Friday, August 31, 2012
asleep
dream
comfort, warmth, together... past, present, future....
wake up
wake up
disturbance... invasion, disruption, turbulence, distraction, unfocus, chaos...
wake up
little one
wake up
wake up
wake up
Awake.  Me. Myself. My...  self?
.... noise.  Trees, flowers, soil, rock, birds, creatures, spirits, dream, speak, noise, whispers, talking.... sound.
everywhere.
sound.
soundsoundsoundcan'tgetawayeverywhere
in my head, in my head, in me, can't hide, soundsoundnoise
can't think can't think can't think can't move can't breath can't sleep can't... dream notmydream notmydream
not
not mine
notmymind
nonononononoNONONONONONONONONONONOMORETOOMUCHENOUGH

quiet

alone

soundless

myself

peace




free
Posted by Liokae at 8/31/2012 08:01:00 PM :: 0 comments
Sound
I can't think today. I want to write about serenity. I want to write about how much joy I get from complete quiet. Perfect tranquility. Where you close your eyes and the soundlessness is so even and perfect your own thoughts seem out of place. The quiet has this calm, even hum like the resonance of the Universe cradling you in this sonic bath of... GOD DAMN Tejano coming from the neighbor's place. I can't fucking think. URGH. What the hell can you do to stop the noise??

In the city even when there isn't that INFERNAL RACKET, there's at least something, cars going by, children playing, sirens, dogs barking, so to keep from being teased by almost-but-not-quite-tranquility I have to always have something making noise. Computer cooling fan. AC. Ceiling fan. Music. A combination of the above. Something. Because if I can't attain complete serenity, I need white noise, in the same way a priest needs cold showers. Which is what I have right now, lots and lots of white noise. And yet still I can hear this retarded fucking bassline penetrating the hum of my window A/C unit. I'm seriously about to smash some shit up. I need aspirin.

There. Sound.
Posted by Ian Bowen at 8/31/2012 06:49:00 PM :: 0 comments
Sound and fury, signifying nothing
There is a six word phrase that is like fingernails on a blackboard to any customer service representative.

"It's the principle of the thing."

When people say that, it's sometimes true. Someone who's calling up to get a reimbursement or a credit or some other financially quantifiable solution is usually very clear about the goal, but some are inclined to veil their intentions and appear to be surprised when the solution is monetary. That's fine. Customer service folks can recognize that and play the appeasement game. It's not challenging.

But people for whom the issue is principle are zealots. They are certain of a truth, so thoroughly that your time and theirs is valueless - except as an offering on the altar of the principle that they are convinced is the correct principle, whether it is or not. And woe to you if you speak as if it were otherwise!

Principled callers make me understand the harried husbands who shuffle through life mumbling, "yes, dear."
Posted by Jess at 8/31/2012 05:37:00 PM :: 0 comments
Midway Disappointment
The whirling lights surround you and tempt you to take a spin on what looks to be a dangerous and thrilling ride. The smell of popcorn, combined with grease mixes with the scent of animal waste coming from the barns across the fair grounds. The sound of happily-screaming patrons is drowned out by the voices of carnival workers, shouting at you from a long line of game booths. They challenge you to step up and win a prize. The midway can be an exhilarating experience, especially as night falls and the whole scene gains an air of mystery.

This is a depressing, scene, however when you realize that you are the ONLY person in your group who bought a wrist band for unlimited rides at the fair. Sure, someone will ride the Double Ferris Wheel with you, because it’s tradition. But who will squish up next to you on the Scrambler or the Himalayas? Who will ignore the typical age of people jumping around in the bouncy house and shed their shoes for a romp with you in the cushioned enclosures of the blow-up castle? Forget about anything that puts you into the air, turns you upside down and spins you until you regret the funnel cake you shared with your group earlier that evening.

You intend to go home from this fair feeling sick and satisfied. Perhaps there’s an exotic stranger somewhere in this crowd who will be your ride companion for the evening. Maybe someone who came to the same realization when they arrived at the fair. Not a one of their friends has the guts to face the dangers of the midway head-on and risk throwing up all of their delicious cotton candy.
Posted by Lacey at 8/31/2012 11:03:00 AM :: 0 comments
Thursday, August 30, 2012
So I just came back from an awesome concert so the topic is...

