Every letter sliced through my skull
Cutting through like razors.
A black crust curved around the folds of my brain
As the words seared into my mind.
They became a part of me
Traveled with me
And singed every thought
They slowly burrowed deep into my subconcious
Unnoticed yet as powerful as ever.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Diverging Agreement
Imagine there's a wall. Two people are staring at it. One person says, "I think the wall should be red." The other says, "I think it should be blue."
One person runs to the wall and paints it red. The other runs to it and paints it blue. One person then paints it over with red. The other then paints it over with blue.
As they continue, the colors become less like themselves and more like each other. Eventually, the wall becomes purple. Both people stop painting, look at each other, and say, "Perfect."
One person runs to the wall and paints it red. The other runs to it and paints it blue. One person then paints it over with red. The other then paints it over with blue.
As they continue, the colors become less like themselves and more like each other. Eventually, the wall becomes purple. Both people stop painting, look at each other, and say, "Perfect."
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Druggie Doggy
Last week I came home to a terrible sight,
My faithful companion had taken to the white,
Piles of drugs as far as the eye could see,
When I said "bad dog" she took a swing at me.
Snout deep in powder sniffing away,
Going through enough for five in a day,
Insatiable appetite her spirit has taken,
Only thing she loves more is hot crispy bacon.
Snow white fur hides what's illicit,
It blends right in so it's easy to miss it,
Shakes like she's drying and off her it comes,
She can make perfect lines without any thumbs.
Where she gets the drugs is quite a question,
I followed her once and learned a lesson,
She rounded the corner and met with the dealer,
Begged with her eyes and he became the fix healer.
The changes in my dog have been very drastic,
Signs of addiction she has all that are classic,
She used to crave my attention but not anymore,
My dog has become a giant coke whore.
My faithful companion had taken to the white,
Piles of drugs as far as the eye could see,
When I said "bad dog" she took a swing at me.
Snout deep in powder sniffing away,
Going through enough for five in a day,
Insatiable appetite her spirit has taken,
Only thing she loves more is hot crispy bacon.
Snow white fur hides what's illicit,
It blends right in so it's easy to miss it,
Shakes like she's drying and off her it comes,
She can make perfect lines without any thumbs.
Where she gets the drugs is quite a question,
I followed her once and learned a lesson,
She rounded the corner and met with the dealer,
Begged with her eyes and he became the fix healer.
The changes in my dog have been very drastic,
Signs of addiction she has all that are classic,
She used to crave my attention but not anymore,
My dog has become a giant coke whore.
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Murder
He was half asleep and contemplating whether or not to get up when the door mysteriously swung open.
"Oh, hey girl," he said. "How ya doin'?"
The dog walked into the room.
"Time to get up," the dog's hot breath seemed to be saying.
"Coffee, first..." he thought as he groggily got out of bed, the dog already out of the room and looking back with excitement.
"Calm down, we'll go in a bit," he said. "If you'd learn to make coffee we could go a lot sooner."
He walked out of the room and followed the dog down the stairs, then headed straight to the kitchen.
As the coffee brewed, he sat in the living room and watched television. Apparently, some celebrity had done something and it was supposedly interesting. The people on TV seemed to be excited about it, anyway.
The dog was now staring at him and panting. The coffee was ready.
He drank his coffee and continued watching television. The dog continued begging with her eyes.
He set the almost empty cup on the end table and went to get his shoes. The dog could barely contain herself.
The sound of the drawer opening sent her into a frenzy. Like a bucking bronco she ran through the dog door, did a lap around the backyard and then returned and waited to be leashed, her wagging tail causing her entire body to move.
He put the leash on and opened the gate. They headed toward the neighborhood park.
As they walked, dogs barked from behind their fences while she sniffed every tree, pole, and possibly interesting thing on the ground.
Every now and then, she'd find a spot worthy of being marked. He was never sure about this decision process, but the dog seemed to put a lot of thought into it. After several stops and futile attempts to chase squirrels, they eventually made it to the park.
As the dog sniffed a telephone pole, he looked up and saw a large crow sitting on the wire. He realized it was the first bird he had seen the whole walk.
He dismissed the thought as inconsequential and took the dog off the leash. She ran off while he headed toward a bench. As he was walking, he heard a caw. Then another. And another.
The sound of the caws got louder and louder as he approached the bench. Suddenly, a black blur flew by his head. He turned to look where it came from and was struck by an odd site:
A large line of crows had formed about ten feet from him. A couple flew low to ground and landed behind. The others stayed in front.
Suddenly, one flew right at him. Instinctively, he swiped at it as hard as he could. With a whimper, it fell and laid motionless. He looked down at it and kicked it around a little. It didn't move.
Save for a few insects, he had never killed anything in his life. Guilt and remorse ran through his body.
As he was trying to figure out what was happening, two more came right at him. He covered his face and tried to run, but was met by the ones that had flown behind him. They began to wildly peck at his arms. He could feel their beaks breaking his skin and blood began to flow down his forearms and clump in his hair. The others caught up. Their beaks plunged into his skin and warm blood ran down his neck.
With no other choice, he began to thrash around. They were relentless. He caught one with a swift hit and it fell to the ground. Then another. And another. More flew at him and he swung wildly, reluctantly killing them.
Suddenly pain rushed through his hand...
With a squirt of blood, he grabbed the crow and pulled its beak from his hand just as more were flying at him. With warm liquid flowing down his right hand and dripping off his fingers, he used the bird in his left to swing at the others that flew at him. One, two, three quick stabs...
As the dead began to pile at his feet, his mind had gone blank.
Blood and feathers flew. Each attack ended with another crow having the life leave its body.
