Wednesday, July 29, 2015

904. 100 and 80

We keep a dartboard in the living room.
It's used for settling things, like who's right and who's wrong.
Sure it's dangerous, but it works.
Just try me.

Monday, July 27, 2015

903. "Robert"

My father has his own nickname for Bob Dylan.
Because he knows him.
Except he doesn't.
He shook his hand once at a concert - before he went electric.

Sunday, July 26, 2015

902. The sweet smell

Do you know it, the smell of success?
I imagine it as earthy and primal.
Then what are we smelling right now?

Saturday, July 18, 2015

901. That roly-poly little bap-faced girl has feelings too, bub

Sometimes, my life feels like the lyrics of a Paul Simon song.
Like, there's this one verse - the third verse in "You Can Call Me Al" - 
that's beautiful right down to its guts - Amen and Hallelujah.
But that's not me.
Why am I soft in the middle?

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

900. I can't get California off my mind

Can't get California off my mind.
I just feel like my life would be ok if I was drifting up some coastal highway in a 1962 Triumph Spitfire.
The average mpg of the Triumph Spitfire is 31 miles per gallon.
I need to pick up eggs.

Monday, July 13, 2015

899. Blah, blah blah

It's a pretty simple formula.
Blah - first name, one syllable, solid, All-American, stoic.
Blah, blah - last name, two syllables, syncopated, hero poetry.
I guess, Howard, what I'm saying is that no one's going to have any fucking faith in a hero with the last name Pemberley-Willow.

Saturday, July 11, 2015

898. Weather line

Meredith rang the Weather Line most every day.
Ping - Mostly sunny and 89 degrees Farenheit.
Ping - Rainy with gusty winds from the Southwest.
Today, the vaguely British gentleman calmly announced the Apocalypse would begin on Thursday - around noon.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

897. Carnival rides

This is how it happened that I learned a small something about sex at nine years old.
We were at the county fair in Plattsburgh.
I had stolen away to the dirt parking lot to smoke a cigarette lifted from my grandfather.
Smoking and leaning against an old Buick, I watched a single palm ruin the perfect lusty dew of a truck's rear window.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

896. Hard hands and wet feet

From the beach, the ship's journey across the horizon seemed to take forever.
It was laden down with salt from the mine around the cape.
At times, it seemed to hardly move at all.
From the beach, they could never know the ship waited for a helicopter searching for a murderer.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

895. Man, with bouquet

The man at the urinal held the flowers high, like an Olympic torch bearer.
He grasped them tightly in one fist, lending the other to the business at hand.
Maybe it's like Dan said - an offering. 
I'm not sure what he was praying for, but I hope it worked.