SOUND
Posted by Marina Kaskadersha at 8/30/2012 11:14:00 PM :: 0 comments
Wish this could happen...
     Its cloudy until about 9AM so the sun doesn't wake me up.  When I do wake up, I'm still in that half groggy state in which you don't want to move but you are aware of how comfortable you are.
     She moves beside me, shifting into me, making things even more comfortable for both of us.  I focus on the sensation of her skin, how her warmth, her nearness is yet another level of comfort.
     I slip back onto sleep.
     I wake again gently as her lips touch mine.  The second kiss is a bit less gentle and a bit more passionate.  The third kiss turns into something much much more.  All actions are taken at a leisurely pace.  We are not rushed this day.
     After both parties are deeply satisfied, our collective minds turn to food.  We gather ourselves up and head out looking for a snack to refuel us.  Its about 11AM so we find a spot easily.  We sit and talk, laugh and eat.  Those on their lunch hour dance around us rushing to eat and get back but we do not join them in their steps.
     We cannot decide what to do with the rest of the day.  Much of the lunch discussion is focused on the various ideas we have but cannot come to consensuses on.  We want to get up and do something, we tell ourselves but the real purpose of the not very heated debate is to keep our butts in their chairs.
     Finally, we just head home to lounge around, reading, listening to music, and barely moving.   The nervous energy within us that we use to propel us there the day expresses itself with another set of escalated kisses.  We are more passionate this time because there is no worry of interruption.
    I lay with her in my arms, slowly petting her skin.  My mind is screaming to me that I am wasting the day, not achieving anything of value. 
    Wouldn't it be really awesome to have a day like that?     
      
Posted by HPLovecraft at 8/30/2012 01:33:00 PM :: 2 comments
Totally Awesome...


Oh to be awesome, 
Really awesome, 
wise men’ll tell that this demands caution, 
but from Albany to Austin, 
from the Bahamas to the Falklands, 
let no one be without the desire to be lost in
The Should I’s and shouldn’t I’s, the will I’s or won’t I’s
The Suicides at 27, or the fuck that, I’ll never die’s
The good guys and sad guys, the glad guys, our dad guys
Rip tides and raw hides and the defamers that chastise
And the cut ties the cold goodbyes
And the warm stares from old old eyes
And all the past rides and fast rides on that journey toward that long last rise

The earth is a play pen, 
so all for your stay then, 
play then and say then that this is the way then 
and hey then and yay then 
and these are my days then 
and now then and when then perhaps you’ll forget then 
the mad thens and sad thens 
and all of the bad thens 
that followed you here then 
and followed you there then 
and made you forget then
 that in spite of all of them damned thens you were always really totally Awesome

We all know the stories of often, 
rags to riches, into titans from orphans.
From the start of it all till December 24th
On behalf of the women in the east and the men in the north
It won’t be long to we’re all not around
More sooner than later it’s all coming down
So with that in mind for the rest of your time
take the bows and revel in all that applause, son
cause it doesn’t matter how it ends, only that you were really awesome
Posted by Hassan Godwin at 8/30/2012 01:29:00 PM :: 0 comments
Awesome
Cy dried herself off, the hue of her freshly washed red skin fully saturated now, and stepped out onto the balcony of the 23rd floor of the leaning, deserted apartment building. She looked out across the ruined cityscape, immodestly stretching out her full form, from the tips of her wings down to the soles of her feet as the fresh morning sun fell upon her through the orange haze. She yawned, and tossed the towel back into the apartment, landing it just inside the bathroom.

As she stood, brushing the tangles out of her hair, she pondered the nature of the city’s destruction. It was all oranges and pinks and browns. Warm colors. She could close her eyes and see it in the cool colors it once was. Bright green, perfectly trimmed grass. Gray concrete and steel buildings with huge glass windows reflecting the blue hues of the sky. 90 degree angles, the buildings standing erect and perfect, monuments to the productivity of it’s citizens. But there were no citizens now. Everyone was gone. There was no evidence of an explosion or war. No evidence of an evacuation. It was as if all the people had just vanished one day, and all the buildings decided to lean over and break apart. But why?

