-bull named Tony. He was a great poet.

    And Buddy, the tail-wagging cat, wags his tail in greeting.

    Like

  2. like that fancy crystal my mother had but never used…dusted it…polished it…made bird shadows on the wall with it…

    Brilliant, snapped up my attention. I’ve seen those very same shadows on other walls and afternoons.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s