The fury died down. He was surrounded by a slew of corpses.
He looked at the now red crow in his hand struggling to break free. He let it go. The crow half-flew off before falling to the ground, the blood weighing it down. It was a bit dazed and bewildered. It stood motionless. The dog ran at it and it tried to fly off again. It eventually made it over the fence.
He then looked down at his right hand and remembered the wound. It had gone numb, as he had, and had become black from dried and coagulated blood.
He felt the wounds on the back of his neck and poked around them with his finger. The blood that flowed from them had collected at the collar of his shirt.
He stood there, head down and shoulders slumped, unmoving and looking at the carnage around him.
The dog came over and began to lick his hand.
"Stop that," he said sternly.
The dog looked up apologetically.
"Sorry, girl."
He examined his hand again.
"Let's go."
He and the dog left the park. It was littered with black lumps. The back of his shirt was wet and heavy with blood. His hand was now throbbing from pain.
As they continued to the house, he noticed he was being followed. As he walked, the dull brown limbs of the trees gave way to a scorched black. They followed him, perched and staring like an inescapable thought.
Head down, he continued walking. They left him alone. He made it back to house.
He went into the kitchen and began to run water over his hand. The water stung as it hit the open wound. He stood there gazing out the window. The black trees were staring at him.
A sharp sting ran through his hand. He looked down. He looked back up. The birds were gone...
After the encounter, he was never the same. The scenario replayed in his mind over and over again. He was often disconnected and distant. He longed to make sense of it.
But, he never could.
When the memory and feelings took over, all would become trees and the crows would once again fill the branches, their yellow eyes peering from the blackness.
Though their visits became less frequent, the murder never left him.
"Oh, hey girl," he said. "How ya doin'?"
The dog walked into the room.
"Time to get up," the dog's hot breath seemed to be saying.
"Coffee, first..." he thought as he groggily got out of bed, the dog already out of the room and looking back with excitement.
"Calm down, we'll go in a bit," he said. "If you'd learn to make coffee we could go a lot sooner."
He walked out of the room and followed the dog down the stairs, then headed straight to the kitchen.
As the coffee brewed, he sat in the living room and watched television. Apparently, some celebrity had done something and it was supposedly interesting. The people on TV seemed to be excited about it, anyway.
The dog was now staring at him and panting. The coffee was ready.
He drank his coffee and continued watching television. The dog continued begging with her eyes.
He set the almost empty cup on the end table and went to get his shoes. The dog could barely contain herself.
The sound of the drawer opening sent her into a frenzy. Like a bucking bronco she ran through the dog door, did a lap around the backyard and then returned and waited to be leashed, her wagging tail causing her entire body to move.
He put the leash on and opened the gate. They headed toward the neighborhood park.
As they walked, dogs barked from behind their fences while she sniffed every tree, pole, and possibly interesting thing on the ground.
Every now and then, she'd find a spot worthy of being marked. He was never sure about this decision process, but the dog seemed to put a lot of thought into it. After several stops and futile attempts to chase squirrels, they eventually made it to the park.
As the dog sniffed a telephone pole, he looked up and saw a large crow sitting on the wire. He realized it was the first bird he had seen the whole walk.
He dismissed the thought as inconsequential and took the dog off the leash. She ran off while he headed toward a bench. As he was walking, he heard a caw. Then another. And another.
The sound of the caws got louder and louder as he approached the bench. Suddenly, a black blur flew by his head. He turned to look where it came from and was struck by an odd site:
A large line of crows had formed about ten feet from him. A couple flew low to ground and landed behind. The others stayed in front.
Suddenly, one flew right at him. Instinctively, he swiped at it as hard as he could. With a whimper, it fell and laid motionless. He looked down at it and kicked it around a little. It didn't move.
Save for a few insects, he had never killed anything in his life. Guilt and remorse ran through his body.
As he was trying to figure out what was happening, two more came right at him. He covered his face and tried to run, but was met by the ones that had flown behind him. They began to wildly peck at his arms. He could feel their beaks breaking his skin and blood began to flow down his forearms and clump in his hair. The others caught up. Their beaks plunged into his skin and warm blood ran down his neck.
With no other choice, he began to thrash around. They were relentless. He caught one with a swift hit and it fell to the ground. Then another. And another. More flew at him and he swung wildly, reluctantly killing them.
Suddenly pain rushed through his hand...
With a squirt of blood, he grabbed the crow and pulled its beak from his hand just as more were flying at him. With warm liquid flowing down his right hand and dripping off his fingers, he used the bird in his left to swing at the others that flew at him. One, two, three quick stabs...
As the dead began to pile at his feet, his mind had gone blank.
Blood and feathers flew. Each attack ended with another crow having the life leave its body.
The fury died down. He was surrounded by a slew of corpses.
He looked at the now red crow in his hand struggling to break free. He let it go. The crow half-flew off before falling to the ground, the blood weighing it down. It was a bit dazed and bewildered. It stood motionless. The dog ran at it and it tried to fly off again. It eventually made it over the fence.
He then looked down at his right hand and remembered the wound. It had gone numb, as he had, and had become black from dried and coagulated blood.
He felt the wounds on the back of his neck and poked around them with his finger. The blood that flowed from them had collected at the collar of his shirt.
He stood there, head down and shoulders slumped, unmoving and looking at the carnage around him.
The dog came over and began to lick his hand.
"Stop that," he said sternly.
The dog looked up apologetically.
"Sorry, girl."
He examined his hand again.
"Let's go."
He and the dog left the park. It was littered with black lumps. The back of his shirt was wet and heavy with blood. His hand was now throbbing from pain.