Read more »
Posted by Ian Bowen at 8/30/2012 10:58:00 AM :: 0 comments
Awesome Sauce
Awesome Opossum, Awesome Sauce, Double-trouble, Pop Ring-Toss
Tickle-meter, Pope, Soap, Dope, Tug-o-war on a tight rope
Really Awesome, Really Rad, Don’t try and make the tigers mad
Up and at ‘em, Eat your peas, It feels so good, I have to sneeze

Totally recall, Fat Pat sat, I wish I had a bowler hat
Take a shower, take a bath, Read a little Grapes of Wrath
Super-Duper, Song and dance, It’s a party in my pants
So excited, have a date! Gotta go, I can’t be late
Posted by Lacey at 8/30/2012 09:58:00 AM :: 0 comments

Really awesome is
How you’ve shattered
All my preconceived notions
About who you are and who I am

Really awesome is how
You showed me when I judge
You based on what someone did
I am always wrong every single time

Really awesome is how you
Instill immeasurable amounts of
Trust in me and absolute assurance
That you have not and will not lie to me

Really awesome is how you love
Me unconditionally and show me daily
That I have never truly known what love is
Until the day I knew I am crazy in love with you

Really
Awesome
Is
You
Posted by Marina Kaskadersha at 8/30/2012 09:47:00 AM :: 0 comments
Awe
"Jonathan?"
"Yes, Carolyn, beloved sister of mine?"
"It would be really awesome if you could stop making that noise."
"What noise would that be?"
"The one you're making with your mouth and nose, to upset me."
"I don't have the faintest idea what noise you mean."
Jonathan continues making the horrendous noise, adding in a finger twirling gesture, less than an inch from Carolyn's face.
"That noise, and that motion. Please! It would be really awesome if you would stop it!"
"Would it?"
"Yes!"
"It would be really AWESOME, would it?
"Yes, PLEASE!"
"As in, inspiring absolute AWE?"
"Sure, fine, whatever!"
"I am myself amazed that I have the capacity to be awe-inspiring, sweet sibling!"
"Jonathan! Please stop it!"
"Why, dear sister! I am capable of inspiring awe! Why should I st-"
Carolyn grabs Jonathan's finger and there is an audible crack. The other noises stop. Eventually a very quiet whimper is heard.
"Thank you, Jonathan."
Posted by Jess at 8/30/2012 01:31:00 AM :: 0 comments
The Horror
     "Step right up.  Don't be shy.  Come see the wonders of the world right here."
     This barker was like any other I has seen in the years I attended the local carnivals growing up.  A little aged fat man making his living trying to get you and me to go in and see the silly displays he had to offer.  But this time, there was something different in his eyes when he looked at me.  Instead of seeing me as a mark, someone to get money from, his look screamed of some internal pain he wished to escape.
     I thought little of it at the time, paid my two bits and headed into the tent.
     I pressed myself through the mass of muttering people to see what the small stage had to offer.
     The platform was big enough for about four adults to stand comfortably without touching each other.  It appeared that barker I saw outside was standing on the right hand side of the stage but if it was him, the look in his eyes had overtaken his entire face.  When I saw the main attraction, i understood why his fear was the way it was.
     The creature, if it could be called such, appeared to me as a cross between a melted human and a bowl of applesauce without the bowl.  Globs of  flesh pulsating as if each one held a single lung.
    
    
Posted by HPLovecraft at 8/30/2012 12:35:00 AM :: 0 comments
I wanted my first topic to be something really awesome, so.....

Your topic:

Really awesome

Labels:

Posted by HPLovecraft at 8/30/2012 12:30:00 AM :: 0 comments
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
The other side of the canvas
Little boys dream of running away to join the circus. This little person had lived in the circus all his life. He wanted to run away to join the rest of the world.

He'd learned and performed nearly every job one can do in a circus. Some of them were difficult for a man of his size, but no one eats while there's work to be done. That was the rule of the show. Everyone works, or everyone starves. It was a good rule, when you thought about it. Everyone worked hard and the community policed its own slackers fairly well. From the top billed aerialists to the lowliest roustabouts, everyone pitched in until the work was done.

He wasn't leaving because the work was too hard, though. He was leaving because he was bored. He'd been born different than the vast majority of humanity. Vastly different... and yet, here he was; accepted, respected... normal. There was something wrong with this picture.

On his last day, he made the rounds. He said goodbye to the performers, the laborers, the animals, but he saved the sideshow barker for last. He owed a lot to the man who'd done the most to raise him.

"You're a fool, you know. The world will eat you alive." The barker's eyes didn't rise from the emery board he was sweeping across a corner of oft-bitten cuticle.

"It's a chance I have to take."

