The shapes in the dark move about like ghosts, in black, skin-tight wetsuits …begging for the dawn, to ride the waves on the sea. A flock of birds sing, scraping the aquatic; all heads turn. The earth spins on. It controls the invisible eddies, the tides of the sea that could turn tons of power per square inch into a momentary masterpiece.
It starts with the slightest tint of blue rising in the east, and emerald when one turns west. The ones in the black wetsuits hold their breath. Bodies jerked, as explosions from the sea were heard.
The waves bring the ghosts, the immortals ---only the brave can breathe in this emerald world. There’s no tightening of the chest, but if there is, the masterpiece grows teeth. Thoughts then turn shapes of this emerald world into prehistoric creatures, just below the surface. Their body then belongs to someone else.
Suddenly …that incredible power per square inch collapses against a body, now nearing rocks; panicked breathing comes next, then it all stops. The sea answers all questions with a mystery. To say you understand only proves you’re no surfer, just a dream to contain such courage.
“Just remember to breathe, don’t do anything ridiculous like talk.” The blue tint in the east still is rising, and now has mixed with the greatest painters of the past. The kid couldn’t wait a moment more. The sunrise is here, at least enough for him.
The kid, for a moment, stood on the precipice. ‘How many waves have exploded and been forgotten here’, he thought. His naked foot rested on the first, slippery, mossy rock. Just to get to the sea is a journey, a novel, as you move from rock to slippery rock. He moves even closer.
The rocks are cold and mossy with life. He’s showered as a cliff stands tall against a wave. He tries to control his shivering. He’s in Upper California, at Steamer’s Lane in the city of Santa Cruz.
That particular wave had travelled all the way from Alaska to prove its strength. Only in winter, with lips cracking, does Steamer Lane flex all of its muscles, remember, only the brave ---SURF!
The kid is close enough as he times the surf and jumps into the sea. To control your cold you must start paddling hard. The kid atop his surfboard turns into a river and pushes through the currents with ease. The kid is no kid when it comes to the sea. He’s been making his own river through all different seas since three. He breathes with ease here; he knows whatever it was, is, now, no longer exists out here. Only on land can it possess power to displease.
The kid keeps on paddling to the explosions. He seeks it out, as some people tremble when they think about it. But the kid feels more comfortable out here. The others in black wetsuits feel his courage ---as they paddle towards him. He’s in position. The first wave is his.
The winds now also are his. They blow against the wave and open her up. Up and over the wave ends with a gentle shower. Only out here does he belong …he breathes deeply. The horizon rises again to meet him. He turns, paddles, and he’s up to his feet…instantly. Its a million miles an hour, now, but the kid just flows, he bends between the power and the ‘still’ of the sea. He pulls his body into the curl, the tube, THE GREEN ROOM.
Inside he hears the roar, feels the power, scraps his hand against the wave to slow him down, the earth stops, everything stops except his, “Scream.”
He’s not alone in the green room. The greatest of the greats with color have gone mad, no need for ears here. The sunrise has splashed all its energy inside the green room. The colors are blending mixing …it’s a Sunrise Masterpiece!
The End
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Love-Sporting
I love this story (Read it),
Was it the ‘witching’ hour on Market Street San Francisco, California U.S.A? Everybody thought they heard screaming? –or, did it echo more of a mythological tone, nonetheless, the woman did in fact startle the rush hour crowd as she ripped off her clothes. The scream was memorable, as was she …
Just then, James Redburn got off work. He was on that same Market Street, walking to the subway. He was excited yet exhausted: Inside his head he heard the subway publc announcer announce the arrival of his train, and soon, he thought, with his wife and kids he'd be.
But he took a step back when he saw something to his right. It was a river of people several blocks away. They were running his way, with no intention of stopping.
James found a nook on one of Market Streets’ many. The river of people kept coming his way. The thought of out-running the crowd never entered his mind. With a step, he was fully protected now. He even relaxed to enhance the experience. Finally the naked woman came into clear view. She echoed more of a mythological tone ---his thoughts:
“She was running in and out of the crowd, nonetheless, never a touch was passed by her to any others. I think tomorrow on the front-page of The Diametric Newspaper I’ll read: A Goddess lives amongst us’!’
“The timing of her ballet-like movements was uncanny, proving, maybe; she actually was not of this world! –A Goddess?! Her brown locks were blowing like a Willow Tree, ‘just as withe as Willows boughs’,” he screamed to her as she passed.
And she screamed back, “It’s all because I’m a V.I.P. ---a very important person. Tonight I’m going to the event!” And then she said, “Follow me!” James followed. They ran so fast and so far they were now alone. She stopped in front of a building on Bush Street. This is it, she said. They walked in and were soon inside her apartment.
She sat down next to James, and pulled out a silver canister. Do you? –she asked, and James nodded.
She assembled something and moved closer to James. She was touching him and then she kissed him ---“That’s good. Now it should just take a minute. It’ll be in a minute.”
James was asked if he felt better a moment later, all he could do was nod, “Yes.”
She moved closer to James ---“Are you with us James?”
“Huh …who ---us?” James asked.
“Are you with us?!”
“Of course, I’m loyal! The canister is almost empty, isn’t it?”
“That’s very good,” she laughed and walked to her bedroom, “But the canister is for me. It’ll keep you manly for hours.”
She pulled out a yoga pad and started stretching. “This is how it begins, at least for me. I need to be loose. I want you to come with me.” She stretched for a few minutes and then walked to her closet. She turned to James, “It’ll probably be colder tonight. Huh? You are coming? Good!”
She put an overcoat on. She grabbed a fedora hat, as James stared at her as she adjusted it. James thought she should have worn the coat regardless of the weather, and the hat. “Are you ready James? Can you walk?”
“Let’s go,” James grabbed her hand.
Soon they were on the lorry going downtown. They grabbed a seat in the back. She pulled her fedora cap down. They moved closer together, watched the San Francisco Bay pass by.