As they continued to the house, he noticed he was being followed. As he walked, the dull brown limbs of the trees gave way to a scorched black. They followed him, perched and staring like an inescapable thought.
Head down, he continued walking. They left him alone. He made it back to house.
He went into the kitchen and began to run water over his hand. The water stung as it hit the open wound. He stood there gazing out the window. The black trees were staring at him.
A sharp sting ran through his hand. He looked down. He looked back up. The birds were gone...
After the encounter, he was never the same. The scenario replayed in his mind over and over again. He was often disconnected and distant. He longed to make sense of it.
But, he never could.
When the memory and feelings took over, all would become trees and the crows would once again fill the branches, their yellow eyes peering from the blackness.
Though their visits became less frequent, the murder never left him.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Agonizing Fragility
An ungerminated seed of hope in the mind becomes a festering wound in the soul...
He held it in his hand. It was cracked and fragile, but still intact.
He moved cautiously, trying not to break it.
Every thought he had was about it. Every action was to protect it.
They consumed him. He was sure everything he did would fix them. He was positive it had only made them worse.
When he closed his eyes he saw the cracks growing. He imagined how every action and decision had caused them to do so.
He anguished over it. He could feel it shatter. He could feel it breaking. It was breaking him.
But then one day, he squeezed his hand shut.
He felt the shards rip into his flesh. His fist filled with blood. The pain sent tears down his cheeks.
But after, there was calmness. And over time the wounds healed.
Then once again he opened his hand.
He held it in his hand. It was cracked and fragile, but still intact.
He moved cautiously, trying not to break it.
Every thought he had was about it. Every action was to protect it.
They consumed him. He was sure everything he did would fix them. He was positive it had only made them worse.
When he closed his eyes he saw the cracks growing. He imagined how every action and decision had caused them to do so.
He anguished over it. He could feel it shatter. He could feel it breaking. It was breaking him.
But then one day, he squeezed his hand shut.
He felt the shards rip into his flesh. His fist filled with blood. The pain sent tears down his cheeks.
But after, there was calmness. And over time the wounds healed.
Then once again he opened his hand.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A Familiar Problem
The house sat halfway down a long gravel drive that led to a small machine shop. She could always hear the cars coming and came outside to meet them - the screen door slamming shut behind her. She was in her apron as usual and wiped her hands on it before hugging the visitors.
"Oh, so nice to see you," she said. "It's been so long."
They walked into the quaint house, through a screened-in back porch and up a small staircase into the kitchen. Grandpa waited inside to greet them. He was just as excited to see them as she was, but didn't want to seem that way. Hugs went all around and most of the group walked into the living room as Grandma returned to the kitchen to continue cooking.
It was the usual fare. Ham with fried okra and red beans, plus fried potatoes and cornbread. The smell filled the house and was quite intoxicating. The chocolate pie had already been made and was waiting to be devoured.
In the living room the group talked while sitting on the same familiar couches the younger ones had only ever seen. They sat around the familiar television that was rarely on and the usual questions were asked and the usual answers were given.
"So, how's school?"
"It's good."
"You making good grades?"
"Yep."
"How many girlfriends you got?"
"None right now."
"Well, I reckon you just can't pick one."
"Of course."
A comfortable quiet then took over as everyone tried to think of something to say. The father said something about the health of a relative and the young boy, his obligation to talk over with, sat back and half-listened while observing the room and thinking about how nothing in it has ever changed. The same pale yellow floral couch facing a light-brown brick fireplace. The two twin recliners to the left of the couch with white doilies placed on each arm. The dark brown wood paneling all around the room. Even the magazines in the rack next to the couch hadn't changed in twenty years. He ran his hands back and forth on the couch cushion. He liked the feel of the fabric as his hand moved against the grain.
As he sat there, the continuing chatter of the adults was just barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds from the kitchen.
Though he enjoyed being in this familiar house, hearing the familiar voices and smelling the familiar smells, where he really wanted to be was outside among the many things to discover and the many places to explore. He gave his dad his usual look and his dad gave him a knowing nod. Off he went.
Out back was the machine shop at the end of the drive. It was full of tools and things that he knew nothing about but were always fun to look at and play with. On the other corner of the yard was a cluttered garage that held a fishing boat. Beside that was a small vegetable garden that was next to the storm cellar.
But what really drew his interest that day was the neighbor's large pasture directly behind the yard. It was a faint green flatness that seemed to stretch forever. He stood there and gazed across it as the gray sky blew the wind across his face and ruffled his hair. He was filled with a sense of adventure and all that stood in his way was a rickety barbed-wire fence.
He had been past the fence before, but only a few feet to chase an errant ball. Then he'd run back as quickly as possible. He didn't know if it was from fear of an unseen bull or the fear that came from hearing stories about farmers shooting trespassers. Either way, he never really liked going into that pasture, but today was different. He was feeling adventurous. He wanted an escape from the familiar.
As he stared into the pasture, the breeze picked up and the clouds grew darker. They seemed to be rolling in on top of each other. This wasn't unusual though. It was spring in Oklahoma. If a person didn't do something because of the fear of a storm, nobody would ever do anything. So, he mustered up the courage and began to walk toward the pasture. He wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew he was going farther than he ever had before. He was going to fight the urge to run back to familiarity and he was going to keep moving toward the unknown. Today was going to be a day that would change him.
Just then he heard the screen door creak as it was opened, a voice call out, and then it sprang shut. "This was going to have to wait until after lunch," he thought. He'd probably need a full stomach anyway.
After the last bit of beans had been sopped up by the last bite of cornbread and a piece of chocolate pie had been politely turned down, he headed back outside.