"That's ridiculous. You just can't pass up a chance to see what's on the other side of the canvas. You're a rube who can't wait to part with his money, but you'll be let down in the end. Rubes are always let down in the end."  The words were measured and calm, but the little man could hear the disdain in the barker's voice. There was no sense in trying to explain it to him. It would only seem like the pleading rationalization every rube makes to his companions before handing over the admission for the freak show. Every one of them says it. Every mark just has to see it.

"I just wanted to thank you, that's all. Thank you."

The little man turned and walked back to his duffel bag, waiting a few feet away. He'd bent to pick it up when he heard the barker's parting words, sneeringly delivered.

"Step right up! See the little man with the big ambitions! You always knew he would dance a merry jig if the right tune was played! Too good for the side show, but ready to be a freak show all on his own! Step right up and see the tiny jester be a BIG fool!"

The little man sighed and heaved his bag onto his shoulder. He'd have to revise his definition of normal.
Posted by Jess at 8/29/2012 07:59:00 PM :: 0 comments
Step Right Up...


Step right up,
Hooper heard the words. In his head it’s a woman’s voice. The voice is sultry, tantalizing, alluring, all the things bad for a man who thought he had the with the will power of a baby chicken. This evening was a bad idea from the start, but following after his passions, and that’s a nice way of describing a part of his anatomy that truly lead his way here, he sauntered blithely into the bar behind Carolyn Hobbs, the brand new HR associate in the office, without a seconds hesitation.
It’s like finding out you’re allergic to cats after accidentally stepping into the tiger’s cage at the zoo. The watery eyes and hard sniffles are troublesome, but ultimately they are the absolute least of your problems. That's akin to being an ex alcoholic in a raucous bar during happy hour after a full day of work. In the scenario the main rub is being surrounded by man eaters with gleaming claws and gnashing teeth, in his reality it's being surrounded by hundreds of people, close quarters, loud voices over booming music that thumped his chest. Hooper was mono-maniacal, which is indeed a term, an actual condition, something he’d learned not too long ago. Google can be a friend to the weird and the introverted during those few whimsy moments where even the most indignant anti-socialite wants to know what his or her problem really is. Mono-Maniacal, it said, the insistence to remain in a state of oneness, a mind’s will or desire to be isolated or alone.
That doesn’t really count, Hooper said to himself at the time, illuminated blue from the light in his computer screen in his dimly lit office, his eyes cocked one larger than the other in perfect puzzlement. I like being around others, sometimes, I don’t mind being around people, on occasion. The condition, though it fit in many aspects, seemed not to fit him romantically, as in the over dramatized way he liked to view himself. No, no condition here, no ‘disorders’ if you will. I don’t dig a crowd, that’s all, but there’s no phobia, there’s no chronic need for oneness, whatever the fuck that means. And I’ll prove it!
This synapse fires congruously with mail boy Mac Jones’s weekly Friday night round. Mac is gathering heads for the evening excursion toward the local watering hole. Usually for Hooper this was a typical thing to be shunned. Mac would be thoroughly avoided all other times, but tonight is different. Carolyn Hobb had administered an emphatic yes at the idea of bar hopping onto to the wee Saturday morning. Hooper had heard her just down the hall, that dazzling mezzo soprano voice of hers agreeing in jovial anticipation. This was reason one for Hooper. Reason two was that he’d just been told his limitations by Google, which was enough motivation for any self appointed super genius to go against his better judgment.
Which came first, the cure or the disease? He trailed behind them on the long walk from the office to the bar. The dirty dozen, he called them, a cast of characters that were notorious for this weekly digression. He bordered on despising them all, their capacity for self amusement was irritating. But still he followed, he was following Carolyn. The winter time chill was biting his ankles, which he found more sensitive than any other part of his body. He was wrapped tight in his parka, while the creeping death, the mental sensation of foreboding curled slowly around his neck and choked the air out of his lungs, the doubt and the misgivings were coming on strong the closer to their destination he got.
In college there were anxieties at gatherings. Get togethers were torture, until he discovered alcohol in all of its various manifestations. With a pickled brain Hooper found he was looser, and thus he was more accessible to others, or perhaps he found others more accessible to him. Either way it lead to becoming his permanent way of dealing with the other walking talking mouth breathers at large, just lubricate the ordeal as heavily as possible. There had to be an intervention from “so-called” family members before he came to grips with just how far he’d allowed it to get. The cure for social terror it turns out was the disease of the twentieth century. It was like a cruel joke but he managed to stop drinking. Ironically the thing that allowed that stoppage to take hold was his extreme introversion. If there was no alcohol in sight there was no alcohol on the mind. It was a flimsy defense, true, but effective as long as it was untested.
Step right up!