They were there, where she was a V.I.P. ---“At the event.” They showed the guard their very important pass. With a smile the guard showed them the door, “We’ve been waiting, thanks for coming.”
With James’s arm on his date he grabbed the door-knob ---entering through. The laughter exploded in their ears. They were disoriented. James was alone.
A man (Zeus) whisked away 'the goddess' and held her high in his arms. A woman ran over and ran her hands threw his wavy hair. With one hand holding the ‘goddess’, and somehow maybe a flinch, he brushed the other woman aside. He then threw her to a man. He caught her, and a “Squeal,” came from the goddess.
The man raised his hands, fell to the floor, and screamed at the moon. He looked at a man next to him. He just laughed and grabbed the man’s throat. The man vomited. They started to wrestle. A woman screamed, “Draw,” and they stopped (Zeus and Hercules). Then ---rage, carnage, horrible atrocities followed ...
As James was forced to watch his ‘Goddess' get thrown ---‘in the mix’ …
The End
Was it the ‘witching’ hour on Market Street San Francisco, California U.S.A? Everybody thought they heard screaming? –or, did it echo more of a mythological tone, nonetheless, the woman did in fact startle the rush hour crowd as she ripped off her clothes. The scream was memorable, as was she …
Just then, James Redburn got off work. He was on that same Market Street, walking to the subway. He was excited yet exhausted: Inside his head he heard the subway publc announcer announce the arrival of his train, and soon, he thought, with his wife and kids he'd be.
But he took a step back when he saw something to his right. It was a river of people several blocks away. They were running his way, with no intention of stopping.
James found a nook on one of Market Streets’ many. The river of people kept coming his way. The thought of out-running the crowd never entered his mind. With a step, he was fully protected now. He even relaxed to enhance the experience. Finally the naked woman came into clear view. She echoed more of a mythological tone ---his thoughts:
“She was running in and out of the crowd, nonetheless, never a touch was passed by her to any others. I think tomorrow on the front-page of The Diametric Newspaper I’ll read: A Goddess lives amongst us’!’
“The timing of her ballet-like movements was uncanny, proving, maybe; she actually was not of this world! –A Goddess?! Her brown locks were blowing like a Willow Tree, ‘just as withe as Willows boughs’,” he screamed to her as she passed.
And she screamed back, “It’s all because I’m a V.I.P. ---a very important person. Tonight I’m going to the event!” And then she said, “Follow me!” James followed. They ran so fast and so far they were now alone. She stopped in front of a building on Bush Street. This is it, she said. They walked in and were soon inside her apartment.
She sat down next to James, and pulled out a silver canister. Do you? –she asked, and James nodded.
She assembled something and moved closer to James. She was touching him and then she kissed him ---“That’s good. Now it should just take a minute. It’ll be in a minute.”
James was asked if he felt better a moment later, all he could do was nod, “Yes.”
She moved closer to James ---“Are you with us James?”
“Huh …who ---us?” James asked.
“Are you with us?!”
“Of course, I’m loyal! The canister is almost empty, isn’t it?”
“That’s very good,” she laughed and walked to her bedroom, “But the canister is for me. It’ll keep you manly for hours.”
She pulled out a yoga pad and started stretching. “This is how it begins, at least for me. I need to be loose. I want you to come with me.” She stretched for a few minutes and then walked to her closet. She turned to James, “It’ll probably be colder tonight. Huh? You are coming? Good!”
She put an overcoat on. She grabbed a fedora hat, as James stared at her as she adjusted it. James thought she should have worn the coat regardless of the weather, and the hat. “Are you ready James? Can you walk?”
“Let’s go,” James grabbed her hand.
Soon they were on the lorry going downtown. They grabbed a seat in the back. She pulled her fedora cap down. They moved closer together, watched the San Francisco Bay pass by.
They were there, where she was a V.I.P. ---“At the event.” They showed the guard their very important pass. With a smile the guard showed them the door, “We’ve been waiting, thanks for coming.”
With James’s arm on his date he grabbed the door-knob ---entering through. The laughter exploded in their ears. They were disoriented. James was alone.
A man (Zeus) whisked away 'the goddess' and held her high in his arms. A woman ran over and ran her hands threw his wavy hair. With one hand holding the ‘goddess’, and somehow maybe a flinch, he brushed the other woman aside. He then threw her to a man. He caught her, and a “Squeal,” came from the goddess.
The man raised his hands, fell to the floor, and screamed at the moon. He looked at a man next to him. He just laughed and grabbed the man’s throat. The man vomited. They started to wrestle. A woman screamed, “Draw,” and they stopped (Zeus and Hercules). Then ---rage, carnage, horrible atrocities followed ...
As James was forced to watch his ‘Goddess' get thrown ---‘in the mix’ …
The End
Monday, October 25, 2010
Mythological Sport-Loving
Was it the ‘witching’ hour on Market Street San Francisco, California U.S.A? Everybody thought they heard screaming? –or, did it echo more of a mythological tone, nonetheless, the woman did in fact startle the rush hour crowd as she ripped off her clothes. The scream was memorable, as was she …
Just then, James Redburn got off work. He was on that same Market Street, walking to the subway. He was excited. Inside his head he heard the recording of the subway public announcer announce the arrival of his train. But he took a step back as he saw something to his right. It was a river of people several blocks away. They were running his way, with no intention of stopping.
James found a nook on one of Market Streets’ many, for protection. He was exhausted from work and the thought of out-running the crowd never entered his mind. With a step, he was fully protected now. He even relaxed to enhance the experience. Finally the naked woman came into clear view. She echoed more of a mythological tone ---his thoughts:
“She was running in and out of the crowd, nonetheless, never a touch was passed by her to any others. I think tomorrow on the front-page of The Diametric Newspaper I’ll read: A Goddess lives amongst us’!’ The timing of her ballet-like movements was uncanny, proving, maybe; she actually was not of this world! –A Goddess?! Her brown locks were blowing like a Willow Tree, ‘just as withe as Willows boughs’,” he screamed to her as she passed.