The clouds hadn't really changed much. It was still a gray, overcast and dreary day. He was a little worried about what might be coming, but not enough to disrupt his plans.
He made his way past the machine shop and up to the barbed-wire fence. The posts were crooked and rotting and the wire was rusty and twisted. He looked for a place where it was loose and could climb through easily. He stepped down on the bottom wire with his foot, lifted the top wire with his hand and climbed through. He was now in the endless pasture.
"Now what?" he thought to himself. He started to walk away from the fence, passing a group of grazing cows that barely seemed to notice him. By now the wind had picked up even more and was blowing pretty hard in his face. The smell of ozone took over the air. An even more ominous cloud he hadn't seen before started racing below the others. He turned to look how far he'd gone and could no longer see the fence.
A slight sprinkle began to start. The rain created a haze in front of him and misted his face as he continued moving forward. The rain picked up and turned into fat drops that splashed all around him. His clothes were beginning to get soaked and weigh him down. The wind seemed to be pushing him back toward the house. A feeling of dread came over him and he was suddenly beginning to question his sense of adventure. He really wanted to be inside eating that piece of pie he turned down. He stopped walking and pondered what to do.
Suddenly, the rain began to pour. This was followed by a jolting crash of thunder. He decided he had enough adventure for one day and began to turn around. Just as he was lifting his foot from where it had sunk into the newly formed mud he heard a shout. "Hey you! Out there! What're you doing!?"
He could barely make out what the man said over the sound of the storm. He turned and peered through the rain. He saw a man standing next to a four-wheeler. Its headlights were illuminating the rain in front of them. It had gotten really dark. Much darker than he had noticed.
When he didn't respond the man got onto his vehicle and started driving toward him. Scared, he began to run. His feet sank down into the mud with every step and every step was more difficult than the one before. On one step his foot sunk down deep and his shoe stayed behind. He kept running. Now with a shoeless limp - slipping and sliding and having to regain his balance with each step. He knew he couldn't out run the four wheeler and he couldn't see the fence either. He didn't know where he was going. The rain was blinding now and the thunder was crashing all around.
"Hey! Stop!"
This time he heard it loud and clear. He turned and saw the four-wheeler right behind him. He had lost. He knew it. He stopped running and stood motionless. Soaked and out of breath and missing one shoe. The rain continued to pelt his wet hair and drench his already saturated clothes. It splashed in puddles all around him.
The four-wheeler slowed to a stop beside him. He imagined all the terrible things that were going to happen. He had always heard stories and they always involved guns. All he wanted was an adventure. Something to break out of the familiar that he knew so well. And now, here he was in the rain, sinking down in the mud, soaked to the bone, and shivering from a combination of fear and cold, waiting for the worst to happen.
"What're you doing out here?" the man shouted.
"I don't know," is all he could respond with.
"Where'd you come from?"
"From my grandpa's house. I climbed through the fence. I don't even know which direction it is now."
"Well, you shouldn't really trespass on other people's property," he shouted through the rain.
"I know. I just want to get back. What're you going to do to me?"
His head was down and the rain was running through his hair and puddling in front of him. All the terrible possibilities ran through his head. The fear instilled in him from the wild stories he had heard consumed him. He looked up at the man and the water ran down his face across his nose and mouth. The man could see the fear in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Well, you're going to shoot me, aren't you?"
"No. Climb on back," he said sternly.
Reluctantly and with no other options, he did so. He was soaked and tired and scared and ready to be inside.
"What's your grandpa's name?" the man asked.
"Montgomery."
"Oh, he lives just over there."
The man pointed and started the four-wheeler in that direction. The headlights lit the way as they rode silently through the darkness of the rain and only the sound of the engine and an occasional rumble of thunder in the distance were heard. They made it to the fence and the boy climbed off the back. He said thanks and began to step down on the bottom wire.
"Wait," the man said. "Your shoe."
The boy walked back and got his shoe. The rain had let up quite a bit by then. The man, still sitting on the running four-wheeler, smiled at him and said, "Next time you want some adventure, just let me know. I'm Mr. Wheeler. I've got two sons of my own and they're always looking for stuff to get into."
"Thank you, sir," he said and took his shoe and walked back to the fence.
He glanced back one more time as the man drove off.
By this time the storm had passed as quickly as it had come and the sun began to peek through. After the sound of the engine faded away a calm silent took over. A blue part of the sky opened up over the house and he limped towards it, shoe in hand, muddy and soaked, but being warmed by the sun.
As he made his way back he saw his family waiting for him. The familiar was all he wanted now.
"Oh, so nice to see you," she said. "It's been so long."
They walked into the quaint house, through a screened-in back porch and up a small staircase into the kitchen. Grandpa waited inside to greet them. He was just as excited to see them as she was, but didn't want to seem that way. Hugs went all around and most of the group walked into the living room as Grandma returned to the kitchen to continue cooking.
It was the usual fare. Ham with fried okra and red beans, plus fried potatoes and cornbread. The smell filled the house and was quite intoxicating. The chocolate pie had already been made and was waiting to be devoured.
In the living room the group talked while sitting on the same familiar couches the younger ones had only ever seen. They sat around the familiar television that was rarely on and the usual questions were asked and the usual answers were given.
"So, how's school?"
"It's good."
"You making good grades?"
"Yep."
"How many girlfriends you got?"
"None right now."
"Well, I reckon you just can't pick one."
"Of course."