               He hears it. He’s in the bar again, back from his short reminiscing. After all he’d made it. He’d slipped right in the door with his co-workers, his sad pathetic peon peers who needed this activity to contend with their work week. The great Hooper needed no such distractions. The great Hooper was only with these simpletons now because of the allure of the mysterious Carolyn Hobbs and the many super intellectual children they would have together. He was on a mission, nothing more, espionage, data collections, observation. What does she like, what IS she like, what is her preference of significant other and how over qualified was he to fit that assumed simple criteria? This was all, these were his reasons, the fact that the magical juice that changed the waking world was being sold in this same dive was just a minor nuisance, a mere distraction.
            Step right up!
            He had to stay focused. Carolyn had on a v-neck blouse, silk black, he couldn’t see the lower part of her body but remembered she was wearing a skirt of some kind, conservative, neither tight fitting nor drooping. The prominent part of her entire being was her long narrow neck, sloping in warm round curves from her sharp shoulders to her perfect head, curled hair, dark brown and pinned up to look like there was a lot less than what was really there. She smiled fiercely, constantly, one bright beam of white, in genuine expressions of happiness. She was perfection, and for a moment her radiance saved him from the thing with a thousand eyes and arms. But that moment was not long enough.
There might as well have been thousands of them, them being other people. A million faces, fingers twitching and flicking, arms reaching out from this mass of bodies. Pushing, rubbing and shoving past at every turn, in all directions. The law made the interior of the establishment mercifully smoke free, but that was all mercy had in store for him that night. There were smells, the tendrils of the multi hued creature slick with perspiration, gleaming with copious wetness, and all around him, clamoring for him, touching him, pulling at him. Too many people, too many damned people in here! He thought of the term, Mono-Maniacal…, he thought it with merit for the first time. With them all pulling, him drowning in a whirlpool of writhing humanity, the object of his affections far off and out of reach, and now all of a sudden seemingly out of his league… he hears the voice of his older, more enthralling love, the muse, the summons from her enthralling voice.
Step right up!
She says. In his head the muse is a woman’s voice, the music she speaks to is the sound of liquid pouring smoothly into a tall sweating glass, foaming at the top.
Step right up!
the sound is coming from the bar, the place he’d been determined not to look at. The beautiful mahogany red brown wood that gleamed in the bad lighting of the establishment, calling. There were thousands of the beasts arms and legs choking the perimeter of this pretty oasis, but there was space for him. And the voice insisted he would be safe there from everything.
Step right up! It said. Come to the bar, have a little of the old joy juice for old time’s sake. A little of the medicine to survive the terribleness of the evening. Drink a bit and be like unto the beast, drink a bit and feel no more pain, drink a bit and lose yourself…, step right up.
               Perhaps an antisocial monster, perhaps a mono-maniac that trucks no contact with the rest of humanity, perhaps a loser whom will never know the loving touch of one Carolyn Hobb, perhaps all these things and more, but, almost in spite of himself, Hooper was no backslider. So the experiment failed! He announced to himself, almost triumphantly, with a rather gleeful nod of his head. Standing in the cold cold street with his arm In the air hailing a cab he recounts what he’s gained from this experience. Not a bar hopper, not a good time Charlie after all, and certainly, thank fully, not in need of starting sobriety from day one again.
               The cab stops in front of him, the ambient noise of the bar off in the distance to the side, behind him, in the past. he lasted a total of ten excruciating minutes, but now he was free. He leans forward, the cabbie staring back at him inquisitively. Hooper hesitates, Carolyn Hobbs angelic face flashing before his eyes for an instant. He hesitates only because of the one vague notion. If you are strong enough not to drink, you are strong enough to speak to Carolyn Hobb. It’s a ringing in his ear, suggesting strength and something resembling heroism might exist in the world of a man locked inside himself. Ridiculous! He thinks, now making eye contact with the cabbie.
“12 east 96th” Hooper says. 
The cabbie nods, the doors unlock:
“I can get you there. Step right up!” he says.
Posted by Hassan Godwin at 8/29/2012 04:51:00 PM :: 0 comments
Anticipation surrounds the crowd
Onlookers hesitate
As the magistrate
Takes the stand

Step right up
Testify
All that matters is why
You’re here

All eyes on you
Look around
Make a sound
The pressure builds to fear

Now or never
Make him pay
It will never take the pain away
The scar remains forever

Feelings of
Shame and tears
For so many years
Have brought you here today
Posted by Lacey at 8/29/2012 11:56:00 AM :: 0 comments
The man in the dark wool coat is leaning against a wooden sales booth. He peels the chipping paint with his thick overworked fingers and throws it to the dirty snow path leading up to the booth window lined with iron bars. He eyes the headline of the “Truth” newspaper claming higher food deliveries to local stores. He laughs and shakes his head, pulling the newspaper wrapped item closer to his chest. “Next, step right up!”