And she screamed back, “It’s all because I’m a V.I.P. ---a very important person. Tonight I’m going to the big event!” And then she said, “Follow me!” James followed. They ran so fast and so far they were now alone. She stopped in front of a building on Bush Street. This is it, she said. They walked in and were soon inside her apartment.
She sat down next to James. I’m holding, she said, and pulled out a silver canister. Do you indulge? –she asked, and James nodded.
She assembled something and moved closer to James. She was touching him and then she kissed him ---“That’s good. Now it should just take a minute. It’ll be in a minute.”
James was asked if he felt better, all he could do was nod, “Yes.”
She moved closer to James ---“Are you with us James?”
“Huh …who ---us?” James asked.
“Are you with us?!”
“Of course, I’m loyal! The canister is almost empty, isn’t it?”
“That’s very good,” she said and walked to her bedroom, “But the canister is for me. It’ll keep you manly for hours.”
She pulled out a yoga pad and started stretching. “This is how it begins, at least for me. I need to be loose.” She stretched for a few minutes and then walked to her closet. She turned to James, “It’ll probably be colder tonight. Huh?” She put an overcoat on. She grabbed a fedora hat, as James stared at her as she adjusted it. James thought she should have worn the coat regardless of the weather, and the hat. “Are you ready James? Can you walk?”
“Let’s go,” James grabbed her hand.
Soon they were on the lorry going downtown. They grabbed a seat in the back. She pulled her fedora cap down. They moved closer together, watched the San Francisco Bay pass by.
Soon they were there, where she was a V.I.P. ---“At the event.” They showed the guard their very important pass. With a smile the guard showed them the door, “We’ve been waiting, thanks for coming.”
With James’s arm on his date he grabbed the door-knob ---entering through. The laughter exploded in their ears. They were disoriented. James was alone.
A man (Zeus) whisked her away and held the goddess high in his arms. A woman ran over and ran her hands threw his wavy hair. With one hand holding the ‘goddess’, and somehow maybe a flinch, he brushed the other woman aside. He then threw her to a man that had his arms crossed ---yet at complete attention. He caught her, and a “Squeal,” came from the goddess.
The man raised his hands, fell to the floor, and screamed at the moon. He looked at a man next to him. He just laughed and grabbed the man’s throat. The man vomited. They started to wrestle (Zeus and Hercules). A woman screamed, “Draw,” and they stopped.
Another woman ran over and rubbed her hands down his sweaty chest, and dried her fingers on his beautiful wavy thick hair. The man brushed her away.
It was then ---rage, carnage. He screamed and grabbed another man. They began wrestling. Two men ran to James’s side and restrained him as the ‘Goddess’ was thrown ---‘in the mix’ …
The End
Just then, James Redburn got off work. He was on that same Market Street, walking to the subway. He was excited. Inside his head he heard the recording of the subway public announcer announce the arrival of his train. But he took a step back as he saw something to his right. It was a river of people several blocks away. They were running his way, with no intention of stopping.
James found a nook on one of Market Streets’ many, for protection. He was exhausted from work and the thought of out-running the crowd never entered his mind. With a step, he was fully protected now. He even relaxed to enhance the experience. Finally the naked woman came into clear view. She echoed more of a mythological tone ---his thoughts:
“She was running in and out of the crowd, nonetheless, never a touch was passed by her to any others. I think tomorrow on the front-page of The Diametric Newspaper I’ll read: A Goddess lives amongst us’!’ The timing of her ballet-like movements was uncanny, proving, maybe; she actually was not of this world! –A Goddess?! Her brown locks were blowing like a Willow Tree, ‘just as withe as Willows boughs’,” he screamed to her as she passed.
And she screamed back, “It’s all because I’m a V.I.P. ---a very important person. Tonight I’m going to the big event!” And then she said, “Follow me!” James followed. They ran so fast and so far they were now alone. She stopped in front of a building on Bush Street. This is it, she said. They walked in and were soon inside her apartment.
She sat down next to James. I’m holding, she said, and pulled out a silver canister. Do you indulge? –she asked, and James nodded.
She assembled something and moved closer to James. She was touching him and then she kissed him ---“That’s good. Now it should just take a minute. It’ll be in a minute.”
James was asked if he felt better, all he could do was nod, “Yes.”
She moved closer to James ---“Are you with us James?”
“Huh …who ---us?” James asked.
“Are you with us?!”
“Of course, I’m loyal! The canister is almost empty, isn’t it?”
“That’s very good,” she said and walked to her bedroom, “But the canister is for me. It’ll keep you manly for hours.”
She pulled out a yoga pad and started stretching. “This is how it begins, at least for me. I need to be loose.” She stretched for a few minutes and then walked to her closet. She turned to James, “It’ll probably be colder tonight. Huh?” She put an overcoat on. She grabbed a fedora hat, as James stared at her as she adjusted it. James thought she should have worn the coat regardless of the weather, and the hat. “Are you ready James? Can you walk?”
“Let’s go,” James grabbed her hand.
Soon they were on the lorry going downtown. They grabbed a seat in the back. She pulled her fedora cap down. They moved closer together, watched the San Francisco Bay pass by.
Soon they were there, where she was a V.I.P. ---“At the event.” They showed the guard their very important pass. With a smile the guard showed them the door, “We’ve been waiting, thanks for coming.”
With James’s arm on his date he grabbed the door-knob ---entering through. The laughter exploded in their ears. They were disoriented. James was alone.
A man (Zeus) whisked her away and held the goddess high in his arms. A woman ran over and ran her hands threw his wavy hair. With one hand holding the ‘goddess’, and somehow maybe a flinch, he brushed the other woman aside. He then threw her to a man that had his arms crossed ---yet at complete attention. He caught her, and a “Squeal,” came from the goddess.
