it took me til now to get here

 'perennial with the earth.'  there is a dream of america.  one that lives on in the hearts of its daughters and sons.  despite being brought low from within, these true blue few toil still toward that ideal which has been envisioned but not yet attained.  there is no disgrace in picking oneself up after being made mockery of, and striving once more for greatness.  no shame in admitting your ingloriousness and seeking glory still.  it is honorable to identify and excise ones flaws and then to continue up the craggy path to righteousness .  made known to ourselves, we are able to overcome ourselves.  we are a bridge, not an end.  and so is reality, infinite

Road Work

Let it rain for a year.

It was the warm kind of dark out. The kind of dark that was so thick and heavy it wrapped around you like a blanket. No haughty cold stars peered down at you.

I always moved comfortably in that sort of night. Conducive to work. No curious eyes to spoil my plans.

I stubbed out the cigarette butt on the brick wall of the bar I had just left, turned up the collar on my long canvas coat, and trudged down the melancholy avenue with a barely-noticeable satisfied smirk pressed between my lips. Inside my pocket my right hand played with the fifty cent coin I got from the barber earlier that evening, flipping around, knuckle to finger to knuckle and back. My hands always needed something to do in the moments leading up to a job.

I gazed through the large plate glass window streaked with fat vertical rivulets of rain, tonguing my teeth and wanting her. She didn’t know me yet but she soon would. My instructions didn’t say anything about getting the broad involved, but I said something about it. The first time I saw her sitting cross legged on the counter of that joint, thin smoke wisping around her like a veil, the decision arrived in my mind already made.

A small worn out bell tinkled a dull jangle as I stepped through the wooden door, the brass knob loose from overuse and undermaintenance. She didn’t even look up at me although I was staring at her. The cash register looked like it had been closed for the night, locked up with a key I happened to have a copy of in my pocket, if my information was correct. I sat down at the counter real casual like and looked at my watch. 1:50.

As she brought over the near-empty coffee pot and poured me a warm cup, I pinched the large coin against the small key in my pocket and rubbed them together for good luck, grabbing the coffee mug with my left.

She finally looked up into my face with tired eyes.

“We’re about to close. You can finish the coffee though.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

“Never seen you before, what are you doing in town?”

“Here for work” I told her.

“What line of work you in?” She was either curious or well-practiced at feigning interest in strangers.

“Work for a small outfit back in Cleveland.”

“Heard that city’s a rattle trap.”

“Pretty much. That’s why I volunteer for all the road work they’ll give me.” I tried a grin out on her, she wasn’t having it.

“Busy day?” I asked her. Knowing this was the day the register was fattest. The same day every month the boss cashed out the cash laundered through this joint. Every third Thursday this place held enough unmarked greenbacks for a guy like me to retire comfortably on an islands. She had to suspect to some degree that there were shady dealings passing through this place, but I doubted she had any deep involvement.

She played it off pretty coolly, “Same as usual.”

She caught my eyes dart over to the cash machine and that was a mistake. I saw a brief flicker of recognition pass across her eyes as her face creased ever so slightly and I knew I would have to make my move.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you, so don’t make this hard on either of us. Your boss has this coming anyway.”

“It ain’t my money,” she said, lighting another cigarette and taking a stool at the far end of the counter.

“Good girl.” I walked over to the machine and pulled out the small key, sliding it into its slot and turning with a satisfying clank. Out rolled the drawer, stacked with large denomination bills, pretty as ripe fruit begging to be plucked. I gingerly placed the stacks in my inner coat pockets and closed the drawer back. When I looked up I half expected her to be grinning, but she was just as unimpressed as she could be. Like she’d seen it a hundred times.

Quavering wavelengths

It was oddly bright for how dark everything
was, the contrast was set too high for a dimlit scene;
strange halos glowed from behind each
outline of a shape or motion
or person or physical theme.
Her eyes couldn't seem
to focus and her locus
of control was out of balance
as she bobbed and weaved
like a drunken high sea.
Each surface and corner
in the large room sheened
white and bluegreen,
technical and alien,
shamanwave glitchhouse,
otherworldly in a sense which
was disembodying and dispiriting.

Darkwave

"Latest victim in a string of occultic murders that have left a community desperate for answers.."

"The young man was reportedly a musician with a significant online following, who performed in last year's summerfest.."

"Authorities now saying there is no doubt these incidents are connected and are seeking any information the public may have.."

"'I just don't get it, is this a religious thing? Is it a hate crime? Is it terrorism?'"

"Citizens here understandably shaken by the third gruesome murder in as many days in this normally peaceful area.."

"Members of the FBI, Homeland Security, and other Federal agencies were observed this morning on the scene of last night's grisly killing, marking a change in jurisdiction following public outcry and community leaders leveling claims of incompetence at local law enforcement's failure to gain control of the situation.."

"Please be advised, the following images are graphic, and may not be suitable for some viewers.."

"Officials are still seeking a clear motive in what one law enforcement spokesman described as 'an apparent ritual sacrifice', while the connection between the three victims remains unclear; however, channel 9 does note that all of the victims appear to have been active in the electronic music scene.."

ashwork

snowsurf dampers and maple straw

silten grasp of mossy stone

crackling bone, marrow void

slick to stab of rotten wood

Weird Specters

The narrow mountain road twists uphill between a wooded mountainside and a large lake.  I steady the tires against the rough gravel with my knee as I spit on my sunglasses.  Maybe the odd, splintery light glinting in the outskirts of my eyesight was an effect of the shifting sun passing through tinted glass.  The vaguely colorful specters disappeared momentarily when I put my spit-shined shades back on, only to flare up again a second later, somehow more active and more fleeting, dancing along the perimeters of my vision and consciousness alike in shadowy electric currents.

Light often plays tricks on vision, I said outloud to myself.  I rolled all four of the truck’s windows down hoping a breeze would shake me out of it.  The rush of air filling my truck’s cabin brought in the smell of the lake and my only thought was of turquoise.  In an intoxicating instant the crystalline water grew from inhabiting only part of my attention in the corner of my eye out of the passenger side window, to suddenly being the whole of everything I felt.  The coarse hairs in my nasal cavity and ear canals were suddenly geodic, mineralized, encrusted; tasting deep earth roots.  I knew I wasn’t dying because I wasn’t watching myself from above.  In fact it was the opposite of an out of body experience, because I was completely and timelessly within an iteration of my own stream of consciousness.  I watched soberly as my neurology melted into incoherence, some small shard of my mind struggling to wrest meaning from the experience, the dissolution and rendering of my entire sensory palette, laid at my feet in an inside-out ocean of light.

And the whole time my body just kept driving the truck up the mountain.  The golden dust from my tires was suspended in the air wherever the dappled afternoon sun trickled through the forest canopy.

The radio had always been on, but I wasn’t hearing music.  I was hearing other things I had said, at other times, or in other places, or not at all, just said ‘em inside my head.

la petite fille à Tanger

Please hand over the weapon, Sir.  It's evidence now.

Yeah, of course, here.

You okay?

Yeah I'm fine.  Just need a drink

You got adrenaline pumping.

Yeah.

You know, you're lucky, this knife is just within the parameters of legality.

I know, I specifically bought it for that reason.

Well if it had been a switchblade or a butterfly knife or even a centimeter longer, I'd have to put you in cuffs right now.  I wouldn't have a choice.

Yeah, I know assisted opening knives are illegal here, that's why I had a regular pocketknife.

You know alot about knives, eh?

I was a boy scout.

They teach you how to stab a guy in boy scouts?

Well I was in the army too.

Alright.  I have your information, Sir.  We'll be in touch.

Thanks.