He walks up to the window and taps on the glass displaying a large yellowing box of cigarettes with a blue silhouette of a mounted horse on the front. He slaps change onto the opening and takes his purchase. He opens the pack and takes a whiff. Empty pack outer pocket, new pack inner coat pocket minus the one cigarette that’s already bitten down on. All routine, all mechanical, all emotionless. He disappears into the unlit building and walks up the stairs.

His finger reaches out for the doorbell but the door swings open and another man walks out. “Who’s he? Doesn’t matter, because there she is.” She stands in the doorway and smiles, fixes her robe and stretches out her hand. Her long frail fingertips reach out. He hands her the newspaper wrapped item. Clutched from his chest to hers. She lets him in and unlocks the belt holding up his loose pants. She pulls him in to the room and lets him climb on top of her. He labors tirelessly for five minutes groaning as she looks up to the ceiling. There’s a leak, should ask someone to fix it, maybe him. Final grunt. He’s off. He walks out to the kitchen and throws the boy the empty box. “Thank you.”

She runs into the kitchen and unwraps the newspaper. It’s beef, a big piece. She smiles. “Look what we got!” The kid smiles back and continues to play with blue horse cut outs from the cigarette packs. There must be hundreds of them. Doorbell. She smiles and receives a newspaper wrapped item. Step right up.
Posted by Marina Kaskadersha at 8/29/2012 10:43:00 AM :: 0 comments
The Amazing Show
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, and feast your eyes on a most spectacular celebration, the likes of which you can never have imagined! Come in and set your sights on dark magicks from the farthest corners of civilisation, and scenes of the astounding and absurd! Prepare to be dazzled and confounded with our daring feats of inhuman abilities which defy gravity, thermodynamics, and physical laws of which you most probably aren’t even aware.

What you are about to behold is not for the faint of heart. We advise all to observe extreme caution. If you are pregnant or nursing, or have a history of heart disease, please consult your doctor before viewing the astonishing acts performed herein. The awe and wonder inspired by our performers will absolutely take your breath away, and only those with steel will and iron fortitude should enter. If at any point you begin to experience vertigo, nausea, or hysteria you should exit the tent immediately.

Our performers and sideshows come from the farthest corners of the globe, and from realms beyond! Witness exotic dancers from far off lands and head shrinking witch doctors! Our astounding acrobats will challenge and even surpass human limitation! Tamed giants from the Amazon who eat glass and drink fire! Creatures from beyond the veil that experience no pain and no fear! Daredevils that will fight spectacular odds!

Our amazing show will rip your heart out and pry your mind open! When you leave tonight your life will have changed and you will never feel the same again! If you’re not prepared to conquer new metaphysical frontiers of ecstasy and terror, it is strongly suggested that you wait for your party outside. If you’re still here, and, having been informed of the sheer magnitude of what you are about to witness, please sit back, relax, and allow us to take your mind on a journey from which it may never return.
Posted by Ian Bowen at 8/29/2012 06:59:00 AM :: 0 comments
Today's Topic
Step Right Up!
Posted by Ian Bowen at 8/29/2012 12:01:00 AM :: 0 comments
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
     I remember  seeing a group of large black birds circling over a spot not to far from the highway we were traveling on somewhere in the State of Missouri. 
     I was in grade school at the time and we were on our summer vacation.
     "Why are those birds flying like that?", I asked.
     "Those are buzzards and they are circling the dead.", was my step-father's response.  "They are waiting for something on the ground to die so they can eat the it."
     I watched the creatures until they were out of my field of vision.
    
    I remembered the moment as I watched a group of large black birds circle over the Crossroads Mall.
Posted by HPLovecraft at 8/28/2012 11:01:00 PM :: 0 comments
A rule of Engagement...