The man raised his hands, fell to the floor, and screamed at the moon. He looked at a man next to him. He just laughed and grabbed the man’s throat. The man vomited. They started to wrestle (Zeus and Hercules). A woman screamed, “Draw,” and they stopped.
Another woman ran over and rubbed her hands down his sweaty chest, and dried her fingers on his beautiful wavy thick hair. The man brushed her away.
It was then ---rage, carnage. He screamed and grabbed another man. They began wrestling. Two men ran to James’s side and restrained him as the ‘Goddess’ was thrown ---‘in the mix’ …
The End
Friday, October 22, 2010
Patterns of Madness
Dr. James Redburn turned his alarm clock off before the buzzing started. His biological clock, his physiology, and the mechanized world’s clock were now in synchronicity, in rhythm. It had gone that far. It pulled and stretched. But, it was the mechanized world of the flesh, the human machine: the kidneys, the liver, heart and lungs, the blood, plasma and all the inner workings of the human body was where this stretch and pull had crystallized. Now James considered himself an excellent physician, and also, was thought an excellent physician by his colleagues.
His hands were intricate tools. They were child-like in their appearance, small, strong and lean, symmetrical in every way. There wasn’t a kink or a blemish on any of his fingers. But …the greatest residue left by this new collaboration, this crystallization, was the blending the belonging, the incredible confidence James now felt. Was it the cause, or the effect from the pull and stretch? Nonetheless, it was all committed to memory, all absorbed, as was James. Nothing could be done.
First, it was that one dream. Then it was the other dream. James was a murderer, in his dreams. He was killing people. But the dreams were still hazy, blurry, full of dread, and anxiety. He was forced to watch and re-watch a surgery that he had performed ---with mistakes. It was unthinkable, again and again.
He saw himself operate, yet was unable to correct those past mistakes. To get to here, sometimes you have to lift the spleen or twist a section of the gut. It would be easy to leave a nick with your scalpel.
But still: hazy, blurry were his dreams, so James started fitting in the empty pieces of the ghoulish puzzle with his own thoughts. The self torture was under way. It was a correction that should have taken place long ago. The pattern seemed inescapable: The pattern of madness!!
Suddenly, at the hospital where James worked at an accident was heard! It was horrible, unthinkable. The hospital where James worked at was privy to this information immediately. The preparations were under way. It was a well-coordinated chaotic attack to try to save lives. Already the estimate was sixty five dead and twice that amount injured. Everybody was needed. Every person involved with the inner workings of the hospital would have their schedule tossed and juggled. It could possibly go on for days.
They brought the injured in. The people closest to the end would be looked at first, evaluated, put on medication, or brought to the surgery room (OR). It went on and on. A woman needing radical surgery was still on a stretcher in the lobby. Judgments had to be made immediately. Her next breath could be her last. Others could be saved now. She would be left, on a stretcher, exactly where she was brought in.
One day later the woman on the stretcher, that others thought her next breath could be her last, was still breathing. They brought her into James’s element, the main operating theatre. There he morphed everybody’s shadow. The rows of seats ran up twenty feet in every direction for observation. Other doctors, colleagues, doctors from away as seven hundred miles, and the friends and family of the victim filled the forum.
His intricate tools, his hands, grabbed a scalpel and started to cut. James was in his element, but not completely comfortable? How long can a person go without sleep? But, at first, the operation was going better than expected.
James was almost ready to close-up the patient ---successful! He was almost finished. But when he turned to accept the accolades he saw that his scalpel nicked an artery, a main vein, something? Perhaps his scalpel nicked an organ. He saw the blood start to trickle out. He continued accepting the accolades, and with a quick stitch closed the soon to be dead patient up.
The End
His hands were intricate tools. They were child-like in their appearance, small, strong and lean, symmetrical in every way. There wasn’t a kink or a blemish on any of his fingers. But …the greatest residue left by this new collaboration, this crystallization, was the blending the belonging, the incredible confidence James now felt. Was it the cause, or the effect from the pull and stretch? Nonetheless, it was all committed to memory, all absorbed, as was James. Nothing could be done.
First, it was that one dream. Then it was the other dream. James was a murderer, in his dreams. He was killing people. But the dreams were still hazy, blurry, full of dread, and anxiety. He was forced to watch and re-watch a surgery that he had performed ---with mistakes. It was unthinkable, again and again.
He saw himself operate, yet was unable to correct those past mistakes. To get to here, sometimes you have to lift the spleen or twist a section of the gut. It would be easy to leave a nick with your scalpel.
But still: hazy, blurry were his dreams, so James started fitting in the empty pieces of the ghoulish puzzle with his own thoughts. The self torture was under way. It was a correction that should have taken place long ago. The pattern seemed inescapable: The pattern of madness!!
Suddenly, at the hospital where James worked at an accident was heard! It was horrible, unthinkable. The hospital where James worked at was privy to this information immediately. The preparations were under way. It was a well-coordinated chaotic attack to try to save lives. Already the estimate was sixty five dead and twice that amount injured. Everybody was needed. Every person involved with the inner workings of the hospital would have their schedule tossed and juggled. It could possibly go on for days.
They brought the injured in. The people closest to the end would be looked at first, evaluated, put on medication, or brought to the surgery room (OR). It went on and on. A woman needing radical surgery was still on a stretcher in the lobby. Judgments had to be made immediately. Her next breath could be her last. Others could be saved now. She would be left, on a stretcher, exactly where she was brought in.
One day later the woman on the stretcher, that others thought her next breath could be her last, was still breathing. They brought her into James’s element, the main operating theatre. There he morphed everybody’s shadow. The rows of seats ran up twenty feet in every direction for observation. Other doctors, colleagues, doctors from away as seven hundred miles, and the friends and family of the victim filled the forum.
