John and John Jr. watched the dog die and placed bets on how long she would hold out. Jr. won eight bucks and a bagful of guilt.
(more) Jr. and John III watched the next dog carefully as he became pained and slow. When they couldn't bear the sight any longer, John III placed his body on the chopping block, and John Jr. took his head with a swift blow of the maul. They watched the momentary bewilderment as the eyes of the rolling head said, "I'm lost!" before life winked out.
John III and John IV had acquired a .45. When the next dog broke a leg, John III shot her in the head. When she looked up at them beseechingly with blood steeped Marasca cherry eyes, he shot her again in the head. Then she looked at nothing.
When the next dog went mad and chewed off all of its fur, John IV and John V loaded him in the station wagon after arguing over what to do for fifteen minutes. They drove thirty minutes to the veterinary clinic, where they waited for one hour in the antechamber. They heaved the dog up onto a cold steel pallet where he yelped once and died of fright. Nobody noticed, and the doctor shot his veins full of further death.
In the end, all the dogs were burnt up anyway, and their ashes ran home with the rainwater, where the first dog regaled the others with stories of last breath's knowing.(less)
You are home to watch Pravda on televisir about degenerate murderer who is on the loose. You look out the window door to beet field, and you notice Man standing in the snow. He look like foto on televisir and he smile at you. You gulp vodka, picking up(more) fone to your right and dialing Local Militia Precinct Commissar. Back out the glass you look, pressing fone to ear. Notice he now closer to you. You drop vodka in shock.
No footprints in snow. It was reflection. You dullard!
Your apartment is bulldozed down to make way for glorious tractor factory.(less)
Why do the waving grasses have to draw on my heart that way? How can I hate the green dipping heights.
The wheels spin on under that final overpass and around the bend into the Skagit Valley where women were obviously hard at work deciding the decorations.
Tuli(more)ps this and tulips that. In my home town I can walk down on an overpass with repeating stone images of tulips. I can look across at a long unused tower decorated with tulips. Reaching the tiny bundle of buildings known as downtown again tulips.
Oh Holland your clacking wooden shoes are quaint, your windmills are quixotic, your 16th century economic policies are deplorable, why did you have to give us tulips when you could have given us so much besides.
I think to myself, "yeah I'm home... again".
There is a definite struggle between my dreams and the place my feet lead me repeatedly.
One day when I'm an old man I'll be here again sitting on a porch looking out over some green lot by a dike thinking
"I like how quiet things are here".
So when I'm young I want to go away and be gone till homesickness unbearably plagues me. I want to road trip north to south on the west coast and then the east coast.
I want to write prolifically as I sit among nearly illiterate cursing beggars.
So why am I looking out on this valley again?
I know why. Because a journey isn't often made alone.
My dreams make beat poets proud but fail to inspire many to come along with. Kerouac wrote while riding in the back of a truck with others.
So my journeys are short and quickly disastrous and I'm back in this valley thinking "should I try to be practical now?"
she came into this world on the night of the big game. State's defensive line was a force to be reckoned with, and a pep rally wasn't going to cut it. so mama and daddy made a miracle, to give him strength and keep the town's pride safe.
they used to tell that story every year on her birthday. now they don't much. mama's no cheerleader, and the only memory that she was is in the face of her pretty little girl. daddy's awful sweet about it. he never misses a day of work, and never so much as raises his voice. but sometimes at night he dreams about the old school coach, still yelling for pushups. afterwards he lies awake for hours.
and he finally understands what coach meant by saving himself for the game.(less)
It's funny... I remember this place being a whole lot bigger. The halls were longer, staircase wider, furniture much larger. Standing here now...I feel a bit like Alice after taking a nibble of the cake marked "eat me." I guess it's kind of silly to think a house and everything in it(more) would grow up too. Everything in this place has aged twenty years in my absence, yet it all looks so brand new. Like I'm seeing it all for the first time. I guess, in a way, I am. Calling my mother's decorating style "eclectic" was putting it mildly. When I lived here, "tacky" was among my many choices of words to describe it. It never occurred to me that it might have hurt her feelings until now. So many things probably hurt her feelings. Leaving the way I did all those years ago most likely tops the list. Now I stand here...inside, just across the threshold of a place and standing right in front of a woman, that I could not wait to get as far away from as humanly possible. So many thoughts...so many feelings... but only one word...beautiful.(less)
He walked out onto the porch to blink in the shining sun. He stood there, letting it warm his bones for a minute. He was without socks, a shower, cell phone, wallet or keys but without hesitation he walked out into the street and began walking. He was on the quest for(more) life. (less)