“I dunno what he’s talking about! His mouth is running in all different directions but I can’t make neither heads nor tails out his nonsense!”
               Aunt Mazy’s face was flush, her brow is furrowed, her eyes are slits. She’s pretty angry. Young William’s presentation of gastronomic blasphemy notwithstanding, his real mistake, in my opinion, was offering an explanation, which naturally reads as an excuse. It’s just a mistake of youth. Older men know when a woman is shrieking her lungs you just keep your trap shut till it’s over.
I’m sitting on the sidelines, relaxed as I can be, under the circumstances, but it’s a hard fight not to laugh out loud. I guess that’s why they call it nonsense...? I think to myself when suddenly Mazy turns to me. This was something I was afraid of happening, involvement!
               “Lawrence, you understand what the hell your boy is talking about?!” she shouts, she shouts it at me from the other side of the table, shouts it over the macaroni and cheese, over the neatly carved marble ham, the pretty pools of cranberry sauce from the can, three different forests of green beans, green peas and broccoli laid down in fine white porcelain platters. She shouts and  the white wine in our ornate gold trim glasses stir a bit, the uneven surfaces sway from side to side and you have to wonder is this just the share strength of her voice or did she bump the table during her rant. I’d vote for the latter, but the former is a funnier thought. I come out of the amused fog to a realization that words are expected from me. It takes a minute to form a thought and this is the perilous time, too much dead silence and I might laugh, laughing would be bad.
               “I understood him to say he thought it was cooked.” I offer, coming to sit straight in my chair. I picked last sentence out of Young William’s defensive diatribe, the one that spurred Aunt Mazy’s rather loud rebuttal, the one where he semi articulated his naivety when it came to cooking a bird for a family of ten. I mean, I’m not wrong, exactly, he put the bird in the over an hour earlier. Yes…, ONLY an hour earlier. He took it out and dropped it on the table for the rest of us to marvel over. He must have thought he'd cooked it through, right? Unless he was trying to poison us. The scene was priceless, if you had no soul, which I fear I do not. There’s him looking all loud and proud of his accomplishment, there’s everyone else looking somewhat less enamored with his masterpiece once they note the lack of steam rising off it, once they see the bright pink skin stretched over it from stem to stern. Me, I start leaning back in one of momma’s oak wood antique dining chairs in anticipation of a ruckus bright and noisy enough to beat the band. And…, Aunty ‘crazy Mazy’s internal eruption in 5,4,3,2,--- There it came, regular as a bill in the mail. She stood with that wide eyed preamble to indigence and the screeching started.
Some of us cook, sure, there are experts and there are novices alike in our gathering. That’s just how some families are. What united us all that night, the well practiced and the whimsy proletarian alike was the universal certainty amongst us all that our long awaited main dish was raw to the touch, without hesitation or experimentation, we were all pretty damned sure.
               “He thought it was cooked?! He thought it was cook?!!” there’s Mazy, crazy Mazy, Uncle Wilkes calls her when she ain’t around, working herself up to a high pitch through tightly clinched teeth. I just nod, a dumb look on my face just to exasperate the situation.
               “S’what the boy said.” I say. She starts to shake. She grabs on the white clammy leg of the giant dead bird. It resists, tough and cold as it is, her fingers slip right off the slimy surface.
“How the hell you gonna call this finished?!”
“Oh no, I didn’t.” I offer up fast! “was him that said it, not me.” I’m pointing at William now, all eyes turn instinctively to him and the sell out on my part is complete.
All this while, My son, the culinary genius we’ll call Young William has been standing in the corner looking absolutely ludicrous in that white apron and billowing chef’s hat. Last time you volunteer, ain’t it, kiddo? I think to myself, looking at him hovering there, big pink fuzzy oven mitts still hiding the details of his hands, his eyes aimed at his shoes. I mean honestly if you saw him there you’d cry, if you weren’t me. Me who don’t know how to cry or feel sympathy for smart ass know-it-alls that think they can skim an internet blog on cooking turkeys for ten minutes and become an expert. No sir, not me, I don’t got a sympathetic bone for ya, my child! So It’s On! I’ll allow this scene to escalate a bit more, and when it reaches a suitable crescendo I’ll steal away upstairs claiming a headache. There I’ll catch the last quarter of the jets game. You see, my friends, as the goddamned paterfamilias you have to know how to turn the inevitably heinous mishaps of every family get together to your advantage. It just comes with the Job!
Posted by Hassan Godwin at 8/28/2012 03:22:00 PM :: 0 comments