His intricate tools, his hands, grabbed a scalpel and started to cut. James was in his element, but not completely comfortable? How long can a person go without sleep? But, at first, the operation was going better than expected.
James was almost ready to close-up the patient ---successful! He was almost finished. But when he turned to accept the accolades he saw that his scalpel nicked an artery, a main vein, something? Perhaps his scalpel nicked an organ. He saw the blood start to trickle out. He continued accepting the accolades, and with a quick stitch closed the soon to be dead patient up.
The End
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
The Job Market
At Saint Mercy Hospital the doctor whisked up the newborn, “Could it be!” Everybody in the room squealed. He held the newborn as high as he could. Everybody had to be sure. Could the news actually be this good, that a future, a wonderful future actually existed for the newborn? They had to be sure.
Since the blueprints were attached to the baby, the doctor gave the nod, “Yes,” to the friends and family, another Redburn had successfully entered the world ---healthy, and their dreams had come true! Their waiting to reassure could finally end, and “Sighs” were heard, followed with hugs and congratulating, “The child prodigy.” The celebrating could have gone on for three days.
And then the news got even better. The doctor apologized for not noticing this earlier, but the child was going to be double-jointed. “Yes, a future does indeed exist for another generation of the Redburn’s!” It was a day never to be forgotten. “He is so lucky, a model of genetics leading to a comfortable and illustrious life,” the doctor said as they left.
The days and then the months passed. After the cries from a baby turned to even more pronounced toddler cries they introduced him to his obvious future, with a curriculum all its own. With him being double-jointed everything came so easily. Those ‘so-called’ toddler fits almost never applied to the young Redburn. He was ---The Natural! He had all the necessary ingredients to be a Star! ---To touch and hold the all elusive …Glory!
The happy days touched each other, blending the years, with happy memories. When the child turned into an adolescent, in tune with his curriculum, his father and mother took him to Golden Gate Park. The young Redburn held both his mothers and fathers hand as they swung him, every Saturday and Sunday, to the park to learn about all the plants there. After just one week he began to speak the plant language, Latin, as he identified each and every plant, correctly pronouncing, “Ovate, Oborate, and Pinnate.”
The day he graduated high school his father handed him the correspondence course, and he began to study. It was supposed to take six months, but he completed the course in six days, with the results: Well-received! His whole life was ahead of him.
His application was accepted immediately. He’d start work next Monday, ‘maintaining’ Golden Gate Park. With the young Redburn being double-jointed he was able to pick-up twice the trash of a 'mere normal mortal', thus, colloquially, the young Redburn was simply known as ---Mr. Job security! -with a great future, and a title even: Filth-Picker!! ---just like the blueprints said!!!
The End
Since the blueprints were attached to the baby, the doctor gave the nod, “Yes,” to the friends and family, another Redburn had successfully entered the world ---healthy, and their dreams had come true! Their waiting to reassure could finally end, and “Sighs” were heard, followed with hugs and congratulating, “The child prodigy.” The celebrating could have gone on for three days.
And then the news got even better. The doctor apologized for not noticing this earlier, but the child was going to be double-jointed. “Yes, a future does indeed exist for another generation of the Redburn’s!” It was a day never to be forgotten. “He is so lucky, a model of genetics leading to a comfortable and illustrious life,” the doctor said as they left.
The days and then the months passed. After the cries from a baby turned to even more pronounced toddler cries they introduced him to his obvious future, with a curriculum all its own. With him being double-jointed everything came so easily. Those ‘so-called’ toddler fits almost never applied to the young Redburn. He was ---The Natural! He had all the necessary ingredients to be a Star! ---To touch and hold the all elusive …Glory!
The happy days touched each other, blending the years, with happy memories. When the child turned into an adolescent, in tune with his curriculum, his father and mother took him to Golden Gate Park. The young Redburn held both his mothers and fathers hand as they swung him, every Saturday and Sunday, to the park to learn about all the plants there. After just one week he began to speak the plant language, Latin, as he identified each and every plant, correctly pronouncing, “Ovate, Oborate, and Pinnate.”
The day he graduated high school his father handed him the correspondence course, and he began to study. It was supposed to take six months, but he completed the course in six days, with the results: Well-received! His whole life was ahead of him.
His application was accepted immediately. He’d start work next Monday, ‘maintaining’ Golden Gate Park. With the young Redburn being double-jointed he was able to pick-up twice the trash of a 'mere normal mortal', thus, colloquially, the young Redburn was simply known as ---Mr. Job security! -with a great future, and a title even: Filth-Picker!! ---just like the blueprints said!!!
The End
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Accessible Gasoline
… If it wasn’t for the easily accessible gasoline, probably, this story would never be told. But the gasoline was accessible, accelerating something ridiculous to a catastrophe. The bodies are still coming in. At the last formal count, it was seventeen dead, and five people with third degree burns over ninety percent of their body. I believe after everything is said and done, the total count will be twenty three. The five people with severe burns, we’re afraid, will join the other seventeen people --- ‘in a jiffy’. Sorry.
So, he, the person responsible, will definitely be indicted for arson and first degree murder. I believe it’s a slam dunk case. We have him, with all the important questions. Concerning motivation (Lost direction?), and how, easily established, gasoline, where ---at the house with the brick façade, and who, no problem there either. He was standing as the fire trucks came, almost completely soaked in gasoline.
And again the simplicity continues as we seek out the genealogy of the aforementioned events. It started as a boy running in and out of the uneven ruts formed by herds of animals. Yes! It started, as that boy, in his farm town with the late summer breezes, as he ran hidden inside rows of corn nine feet tall. As he grew, eventually, he had everything a person need possess to be a professional athlete; speed, endurance, strength, and the things that couldn’t be measured ---most of all.
But as he grew-up playing football in his farm town, around him were the obsessively straight rows of corn, and only here was where he felt safe, and in control. In the huddle, as they discussed which play they’d run next, they’d always talk with North as their reference point.
