I don’t hear the car. The storm has swallowed the world in a white noise that bites at my ears. It pulls up ahead. Silent. Expectant. Home is a 3k walk away, and a slick trip down the mountain. A beautiful vista on a mild day, tortuous when a storm came to town.
People are acting like this is a party. All dressed up like it’s Mardi Gras, in their kookiest outfits. The people who have home DNA splicing kits have been playing around, giving themselves leopard-print skin, rhinoceros horns sprouting from unexpected places, or chameleon eyes that dart off in different directions – one looking right at ya, one directed hopefully to the sky, waiting to catch the first glimpse of the aliens arriving. It’s pretty unconventional for a little outback town like Tanloch, but it’s like everyone wants to be more than just human, now that extra-terrestrials are arriving. Some are holding up signs, saying things like “Please Save Our Whales”, “ET take us home!” and “I, for one, welcome our new alien overlords.”
Long before the birth of God, the Torqwamni People crossed the land bridge that connected Asia to North America and glacier-surfed south to the Puget Sound Region. They eventually settled in an area known today as Philo Bay, which became home to the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard (PSNS) and its attending city of Charleston, Washington, toward the end of the nineteenth-century.
It won’t be long until I’m taking the road to the long dark tunnel to nothingness. The eternal journal with uncertainty and purgatory beckons.
…I’m going to England for a Wedding at the weekend. Oh, the darkness is nothing to do with our rivalry / harmless teasing / hatred of England…It has all to do with marriage!!
Continue reading “Week 135 – England, Monsters And Ronnie Shagging Thatcher.”
My father was struck speechless for the first time in his life on the day that my mother fell through the ceiling.
Continue reading “It Had to Be Done by Robert Douglas Friedman”
His voice was exceedingly obnoxious.
Annoying.
Incessant.
“We’ll be seeking damages for all compensable losses suffered, of course. This Judge is a real prick, though.”
You can rent Van Gogh’s bedroom on Air BnB for ten dollars a night. We were on the final leg of our cross-country expedition when we ran into Chicago and out of money. When we left Venice West we were intertwined in one-another firmer than the Treaty Oak’s roots, somewhere around Lincoln Nebraska we suffered our own poisoning. By the windy city it was more than just a cold shoulder. We checked our pockets. Seventy-two dollars in change and we still needed to get to New York where our flights home were waiting on us.
I get a bit of a break this week as we have another one of those now and again Saturday Posts.
I’ll get the reviews done first and then I’ll introduce our special posting.
Continue reading “Week 134 – An Appeal, Kathryn Toolan And No Punctuation.”
The two of them laughed as they skipped into the woods.
“You are rubbish!”
“I know sweet cheeks, my coordination is terrible.”
“It’s step forward, pause, step forward other foot, pause, step forward only quickly. Sing ‘Mary Mary, Quite Contrary…And You’ll get it.”
He tried.
They both bent over laughing.
The moon’s on its way to November, sailing a sullen sky. I think the whole world breathed a sigh of relief tonight, when the major told us to find shelter, get some shut eye before tomorrow. We’re too close to the enemy for camp fire, all of us hiding behind trees, and under bushes, keeping as quiet as smoke, settling into the dirt and leaves like animals on the prowl.
literally stories 