A comfortable quiet then took over as everyone tried to think of something to say. The father said something about the health of a relative and the young boy, his obligation to talk over with, sat back and half-listened while observing the room and thinking about how nothing in it has ever changed. The same pale yellow floral couch facing a light-brown brick fireplace. The two twin recliners to the left of the couch with white doilies placed on each arm. The dark brown wood paneling all around the room. Even the magazines in the rack next to the couch hadn't changed in twenty years. He ran his hands back and forth on the couch cushion. He liked the feel of the fabric as his hand moved against the grain.
As he sat there, the continuing chatter of the adults was just barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds from the kitchen.
Though he enjoyed being in this familiar house, hearing the familiar voices and smelling the familiar smells, where he really wanted to be was outside among the many things to discover and the many places to explore. He gave his dad his usual look and his dad gave him a knowing nod. Off he went.
Out back was the machine shop at the end of the drive. It was full of tools and things that he knew nothing about but were always fun to look at and play with. On the other corner of the yard was a cluttered garage that held a fishing boat. Beside that was a small vegetable garden that was next to the storm cellar.
But what really drew his interest that day was the neighbor's large pasture directly behind the yard. It was a faint green flatness that seemed to stretch forever. He stood there and gazed across it as the gray sky blew the wind across his face and ruffled his hair. He was filled with a sense of adventure and all that stood in his way was a rickety barbed-wire fence.
He had been past the fence before, but only a few feet to chase an errant ball. Then he'd run back as quickly as possible. He didn't know if it was from fear of an unseen bull or the fear that came from hearing stories about farmers shooting trespassers. Either way, he never really liked going into that pasture, but today was different. He was feeling adventurous. He wanted an escape from the familiar.
As he stared into the pasture, the breeze picked up and the clouds grew darker. They seemed to be rolling in on top of each other. This wasn't unusual though. It was spring in Oklahoma. If a person didn't do something because of the fear of a storm, nobody would ever do anything. So, he mustered up the courage and began to walk toward the pasture. He wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew he was going farther than he ever had before. He was going to fight the urge to run back to familiarity and he was going to keep moving toward the unknown. Today was going to be a day that would change him.
Just then he heard the screen door creak as it was opened, a voice call out, and then it sprang shut. "This was going to have to wait until after lunch," he thought. He'd probably need a full stomach anyway.
After the last bit of beans had been sopped up by the last bite of cornbread and a piece of chocolate pie had been politely turned down, he headed back outside.
The clouds hadn't really changed much. It was still a gray, overcast and dreary day. He was a little worried about what might be coming, but not enough to disrupt his plans.
He made his way past the machine shop and up to the barbed-wire fence. The posts were crooked and rotting and the wire was rusty and twisted. He looked for a place where it was loose and could climb through easily. He stepped down on the bottom wire with his foot, lifted the top wire with his hand and climbed through. He was now in the endless pasture.
"Now what?" he thought to himself. He started to walk away from the fence, passing a group of grazing cows that barely seemed to notice him. By now the wind had picked up even more and was blowing pretty hard in his face. The smell of ozone took over the air. An even more ominous cloud he hadn't seen before started racing below the others. He turned to look how far he'd gone and could no longer see the fence.
A slight sprinkle began to start. The rain created a haze in front of him and misted his face as he continued moving forward. The rain picked up and turned into fat drops that splashed all around him. His clothes were beginning to get soaked and weigh him down. The wind seemed to be pushing him back toward the house. A feeling of dread came over him and he was suddenly beginning to question his sense of adventure. He really wanted to be inside eating that piece of pie he turned down. He stopped walking and pondered what to do.
Suddenly, the rain began to pour. This was followed by a jolting crash of thunder. He decided he had enough adventure for one day and began to turn around. Just as he was lifting his foot from where it had sunk into the newly formed mud he heard a shout. "Hey you! Out there! What're you doing!?"
He could barely make out what the man said over the sound of the storm. He turned and peered through the rain. He saw a man standing next to a four-wheeler. Its headlights were illuminating the rain in front of them. It had gotten really dark. Much darker than he had noticed.
When he didn't respond the man got onto his vehicle and started driving toward him. Scared, he began to run. His feet sank down into the mud with every step and every step was more difficult than the one before. On one step his foot sunk down deep and his shoe stayed behind. He kept running. Now with a shoeless limp - slipping and sliding and having to regain his balance with each step. He knew he couldn't out run the four wheeler and he couldn't see the fence either. He didn't know where he was going. The rain was blinding now and the thunder was crashing all around.
"Hey! Stop!"
This time he heard it loud and clear. He turned and saw the four-wheeler right behind him. He had lost. He knew it. He stopped running and stood motionless. Soaked and out of breath and missing one shoe. The rain continued to pelt his wet hair and drench his already saturated clothes. It splashed in puddles all around him.
The four-wheeler slowed to a stop beside him. He imagined all the terrible things that were going to happen. He had always heard stories and they always involved guns. All he wanted was an adventure. Something to break out of the familiar that he knew so well. And now, here he was in the rain, sinking down in the mud, soaked to the bone, and shivering from a combination of fear and cold, waiting for the worst to happen.
"What're you doing out here?" the man shouted.
"I don't know," is all he could respond with.
"Where'd you come from?"
"From my grandpa's house. I climbed through the fence. I don't even know which direction it is now."
"Well, you shouldn't really trespass on other people's property," he shouted through the rain.
"I know. I just want to get back. What're you going to do to me?"
His head was down and the rain was running through his hair and puddling in front of him. All the terrible possibilities ran through his head. The fear instilled in him from the wild stories he had heard consumed him. He looked up at the man and the water ran down his face across his nose and mouth. The man could see the fear in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Well, you're going to shoot me, aren't you?"
"No. Climb on back," he said sternly.