It was easy, rigid and ---Always! All you had to do was establish a reference point. That was accomplished in seconds, since everything in all directions ran …Straight!
For example, the often-used ‘hook’ pattern would be described as a run north, stop, and then turn south, or, “North South!” It didn’t matter if the sun was in your eyes, or West, that direction could still be called North. It didn’t matter, but to him and his football friends where the compass aimed. What mattered was a seeable direction.
Obviously this poor bastard doesn’t have a chance. He went off to college and got lost, in every direction. His depression soon consumed him, and he drove by, aforementioned crime scene, the building with the brick façade, now torched, and stopped. It was the bricks; the bricks running in rows, up and down in every direction that motivated the catastrophe.
He felt safe here, so this story goes. But he felt a little cold ---and with his bucket he went off to a gas station, just next-door, because he needed ---“To make it feel nice and warm ---just like home!”
So, he, the person responsible, will definitely be indicted for arson and first degree murder. I believe it’s a slam dunk case. We have him, with all the important questions. Concerning motivation (Lost direction?), and how, easily established, gasoline, where ---at the house with the brick façade, and who, no problem there either. He was standing as the fire trucks came, almost completely soaked in gasoline.
And again the simplicity continues as we seek out the genealogy of the aforementioned events. It started as a boy running in and out of the uneven ruts formed by herds of animals. Yes! It started, as that boy, in his farm town with the late summer breezes, as he ran hidden inside rows of corn nine feet tall. As he grew, eventually, he had everything a person need possess to be a professional athlete; speed, endurance, strength, and the things that couldn’t be measured ---most of all.
But as he grew-up playing football in his farm town, around him were the obsessively straight rows of corn, and only here was where he felt safe, and in control. In the huddle, as they discussed which play they’d run next, they’d always talk with North as their reference point.
It was easy, rigid and ---Always! All you had to do was establish a reference point. That was accomplished in seconds, since everything in all directions ran …Straight!
For example, the often-used ‘hook’ pattern would be described as a run north, stop, and then turn south, or, “North South!” It didn’t matter if the sun was in your eyes, or West, that direction could still be called North. It didn’t matter, but to him and his football friends where the compass aimed. What mattered was a seeable direction.
Obviously this poor bastard doesn’t have a chance. He went off to college and got lost, in every direction. His depression soon consumed him, and he drove by, aforementioned crime scene, the building with the brick façade, now torched, and stopped. It was the bricks; the bricks running in rows, up and down in every direction that motivated the catastrophe.
He felt safe here, so this story goes. But he felt a little cold ---and with his bucket he went off to a gas station, just next-door, because he needed ---“To make it feel nice and warm ---just like home!”
Thursday, August 12, 2010
A Passing Scene
This particular story begins with the scene passing by very quickly, so our hero of this story, without knowing, as is the pattern with this man, unknowingly stepped inside:
He found himself walking along a pathway near a sea and suddenly felt the grade of the pathway moving against him. And ahead of his path he saw a small bridge, and atop that small bridge was a small boy. In-between our hero’s steps the boy jumped backwards, spinning twice, as fast as eagles kill prey, into the sea. He landed with his arms outstretched as they hit the water, without a splash, between two huge rocks.
The boy screamed up to the man, “Some days I wish they were closer together.”
“The rocks?” our hero asked.
“Some days I wish they were touching each other and I’d try to slip down a hidden fissure, somewhere. I still believe I’ll find it one day. It’s in my dreams. I’ve jumped off this bridge every day, as far ago in the past as I can remember. It’s everywhere for me, it’s everything, I never let a moment pass, this dive between two different yet similar rocks.”
The man became aware that a scene was waiting for him, and sprang off the bridge. He cleared his eyes after impact and spun himself up-side down and right-side up as he followed the colors of the tropical fish.
Back at the optometrist’s office, our hero, rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and screamed, “I can see it all!”
The End
He found himself walking along a pathway near a sea and suddenly felt the grade of the pathway moving against him. And ahead of his path he saw a small bridge, and atop that small bridge was a small boy. In-between our hero’s steps the boy jumped backwards, spinning twice, as fast as eagles kill prey, into the sea. He landed with his arms outstretched as they hit the water, without a splash, between two huge rocks.
The boy screamed up to the man, “Some days I wish they were closer together.”
“The rocks?” our hero asked.
“Some days I wish they were touching each other and I’d try to slip down a hidden fissure, somewhere. I still believe I’ll find it one day. It’s in my dreams. I’ve jumped off this bridge every day, as far ago in the past as I can remember. It’s everywhere for me, it’s everything, I never let a moment pass, this dive between two different yet similar rocks.”
The man became aware that a scene was waiting for him, and sprang off the bridge. He cleared his eyes after impact and spun himself up-side down and right-side up as he followed the colors of the tropical fish.
Back at the optometrist’s office, our hero, rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and screamed, “I can see it all!”
The End
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Conference
The conference was only six hours away:
“Here they come,” was screamed. The two men were seen, and so easily, over-shadowing everybody. Their gait alone would have men looking up at them, and then, strangely, unable to breath, the woman too. They were tall. And then the trembling would come later. Around the men; the absurdity, the unrelenting chaos, and this would only calm when these particular men distilled all the angles. Their approach continued. Everybody waited for these two men, above all to see.
One came from a far away land, over seas and mountains to the conference. The other man’s story could be told by looking at the other man –but backwards, or, one came from the west, and one came from the east. And these particular men would meet in the middle of the world or, just a little east of that destination and discuss …business? The world waited with bated breath. The approach continued and it was getting close!
“I’m ready was heard.” The men disrobed and stood naked while holding their arms at a ninety degree angle from their bodies. Also, their legs were a little, just a bit, spread apart. The crew came in. They began working on their man. Everything was working perfectly, going as planned.
