|
| Not cured, just medicated.
| | |
| 21 guns! 21 guns!
All pointed skyward at the ready
All silent and waiting.
To commemorate a loss, to harken a new dawn. We are walking spheres and sun cycles, all in circles and circles. A baby wakes up and a drunk lays down, swell the drugs, cue rehab, slow fade, fade out, now to black.
I'd finished a shower and opened the curtain to peer naked into the backyard as I often do. I used to find daniel baker there in the lotus position, deep in half nude contemplation or distraction. Sometimes there would be bees buzzing about carrying pollen, pushing the limits, reproduction, etc. etc. On this day though I found Peter Kent packing up the tent he'd been living in for what now, four, five, six months?
We were such brave explorers, fearless bullshitters, pressing hard our social theories one after another as if there were some great conclusion to be reached.
Twenty one guns, at the ready, cocked and loaded.
Daniel made out with a wife and a connecticut. And for Peter who can say. Robbie to the plant, Drewskies to the bottom. The house is always full but no one is here and so I've started the lonely bastards club only to find that dues are high and membership is low.
Ready fire aim. Ready fame ire. Ferdeffum. Erf. Drrfrecum. A broken legged horse. An ass braying in good jeans. A man with two tails and no spine. A jellyfish with a degree.
Scuttle on, scuttle on.
| | |
| My name is Maria :)
I really feel shy, but I have to say you, TrickMagnet, that you`r just a man of my dreams... It was a wonder to detect ur profile but at present I`m sure it is a fate!))
U are super... but I am sure that in ur real life you`l impress me more and more, again and again!!! ))
btw that`s incredible... but I am from Clovis too!!
So... I would like 2 keep up a friendship with u, TrickMagnet!
This site censors and removes my photos... :(
the most interesting and hot photos I uploaded here: http://menmatcher.com/account/851530922/
TrickMagnet, I think u will take a look at them and will write me something 2 start our thrilling challenge :))
kisss you :)
| | |
| Time will cease to exist when all cognition capable of recognizing its passage expire.
| | |
| Most people would tell you that Fred Cedar lived alone on the worn out ranch down past the Mill’s place to the East where Fred and his brother Chuck used to raise corn and some livestock back before Chuck got in an accident with a turbine and didn’t recover. Most people would have been mistaken. The truth is that when Fred sat for hours out on the creaky front porch watching the way the wind passed through the sea of tall grass that made up his front yard without fail no more than an arms reach away slumped down with his head on his paws ears drooped and brow cocked lay Fred’s dog Slim. Slim was a dog, but that didn’t make him any less of a person, or at least that’s what Fred would tell him in the slow southern drawl he picked up in Tennessee when he moved there after he was discharged to try and talk Shelly Reegan into being is wife. In the end Shelly married Bill Christopher who drove a rolls royce and smoked cigarettes from a holder and all Fred Cedar ever got out of Tennessee was a the lilt in his speech and a deep and complicated relationship with double malt whiskey. He pronounced words slow and wet like he was enjoying the flavor of each syllable. Thin was probably the right word for Fred. His thinning shirts wrapped around a thinning frame, thin fingers gripping the arms of a thin wooden chair. When he slept his breath was thin, probably on account of the thin blankets on his bed and the thin windows in their frames.
For all the things that Fred was, and for all the things he’d ever been, there was one thing that Fred was not: Fred was not alone. In the morning time as the sun crept up and across the distant mountains and between the cracks in his curtains he’d find Slim awake and waiting patiently for Fred. Slim would follow in tow as he’d get up and wash his face, brush his teeth and comb his hair. He’d walk to the kitchen and pour a glass of orange juice, pull on some trousers and make his way past the creaky screen door and into the crisp morning. Fred would light a cigarette and stare into the distance and Slim would sit at his side but his gaze never went that far.
It was Janet Gibbons who found him. She was kind woman with big hair and big hips who came around once a month or so to check in on the old man. Sometimes she’d bring casserole. She had one that day, the 24th and a Thursday according to the reports, a seven layer bean casserole she with sour cream and two kinds of cheese. She was carrying it in front of her when she came up the porch steps, heard Slim barking and saw Fred. It would almost be funny what happened then, almost. Janet was a bigger lady, startled and trying to move too fast, those thick legs going out from under her. She and the casserole took flight, all seven layers onetwothefourfivesix seven. They landed in a pile, Janet and the casserole, the sour cream and both kinds of cheese. Janet lay writhing and weeping, choking hysterically on sobs and groans. The reason Janet wept was because of an enormous misunderstanding. Fred had stopped being Fred a couple weeks prior when as he was pushing open the screen door a clot of blood had rushed up an artery and into his brain. By the time his body hit the weathered wood porch beams it was only a body, a vessel with no Fred left in it. Slim had understood, and as the days passed and he got hungrier and hungrier and Fred didn’t come back to feed him he found the food that Fred had left behind. Janet saw a tragedy because she had a fancy human brain that made it hard to see what Slim saw: everything is right where it is.
| | |
|