Reluctantly and with no other options, he did so. He was soaked and tired and scared and ready to be inside.
"What's your grandpa's name?" the man asked.
"Montgomery."
"Oh, he lives just over there."
The man pointed and started the four-wheeler in that direction. The headlights lit the way as they rode silently through the darkness of the rain and only the sound of the engine and an occasional rumble of thunder in the distance were heard. They made it to the fence and the boy climbed off the back. He said thanks and began to step down on the bottom wire.
"Wait," the man said. "Your shoe."
The boy walked back and got his shoe. The rain had let up quite a bit by then. The man, still sitting on the running four-wheeler, smiled at him and said, "Next time you want some adventure, just let me know. I'm Mr. Wheeler. I've got two sons of my own and they're always looking for stuff to get into."
"Thank you, sir," he said and took his shoe and walked back to the fence.
He glanced back one more time as the man drove off.
By this time the storm had passed as quickly as it had come and the sun began to peek through. After the sound of the engine faded away a calm silent took over. A blue part of the sky opened up over the house and he limped towards it, shoe in hand, muddy and soaked, but being warmed by the sun.
As he made his way back he saw his family waiting for him. The familiar was all he wanted now.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Omnipresent Miracles
Every thought you have is a miracle. Every time your heart beats and sends life rushing through your veins it's a miracle. Every blade of grass that rises through the soil longing for sunlight is a miracle. When you look in the mirror you're looking at a miracle. They are all around and inescapable. The fact that you're reading this is one. Everything is. So enjoy it. Enjoy knowing that all you see goes against chance.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Charlie Sheen Haiku, Part Deux
Drugs fuel me all day,
You think gas is expensive?
Try filling my tank.
Looked in the mirror,
Did not recognize my face,
Without the white line.
Frost bite on my nose,
Knew it's too good to be true,
Skiing's not for me.
Chug down a bottle,
Devour a whole eight ball,
Oh, you wanted some?
Nose candy and booze,
Porno stars and prostitutes,
Daily shopping list.
Two and a half girls,
Did not expect that at all,
An extra penis.
Swerving all over,
Speech is slurred and can't think straight,
Sobriety sucks.
Beer cans everywhere,
A pile of dead hookers,
When is trash pickup?
Piles of cocaine,
Gallons of expensive booze,
And the problem is?
Flaccid in old age,
Crushed Viagra in my coke,
Take a line off this.
Wait for my comeback,
My career will be revived,
Right after my heart.
White powder in sight,
I lost all my self-control,
Now I'm out of salt.
A dead, bloated corpse,
Found face down in a dumpster,
We all have our goals.
My show got cancelled,
Just flushed millions down the drain,
Wish I'd snorted it.
Your plight entertains,
Ranting and raving all day,
Please don't die, Charlie.
You think gas is expensive?
Try filling my tank.
Looked in the mirror,
Did not recognize my face,
Without the white line.
Frost bite on my nose,
Knew it's too good to be true,
Skiing's not for me.
Chug down a bottle,
Devour a whole eight ball,
Oh, you wanted some?
Nose candy and booze,
Porno stars and prostitutes,
Daily shopping list.
Two and a half girls,
Did not expect that at all,
An extra penis.
Swerving all over,
Speech is slurred and can't think straight,
Sobriety sucks.
Beer cans everywhere,
A pile of dead hookers,
When is trash pickup?
Piles of cocaine,
Gallons of expensive booze,
And the problem is?
Flaccid in old age,
Crushed Viagra in my coke,
Take a line off this.
Wait for my comeback,
My career will be revived,
Right after my heart.
White powder in sight,
I lost all my self-control,
Now I'm out of salt.
A dead, bloated corpse,
Found face down in a dumpster,
We all have our goals.
My show got cancelled,
Just flushed millions down the drain,
Wish I'd snorted it.
Your plight entertains,
Ranting and raving all day,
Please don't die, Charlie.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Charlie Sheen Haiku
This post is thanks to @taradublinrocks (http://twitter.com/taradublinrocks) who I got the "Charlie Sheen Haiku" idea from...
Car wrapped around tree,
Hooker is dead in backseat,
I'll just buy new ones.
Booze and drugs to cope,
Porn stars for fake affection,
Daddy don't love me.
Snorted some flour,
Could've sworn that it was coke,
Now can't make bundt cake.
Drugs and booze don't help,
Can't fill the void in my soul,
Prostitutes help though.
Just got to hotel,
Trying to get a penthouse,
Maybe a room too.
I can't feel my face,
Smile for the camera,
Another mugshot.
You watch them at night,
I do them all of the time,
Porn stars are awesome.
Backseat is sticky,
Full of gut-wrenching odor,
I need to shower.
Had to take drug test.
Of course I did not pass it,
Melted the bottle.
Go buy my movie,
Need more royalties for drugs,
Coke is expensive.
Nose won't stop bleeding,
Liver beginning to fail,
Living the high life.
Hooker's everywhere,
Pint of vodka, pound of coke;
Favorite breakfast.
Penis might fall off,
From nasty rampant disease,
It was well worth it.
Wake up in vomit,
White powder all over nose,
Trust me I am fine.
Burning when I pee,
Constant itching in my pants,
Gotten used to it.
Starting to crumble,
Maybe it is time to quit,
More coke? Nevermind.
Snort, snort, drink, vomit,
Ready to start all over,
Need to call dealer.
Alcohol and drugs,
Porn stars all over the place,
What is wrong with this?
Syringes on floor,
Three still stuck in my forearm,
When does filming start?
No rehab for me,
I can do this by myself,
Is this a dumpster?
Clothes smell of stripper,
Head pounding from hangover,
Tuesday afternoon.