Then the fact-checker came in. She was ruthless and paid just to be that way. I don’t think she had to try. She got ‘in her man’s face’! She revved up her engine and was in costume. They went over and over it. And, on her dime, the former heavy-weight champion of the world came in the room. He looked angry. Then, Dr. ‘Feelgood Guy’ came in and did something very inconspicuously, and then quickly left. They were ready.
Our man had the opportunity to speak first. He really connected with his audience:
“If we just use some eloquent, well-used phrases that can’t be argued with, we’ll be able to market our product …at an incredible profit. And, it’s as simple as that.”
So, at the conference, the, ‘Try to Take over the World’ conference, the above words caused such a stir, no other words were spoken for at least ---one full second. And then, well, you must know. The voices blending sounded as if a brush fire had just gained momentum, faster now, and soon you could feel the hot breathe on your neck. “Just use words that can’t be argued with,” the crowd at the conference screamed, “And, it’s as simple as that!”
The masses at the conference screamed this over and over. And, with special attention, or rather exactness, if you will, on the Pause, --- “And (Right here—they enunciated the Pause) ---it’s as simple as that! For them: A mystery was now solved?!?
So equipped with this new ground-breaking marketing tool, that could, quite remarkably, be defined in two simple sentences, they set off to the far corners of their territory, and perhaps, beyond. And of course, the mystery of what they are actually doing remains just that, a mystery. Nonetheless, the two men that everybody came to see have already ---‘spent the money’.
The End
“Here they come,” was screamed. The two men were seen, and so easily, over-shadowing everybody. Their gait alone would have men looking up at them, and then, strangely, unable to breath, the woman too. They were tall. And then the trembling would come later. Around the men; the absurdity, the unrelenting chaos, and this would only calm when these particular men distilled all the angles. Their approach continued. Everybody waited for these two men, above all to see.
One came from a far away land, over seas and mountains to the conference. The other man’s story could be told by looking at the other man –but backwards, or, one came from the west, and one came from the east. And these particular men would meet in the middle of the world or, just a little east of that destination and discuss …business? The world waited with bated breath. The approach continued and it was getting close!
“I’m ready was heard.” The men disrobed and stood naked while holding their arms at a ninety degree angle from their bodies. Also, their legs were a little, just a bit, spread apart. The crew came in. They began working on their man. Everything was working perfectly, going as planned.
Then the fact-checker came in. She was ruthless and paid just to be that way. I don’t think she had to try. She got ‘in her man’s face’! She revved up her engine and was in costume. They went over and over it. And, on her dime, the former heavy-weight champion of the world came in the room. He looked angry. Then, Dr. ‘Feelgood Guy’ came in and did something very inconspicuously, and then quickly left. They were ready.
Our man had the opportunity to speak first. He really connected with his audience:
“If we just use some eloquent, well-used phrases that can’t be argued with, we’ll be able to market our product …at an incredible profit. And, it’s as simple as that.”
So, at the conference, the, ‘Try to Take over the World’ conference, the above words caused such a stir, no other words were spoken for at least ---one full second. And then, well, you must know. The voices blending sounded as if a brush fire had just gained momentum, faster now, and soon you could feel the hot breathe on your neck. “Just use words that can’t be argued with,” the crowd at the conference screamed, “And, it’s as simple as that!”
The masses at the conference screamed this over and over. And, with special attention, or rather exactness, if you will, on the Pause, --- “And (Right here—they enunciated the Pause) ---it’s as simple as that! For them: A mystery was now solved?!?
So equipped with this new ground-breaking marketing tool, that could, quite remarkably, be defined in two simple sentences, they set off to the far corners of their territory, and perhaps, beyond. And of course, the mystery of what they are actually doing remains just that, a mystery. Nonetheless, the two men that everybody came to see have already ---‘spent the money’.
The End
Friday, June 18, 2010
We Did It!
“Autodidact,” was finally nailed above a ‘so-called’ shop in the Haight Ashbury district in San Francisco, California. On a plank of wood, about twelve square feet, the word, "autodidact," in block letters now hung. Three men, admirably, looked up at the title of their new, so-called shop. “Do you think we’re ready?” Was said by one of them, but almost said in a whisper, so it was ignored by his partners. Instead they all just sighed while staring up at their new business sign.
But finally the question, “Are we ready?” Was processed, and one of the members started to lit one cigarette after another, as the other members started indulging in their favorite ticks as well, probably the most insecure owners of a new business …ever: At least ever documented! And it’s my job to document their almost meteoric descent to absolute failure. But: “what a ride!” ---Still being said by all those involved.
At this point I think introductions should be made. First: We have Mr. (M.D.) Finkelstein, who previously had been a printer, an expert printer, who doctored up a fraudulent M.D. license and started to work saving lives. But was soon promoted, which he understood as a demotion, to DEATH, and started working for the San Francisco Coroner’s department. The dead kept coming and he constantly had to fight his feelings of hopelessness.
Second: We have the philosopher James Redburn, who for the past decade became fascinated with, being and nothingness, and thus always announced his arrival verbally.
Third: We have the Jewish carpenter, David Goodman, probably asked to join the team due to superstition and incredible fear, fear of ‘being’ perhaps, well, maybe that’s what James Redburn thought, so he was begged to join the “Autodidact” team.
They all had honorary titles made and given to themselves, by themselves. They all had these titles in stained wooden frames hung in their new, ‘so-called’ shop. They thought about hiring a marketing expert, but he kept asking, what they thought were ridiculous questions, “what are you selling …doing …you know ---for money?!” He was quickly excused, politely. “Shut up!” ---wasn’t even said.
The End
But finally the question, “Are we ready?” Was processed, and one of the members started to lit one cigarette after another, as the other members started indulging in their favorite ticks as well, probably the most insecure owners of a new business …ever: At least ever documented! And it’s my job to document their almost meteoric descent to absolute failure. But: “what a ride!” ---Still being said by all those involved.
