Sunday, September 10, 2006

a town excerpt 2

Upward on the rise he looked out almost all the way over from his chair and on top of the steering wheel. The break in the mountains gave a clear view of the coming plains and the valley. It was green and rich with apple trees. The roadside lined with marked signs advertising the sale of apples. Men with worn out feet and smiles on their faces waved to cars that passed by at ninety miles an hour. In an hour about ten people would stop and buy a bucket or two; load it up in their trunk and be off.

“Lemme see those,” and he waved over at a man who was beat up from the sun and had dusty black hair and was chewing on a bottle cap.

“I wanna taste one. That okay?”

Before the man nodded he bit in, chewed and swallowed.

“Thanks.” And he handed him a twenty dollar bill and filled his car with apples which he ate for the rest of the trip populating the sides of the long road with half eaten cores. They called him Modern Johnny Appleseed, a model consumer of the twenty-first century.


So we went round round grind last night. Met up and charged through the ranks of critters. I saw some stunning artwork and changed my thoughts on the design of the game. The artists really took special care and I look at the spells and think; there is an intended minimalism here. The world we are inhabiting is ravaged and torn by countless wars. Things are simple and quiet and unless you reach the higher pinnacles stuff isn’t flashy but instead useful. And I like the cartoon feel. You are playing a game not living in another world. The purpose of this game; have some fucking fun. So I did. And the more I get the more it gets more fun.

Then I thought about the meaning and realized it would be completely empty if I wasn’t sharing it with friends. The whole thing is a shared experience; everyone shares experiences and you give them meaning by being together in that. It’s fine for a barren place to exist but its fun in the barrens if you are beating up the hapless wanderers who are not grouped. The essence of a moral group. The beauty that we are doing this together. We are fighting a foe; something some other group has created and saying f^u. Fuck you man. I tore this up.


I don’t enjoy writing summaries of things. I don’t think I really knew that until I embarked on my want to be a writer. Jake says; don’t say that man; you are a fucking writer. And Perry asks me if I wrote fifty thousand words today; which always makes me laugh because that’s a shitload of words Perry. Seriously. A goddamn novel.

Summaries just consume me in a repetition of the writer’s work. I don’t want to re-write Salinger or Murakami. I don’t mind having a discussion about the shit. We can talk about style and meaning; les’ talk about the point or purpose. But I don’t want to write a lick about it. Or not in a sense that--college writing for dummies who have square pieces of paper so you won’t cut yourself--wants me to write it.


Words are playful.
More so than people.
In fact objects themselves are playful; more than people.
You are a playful thing; but I can’t play with you.
You play together.
But I own the words.


Poetry is medicine. Prose is medicine. Words are medicine. So is art and love. So is sex, and touching and kissing. So is talking about that tree or climbing over a rock. Biting into an apple and smiling in the sun. Swimming is great. Makes you breathe; grabs your heart and twists it in your hand. It’s all the best medicine.


We went out over the hills beyond the town so we couldn’t see anything. We couldn’t see the road or bright cars; not my house or Sara’s. I unwrapped out of my pack two sandwiches and we ate in silence. I nudged her every couple of minutes and she would swat back making me grin with bread and lettuce hanging out of my mouth. When we finished we leaned back and sat on the grassy field. I watched blueberries over by a fence and Sara whistled while patting on her leg. The sky is full of stuff. Full of clouds. The sky is full of stuff. Full of faces. The sky is full of masks; and hidden places. Full of fury and light. The sky is full of night; and day. It’s full of timing and bird play. The sky is full of sorts and bobs. The sky is where we watched the balloons rise.

Then I leaned over and whispered in Sara’s ear and we undressed and slept with each other. We fell asleep in the field until two hikers came by and laughed. They squinted away while we grinned under a blanket I had brought. And then Sara waved and they waved back after laughing and scattering like mice. There wasn’t a single frown; or a single snicker.

We leaned into each other.


I coughed and she poked me in the ribs.
“I like this place.”
“You mucked around in graveyards too much,” and I put my hands behind my head and watched the light in her hair. Like beetles that were fire and they buzzed. I mucked around with my eyes till she started talking again.
“But you should have brought some wine or something. I am thirsty and water isn’t enough.”
“How bout’ when it’s this cold?” I made a large distance between my feet since my hands were behind my head.

She scratched and picked at my hair.

“You are weird. I want to go walking.”
I shrugged and packed everything up. It all fit nicely into my pack. The blanket stuffed out a bit so it dangled like cat’s tail.

Sara led the way walking across the direction of the hills pointing to the west and then circling around the great trees that someone had planted a long time ago. We went back into town and I kissed her at her door before smoking a cigarette.

The night was chilly. I couldn’t see much smoke. I chattered and walked around before I heard the window creak open and I plopped on up. Bounding like a monkey. There wasn’t a sound heard. Her parents watched tv downstairs and we read a book. Then she sighed and we spent the rest of the Saturday sleeping.


You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon?! It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs.

1 comment:

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