Eating at diner,
They asked if I'd like more coke,
What's this dark liquid?
Face down in a ditch,
On Hollywood Boulevard,
It sure is crowded.
Coke and prostitutes,
Daddy's job made me famous,
President someday?
Car wrapped around tree,
Hooker is dead in backseat,
I'll just buy new ones.
Booze and drugs to cope,
Porn stars for fake affection,
Daddy don't love me.
Snorted some flour,
Could've sworn that it was coke,
Now can't make bundt cake.
Drugs and booze don't help,
Can't fill the void in my soul,
Prostitutes help though.
Just got to hotel,
Trying to get a penthouse,
Maybe a room too.
I can't feel my face,
Smile for the camera,
Another mugshot.
You watch them at night,
I do them all of the time,
Porn stars are awesome.
Backseat is sticky,
Full of gut-wrenching odor,
I need to shower.
Had to take drug test.
Of course I did not pass it,
Melted the bottle.
Go buy my movie,
Need more royalties for drugs,
Coke is expensive.
Nose won't stop bleeding,
Liver beginning to fail,
Living the high life.
Hooker's everywhere,
Pint of vodka, pound of coke;
Favorite breakfast.
Penis might fall off,
From nasty rampant disease,
It was well worth it.
Wake up in vomit,
White powder all over nose,
Trust me I am fine.
Burning when I pee,
Constant itching in my pants,
Gotten used to it.
Starting to crumble,
Maybe it is time to quit,
More coke? Nevermind.
Snort, snort, drink, vomit,
Ready to start all over,
Need to call dealer.
Alcohol and drugs,
Porn stars all over the place,
What is wrong with this?
Syringes on floor,
Three still stuck in my forearm,
When does filming start?
No rehab for me,
I can do this by myself,
Is this a dumpster?
Clothes smell of stripper,
Head pounding from hangover,
Tuesday afternoon.
Eating at diner,
They asked if I'd like more coke,
What's this dark liquid?
Face down in a ditch,
On Hollywood Boulevard,
It sure is crowded.
Coke and prostitutes,
Daddy's job made me famous,
President someday?
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Most Interesting Dog in the World...
When she scooches her butt across the floor it actually cleans the carpet.
When she goes in the neighbor's yard, they run out to pick it up.
Her bark has been sampled by Puff Daddy.
She's the dog they let out.
When she barks constantly, the neighbors call and wonder what symphony that is.
She digs perfect circles.
Calvin Klein sniffed her butt to design a new fragrance.
She was the subject of at least five of Shakespeare's sonnets.
Following her example, kitty litter has become a delicacy in several countries.
She's the subject of the Mona Lisa.
Her tail-wagging powers the house.
On Easter, the neighborhood children come over and go on a hunt in the backyard. But, they aren't looking for eggs.
The sound of her really getting in there and cleaning herself has been turned into relaxation tapes.
You can tell where she usually marks her territory on walks because of the wildflowers that grow there.
Instead of fetching the stick I threw, she convinces me to go get it and bring it back to her.
Her hot breath in your face can cure migraines. And it smells good too.
She never had to be fixed...she's just a classy bitch.
When she goes in the neighbor's yard, they run out to pick it up.
Her bark has been sampled by Puff Daddy.
She's the dog they let out.
When she barks constantly, the neighbors call and wonder what symphony that is.
She digs perfect circles.
Calvin Klein sniffed her butt to design a new fragrance.
She was the subject of at least five of Shakespeare's sonnets.
Following her example, kitty litter has become a delicacy in several countries.
She's the subject of the Mona Lisa.
Her tail-wagging powers the house.
On Easter, the neighborhood children come over and go on a hunt in the backyard. But, they aren't looking for eggs.
The sound of her really getting in there and cleaning herself has been turned into relaxation tapes.
You can tell where she usually marks her territory on walks because of the wildflowers that grow there.
Instead of fetching the stick I threw, she convinces me to go get it and bring it back to her.
Her hot breath in your face can cure migraines. And it smells good too.
She never had to be fixed...she's just a classy bitch.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
50 Things I've Learned in Retail...
1) Customers come and customers go, but a child is always screaming.
2) Work clothes double as an invisibility cloak.
3) Unless, the customer has a question. Then they become shining beacons.
4) Store shelves and trash cans are impossible to tell apart.
5) A mother's ability to ignore her screaming child is a marvel of nature.
6) It's my fault. If we're out of something, my fault. If we don't carry the product you want, my fault. If it's too expensive, my fault.
7) If five people are in the entire store, at least three will be exactly where you need to be.
8) Also, those five people will all decide to check out at the same time.
9) Apparently, shopping consists mainly of standing in one spot and staring at the shelf for a long time.
10) No matter how obvious, you will be asked if you work there.
11) The worse the accent, the more complicated the question.
12) When in a store you don't work at, you will sometimes react when you hear someone say "Excuse me."
13) Ad signs are harder to figure out than quantum physics.
14) When something won't scan, the joke "I guess it's free then" never gets old.
15) Many children seem to be worried their parents will abandon them in the store so they leave a trail of crumbs to find their way out. Their parents, of course, don't notice.
16) Whether I realize it or not, I'm always trying to rip people off.
17) People treat public restrooms like a rental car.
18) Unsolicited advice on running the store is just another perk of the job.
19) Did I mention the screaming children?
20) People have time to spend an hour in the store, but are in a desperate hurry when waiting in line.
21) No, I'm not sure if we carry "those things, that...you know, those...you use them to...they're kinda like, uhhh..."
22) I'm not only an associate at the store, I'm also a personal shopper for people on the phone.