At this point I think introductions should be made. First: We have Mr. (M.D.) Finkelstein, who previously had been a printer, an expert printer, who doctored up a fraudulent M.D. license and started to work saving lives. But was soon promoted, which he understood as a demotion, to DEATH, and started working for the San Francisco Coroner’s department. The dead kept coming and he constantly had to fight his feelings of hopelessness.
Second: We have the philosopher James Redburn, who for the past decade became fascinated with, being and nothingness, and thus always announced his arrival verbally.
Third: We have the Jewish carpenter, David Goodman, probably asked to join the team due to superstition and incredible fear, fear of ‘being’ perhaps, well, maybe that’s what James Redburn thought, so he was begged to join the “Autodidact” team.
They all had honorary titles made and given to themselves, by themselves. They all had these titles in stained wooden frames hung in their new, ‘so-called’ shop. They thought about hiring a marketing expert, but he kept asking, what they thought were ridiculous questions, “what are you selling …doing …you know ---for money?!” He was quickly excused, politely. “Shut up!” ---wasn’t even said.
The End
Thursday, May 20, 2010
A Prospective Suicide
The ‘Money Man’, if you will, or in the nature of things during a negotiation was taken aback by his dealings with an artist. While vacationing in San Francisco, California in the early 1900’s I overheard the almost diametric conversation between these two men.
“No, nope, not a chance,” the artist said, and also, “will I have anything to do with this ---‘money talk’.” He would gladly, he said quite enthusiastically, “Torture myself for free!”
So their ‘dealings’ were done without a close, before an opening, before a start ---and or a beginning.
The deal between the ‘Money Man’ and the artist was completed immediately. The two men stared blankly at one another. But it was the ‘Money Man’ who’d finally close the ‘close-less’ deal as he reached his hand to the artist, with moisture collecting in conspiciuous areas now spreading througout his shirt, and then, “Very good,” was heard.
The ‘Money Man’ got a mallet, and directed the curious crowd to this so-called Torture Chamber he just built. The anticipation was palpable, felt all the way from San Francisco to Reno, Nevada. But it was an instant success, or, solely for art’s sake?-Because it only lasted a few minutes.
After pounding a five pound mallet on each and every digit of the artist’s hands, he quickly became overly ambitious, removed his pants, and then dropped the five pound mallet on his genitals ---followed by him going into shock, and his death the preceding day.
The ‘Money Man’ counted his money, and then put an ad on Craigslist. It read: Looking for an artist who can handle a five pound mallet!
The End
“No, nope, not a chance,” the artist said, and also, “will I have anything to do with this ---‘money talk’.” He would gladly, he said quite enthusiastically, “Torture myself for free!”
So their ‘dealings’ were done without a close, before an opening, before a start ---and or a beginning.
The deal between the ‘Money Man’ and the artist was completed immediately. The two men stared blankly at one another. But it was the ‘Money Man’ who’d finally close the ‘close-less’ deal as he reached his hand to the artist, with moisture collecting in conspiciuous areas now spreading througout his shirt, and then, “Very good,” was heard.
The ‘Money Man’ got a mallet, and directed the curious crowd to this so-called Torture Chamber he just built. The anticipation was palpable, felt all the way from San Francisco to Reno, Nevada. But it was an instant success, or, solely for art’s sake?-Because it only lasted a few minutes.
After pounding a five pound mallet on each and every digit of the artist’s hands, he quickly became overly ambitious, removed his pants, and then dropped the five pound mallet on his genitals ---followed by him going into shock, and his death the preceding day.
The ‘Money Man’ counted his money, and then put an ad on Craigslist. It read: Looking for an artist who can handle a five pound mallet!
The End
Scar Man
It’s unbelievable to me that for the last decade of my life, and that’s every single day, I’ve awoken at four in the morning and have gone to bed at ten in the evening. You’ll see that I could never be at peace again.
For I believe that no one would voluntarily subject themselves to such a ridiculous sleeping pattern, to be so completely idiotic, unless of course you’re voluntarily in the military, which is a completely different gig, or completely self-tortured, which I have been for the last decade of my life.
But …it was late in the evening right next to the morning when he walked in. Right away I could see he was a man not to be reckoned with. He looked as solid as an Oak Tree with shoulders that never seemed to curve downwards. For some reason he sat down right next to me and told me that earlier in the day, “I was at 325 feet above the ground cutting boughs or branches off a Giant Sequoia Tree,” and, “It saddened me so,” he said.
He hated to cut into the tree, and he told me how the tree had responded back with bites of his own. Then the man right then and there in the middle of our rest stop took off his shirt and started to show me all wounds he had received that day, and then he showed me all the scars he had received earlier ---on millions of other trees, many (many) years ago, starting with day one when he began his life as a malicious tree trimmer.
The scars all seemed to connect together and he was without any question: A Scar Man! “Wow,” I said. He was the toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen or had dreams of meeting. And for some reason I said it ---I did! and I can never forgive myself.
Since we were in San Francisco, California and the Golden Gate Bridge could be seen from our rest stop I said, “I bet you could survive a fall off,” I pointed to the bridge, “The Golden Gate Bridge, huh?” “Yes,” he screamed. He quickly showed me how he’d do it, how he’d stick his feet together when he’d hit the water, how he’d breathe on impact, and where he’d swim afterwards. He started challenging himself, not me, and it became quickly adolescent only to change its beat to infantile. He had to prove to himself that he could do it.
We started walking to the Golden Gate Bridge. He was walking fast and I had to do my best to stay in beat with, ‘Scar Man’. Finally, and without another word, when we were half way across the bridge he jumped over the railing. I ran over to the railing and saw the ocean engulf him completely. He was never seen or heard from again. I walked back home to go to bed, since nothing else could be done, and when I began to pull the sheets over my head I turned to look at my clock and it was ---ten. It was 10:00; or, ten o’clock in the P.M.
The End
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