Semi-Daily Scribbles

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  • The Shimmies

    LengthPreviously…

    The remainder of the drive to the drive-in wasn't easy. Traffic-wise the going was good. Darla pulled into her favorite parking stall next to the food truck that served exotic burgers (ostrich, boar, elk, bison, chickpea) just fine and with plenty of time to set-up Boothby. Emotionally, however, Darla was sweat-soaked, shaky, and tunnel vision messed with her eyesight (plus the sweat that dripped onto her lashes didn't help.) She was getting The Shimmies and the first day of swap meet season was really poor timing when it came to dealing with amped-up anxiety. The crew in the back just would not pipe down, not after the chat with the puppy and his silent friend. The yellow Lab howled, "Don't be so cold-hearted!" while the ocean roared and an owl with a superb set of lungs screamed exactly how Darla imagined a pterodactyl would have screamed as it soared above a cretaceous landscape. She sat motionless behind the steering wheel and concentrated on each breath. The ruckus subsided, but Darla was sure she heard muffled voices and a sneeze come from the back of her pickup. Darla felt a little light headed before she noticed the fogged up windshield.

    "You o.k. in there?" Darla shrieked as someone's knuckles tapped on the driver's side window.

  • circulate

    Circulateicy steps
    racing thoughts
    frozen breath
    circulate a ragged question
    suspend all desire to believe

    hold fast to the spot
    watch the answer dance away
    trace its faint trail in
    the untrodden snow

    follow it

    the nearer to the end you get
    the closer you are to clarity

    life was always about the last
    experience you had

  • Plank

    PlankPreviously…

    Ort hopes they'll do. His friend Buford is in the reclamation business and just got done demo-ing a rundown outbuilding and fence over at some guy's mom's place. Ort selects a dozen of the best boards and stacks them in the back of his step van. He's hitting opening day at the Prairie View and plans to surprise a friend with the used wood. He remembers, in addition to building unique model tanks, she likes taking a weathered cedar plank or two and making ashtray stands. Ort decides he'll buy one even though he doesn't smoke, and if she's there today. He's not sure what he'll do with the boards if Tank Lady doesn't work the markets/fairs this year. He'll hand them back to Buford he reckons.

  • Membrane

    MembraneThe suggestion hit Randi on both sides of her head. Concussion protocols activated. The call, though? The one that told her to run away rather than stand her ground? Yeah, Randi would live the rest of her days to regret that decision. Always an army of one, Randi relied on the predictability of chance. Mishaps and happenstance and graceful mistakes were what drove Randi to do the opposite of whatever logic the membrane dictated. React with a contrary action. The risky moves always got Randi what she wanted. And what she wanted nobody else could bear. Isolation. Misunderstanding. Sympathetic whispers with eye contact averted. All alone, straddling the line, is how an army of one rolls. Randi knew best to never look back. She made sure her trail left no impression; her time elongated and immune to scrutiny. Randi accepted her fate as the clock that wouldn't wind down. But ripples rise up with each step and drift far, far beyond what is known. While Randi ran, the ground fell away beneath a child's feet.

  • Pail

    Pail

     

    It’s no use wishing
    change caused a cascade
    slide off
    pulled up
    book this.

    Talk, it was
    voice floated
    thought
    touch
    suffocate me.

    Doesn't a faint shade
    appear cold?
    Round bright pink found out.
    Think through the rest.

    Guess what?

    "You don't know."

    Do we stay here forever?

    "We will."

    Our hearts beat slower.

    "I get the image."

    What was missing?

    "A handle on the pail."

    I’m scared of what that is.

  • Fetch

    FetchWe are all throwing sticks at moving targets. If I get an idea to take hold, what may end up as remuneration is a stone thrown in my general direction. We should either be tired or experts by now, so very effective we've become at the game. Hurl an insult, dodge an injury. This isn't how I learned to play fetch.

  • 24″ x 20″

    GiltPreviously…

    I wish I had something other than these stupid overalls to wear. The color is awful. I don't hate red, per se, but this shade reminds me of blood clots. Disgusting. One of these days she'll learn how to mix paint. At least she gets the flowers right. I'm glad she gave me a puppy instead of the cat she tried at first. I just wasn't feeling a feline vibe. Apparently, she wasn't either. Dogs are just more trustworthy, though I think I may now actually disagree with something Buddy said. He doesn't want to leave her. I, on the other hand, don't mind the prospect of going to a new home. But where Buddy goes, I go, and vice versa. That's another thing I've been thinking about. It gets cramped in here. I'd really like to push past these boundaries. How does it feel to live in a world with no limitations? All I really want to do is stretch my legs. Maybe get a haircut. When do braids stop being cute? We could ask her to give us more space. It's worth a shot. May as well ask for a different outfit, too. 24" x 20" might be a nice change.

  • Sill

    SillSit still.

    Life goes underground when the skies are unfriendly.
    Hope gains strength in silence.
    Patience is a bud placed on a warped and weathered sill.
    The sun passes over brittle fields with little promise of warmth and just enough light to make despair think its job is done.

    Take a deep breath.

  • Come again?

    RunoffPreviously…

    "You know I don't have room. The house is what, 850 square feet or so? I'm talking cozy for one plus all my stuff and I can't see the walls anymore. And I'm not making that mistake again with the storage unit. A caterwaul to wake the dead you guys make when you get together. Hey, why didn't you bring this up before we left? Like last night or something. Come again? You need to speak up because the waves are really loud and that damn bird. Aren't they supposed to be nocturnal? Ok, then. I can't turn around so I'll have to pack you back up. Now when we get to the Prairie View will you guys be ok up front? I'll crack the windows. It's not supposed to rain. We'll talk more tonight, that is, if you don't go and clam up on me."

  • Fifty

    FiftyGray is a mainstay. Embrace stained fingers in the fight to keep the strands of truth covered up. Prepare to dance despite the snaggletoe and dizziness. Do mind the bones that scrape against bone and the sneak attack to the lower back. Everything tastes like chicken which is terrible for grapefruit growers. Last night's dream is more dear than reality. It's all memory in the end. And the eyes see what they can. Fifty paces have never been so hard to traverse.