23) A cell phone up to one ear makes the other completely deaf.
24) The person right in front of you has no importance compared to the person on the phone.
25) Some people don't want to be satisfied. Complaining is somewhat of a hobby for them. If they were satisfied, they'd be bored to death.
26) Twenty cents can become a million dollars when someone thinks they're getting screwed.
27) Putting an unwanted product back where you got it is simply out of the question.
28) The store's closing time is only a suggestion.
29) "I can help the next customer" often comes across as "I can help whoever runs over here fastest whether you were next or not."
30) Cleaning up after adults is just part of the job.
31) Understanding and explaining the policies of the credit card you signed up for is my responsibility. And if you don't like those policies, I'm to blame.
32) Running into me with your cart is equivalent to "pardon me, could I get by please?"
33) They should have just used fine print to pass secret messages during WWII because nobody ever reads it.
34) Never underestimate a child's ability to repeat the same phrase over and over and over again.
35) The concept of "inside voice" died long ago.
36) Your running late is my problem.
37) Having very little holiday-related products left the day before the actual holiday is a travesty. It's also my fault.
38) Supposedly, everything the customer has ever wanted is in the back. I'm just too lazy to go look.
39) Coupons should work all the time, every time, and for anything. And if they don't? My fault.
40) The coupon policy was my idea and I enforce it only to make the customers' lives more difficult.
41) The return policy was my idea and I enforce it only to make the customers' lives more difficult.
42) Glaring at me isn't going to make the line move any faster.
43) When crouched down, I'm face-to-face with small children. And they don't cover their mouth.
44) When on the 5.am. truck shift, don't go to bathroom after the driver.
45) I'm checking your $100 bill, not because I have to, but because I don't trust you.
46) I never realized I could listen to the same songs so many times without going completely insane. However, when Paula Dean comes over the speaker I've considered stabbing myself in the ear drum.
47) Christmas music can consume your entire life.
48) A perfectly recovered aisle is a fleeting instance.
49) I really wish I knew how to use every product in the store. I really do. But, I don't. And I apologize for that.
50) And oh yeah...the screaming children.
2) Work clothes double as an invisibility cloak.
3) Unless, the customer has a question. Then they become shining beacons.
4) Store shelves and trash cans are impossible to tell apart.
5) A mother's ability to ignore her screaming child is a marvel of nature.
6) It's my fault. If we're out of something, my fault. If we don't carry the product you want, my fault. If it's too expensive, my fault.
7) If five people are in the entire store, at least three will be exactly where you need to be.
8) Also, those five people will all decide to check out at the same time.
9) Apparently, shopping consists mainly of standing in one spot and staring at the shelf for a long time.
10) No matter how obvious, you will be asked if you work there.
11) The worse the accent, the more complicated the question.
12) When in a store you don't work at, you will sometimes react when you hear someone say "Excuse me."
13) Ad signs are harder to figure out than quantum physics.
14) When something won't scan, the joke "I guess it's free then" never gets old.
15) Many children seem to be worried their parents will abandon them in the store so they leave a trail of crumbs to find their way out. Their parents, of course, don't notice.
16) Whether I realize it or not, I'm always trying to rip people off.
17) People treat public restrooms like a rental car.
18) Unsolicited advice on running the store is just another perk of the job.
19) Did I mention the screaming children?
20) People have time to spend an hour in the store, but are in a desperate hurry when waiting in line.
21) No, I'm not sure if we carry "those things, that...you know, those...you use them to...they're kinda like, uhhh..."
22) I'm not only an associate at the store, I'm also a personal shopper for people on the phone.
23) A cell phone up to one ear makes the other completely deaf.
24) The person right in front of you has no importance compared to the person on the phone.
25) Some people don't want to be satisfied. Complaining is somewhat of a hobby for them. If they were satisfied, they'd be bored to death.
26) Twenty cents can become a million dollars when someone thinks they're getting screwed.
27) Putting an unwanted product back where you got it is simply out of the question.
28) The store's closing time is only a suggestion.
29) "I can help the next customer" often comes across as "I can help whoever runs over here fastest whether you were next or not."
30) Cleaning up after adults is just part of the job.
31) Understanding and explaining the policies of the credit card you signed up for is my responsibility. And if you don't like those policies, I'm to blame.
32) Running into me with your cart is equivalent to "pardon me, could I get by please?"
33) They should have just used fine print to pass secret messages during WWII because nobody ever reads it.
34) Never underestimate a child's ability to repeat the same phrase over and over and over again.
35) The concept of "inside voice" died long ago.
36) Your running late is my problem.
37) Having very little holiday-related products left the day before the actual holiday is a travesty. It's also my fault.
38) Supposedly, everything the customer has ever wanted is in the back. I'm just too lazy to go look.
39) Coupons should work all the time, every time, and for anything. And if they don't? My fault.
40) The coupon policy was my idea and I enforce it only to make the customers' lives more difficult.
41) The return policy was my idea and I enforce it only to make the customers' lives more difficult.
42) Glaring at me isn't going to make the line move any faster.
43) When crouched down, I'm face-to-face with small children. And they don't cover their mouth.
44) When on the 5.am. truck shift, don't go to bathroom after the driver.
45) I'm checking your $100 bill, not because I have to, but because I don't trust you.
46) I never realized I could listen to the same songs so many times without going completely insane. However, when Paula Dean comes over the speaker I've considered stabbing myself in the ear drum.
47) Christmas music can consume your entire life.
48) A perfectly recovered aisle is a fleeting instance.
49) I really wish I knew how to use every product in the store. I really do. But, I don't. And I apologize for that.
50) And oh yeah...the screaming children.
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