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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/30/2016 :  21:09:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Saturday night limos glide by on Sunset. Make their complicated break for the hills. Picture-perfect palm trees explode over postcard Mount Lee. Bougainvillea's hot colors slowly fade in daylights last rays. Above the Boulevard the stippled stars appear. Below, illuminated grid of the angelic city where every act is a leap of faith.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 08/02/2016 :  08:33:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Train

When I was a boy in Bakersfield, my parents would take me to the train station to put me on the Santa Fe Special. I loved those summer journeys to visit my grandparents in Barstow, a sleepy town in the Mojave Desert. As I traveled alone, Dad would slip the conductor a ten-spot to keep an eye on me. The conductor was an old black gentleman who looked like John Coffey from the movie, “The Green Mile.” He called me “Master Joe.” Running up and down the octave scale, the giant would greet me in a glorious voice, and his greeting sounded like a gospel song: “Master Joe, welcome on my train. It’s real good to see you, son. I got a special seat just for you.”

God, it was exciting. The train was just so big and powerful and noisy. To a small boy of six, boarding the train was like jumping into the mouth of a mystical creature. And when the iron horse was ready to roll, he would start snorting. Slowly at first. And then hissing. Calmly. Mightily. As he worked up a full head of steam, the steel stallion would begin to snort faster. I feared he might explode. I mean nobody’s heart can beat that fast! And when he got to running flat out, Lord my God Almighty… RIKETY-RIKETY-RAK, RIKETY-RIKETY-RAK… He would blow his stack and the steam would go a mile high. And then he would scream!

And I loved it. Flying down the tracks… going a million miles per hour… nothing could stop the train! CHOOOOOOO! CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Folks could hear the monster whistle for miles, an incredible sound, something of a cross between a dinosaur's yell and a chorus of pan pipes.

Everybody heard the whistle and it told them there was a way out. Nothing could stop the train.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 08/02/2016 :  18:02:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Joe, I love reading this. "RIKETY-RIKETY-RAK..." that magic train music before the seamless rail. The NYNH&H ran between Boston and NYC. A huge commuter route as it served Massachusetts and Connecticut before slipping into the tunnels at Grand Central. If you were traveling in daylight it would go black for a few moments and then the lights would come on. The train slowed but still going fast enough to worry. It stopped with a great lurch and the aisles became crowded with passengers and packages and frenetic energy. It was always night underground with subways to everywhere and shops open round-the-clock. Violets and pretzels and Barricini chocolates. Montblanc fountain pens. Everything you needed was there. A parallel world of its own. The Grand Terminal and carbonated blood of midtown Manhattan above. I've been to Barstow and Bakersfield and the Coachella Valley. Most stations on the UP line including the abandoned Kelso depot. Something haunting and patriotic about trains...A shivery longing for America. Love you. Ro.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 08/05/2016 :  06:37:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ro, you paint beautiful pictures, my friend. Love ya.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 08/05/2016 :  08:10:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
You too, Joe. I can see that excited little six year old flying across the enchanted desert. Making memories and safer because of his daddy and a kindly conductor. Off to work now. TGIF.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 08/07/2016 :  18:01:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sheltered bus stop with a long-distance payphone where leaves collect like memories under a bench. Evanescent tail lights fading. Who lets the spirits off at that corner with their lifelike laughter and lit cigarettes? They don't behave as you think they would. Talking loudly and waving their jackets in the mortal air as if rooting for some hometown team. And everything happens again in bright blurred light like when the optometrist puts yellow drops in your eyes. "Leap of faith," he says, grabbing her by the hand and heading straight into oncoming traffic. Their bodies passing through cars like a gentle caress.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 08/23/2016 :  17:59:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

A fleeting image could change his direction for the day. A little dirt park beside the chaos freeway all grit and brittle light. Exhaust fumes fever mirage. The couple sitting on the edge of a dry cement fountain drinking coffee from paper cups. The stroller and sleeping child. Stroke after stroke he laid color down. Apparitions alive on canvas. The dead living across the bittersweet Border. Phantom shorebirds wheeling in a Delphic sky. Feral fogs prowling the coastline where a woman in a white dress with a bouquet of wet flowers steps out of the misty sea. His dawn to dusk inventions. The panorama of dreams.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 08/27/2016 :  19:18:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Cars crowded into parking lots full before 8am. So much sun glinting off metal. Surf boards and paddle boards. Coolers and party piñatas. Tail-gaters barbecuing beside their RV's on crumbling cliff tops. Hickory and oak smoke lifting into a Monet sky. Miles of flat beach to moonlight. One late August weekend sleeping out under stars before everything breaks in September.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 08/30/2016 :  13:42:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I believe "Newburians" are emotionally tuned to the same frequency. That would be Radio Romantic at Heart, or 112.1 MHz just outside the FM dial.

Edited by - Joe Z on 08/30/2016 17:03:51
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 09/06/2016 :  19:33:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 09/08/2016 :  17:46:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
*wink*
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 09/12/2016 :  17:55:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A high house with stars in the rafters at the watery edge of town. A kitchen that leans over an ocean where they sit with their warm cups sorting through old photographs. "The spread-open fan of memory..." he says, "...in black and white and color." Kodachrome cloud-swollen skies. Coney Island Atlantic in the background. The photographer grabbed the camera just before the storm came down. Shot of her and the crew holed up for hours in a seedy Boardwalk motel waiting on the weather. Smear of Nathan's mustard on her chin. "Stuck-up," he grins.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 09/12/2016 :  18:03:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In Appletown the potion is so quick they fall under its spell immediately. Bluedark sky. Stars in the window. Gold miners and tent city ghosts in frames on the wall. "Shhh... Nothing to fear. Nothing to harm you..." he whispers, waking up and drifting back into sleep. His heart everywhere in the dreaming. Smudge of dawn on the sill until he opens his eyes. Suddenly sun and the Fall-fragrant world spinning around them.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 09/18/2016 :  17:06:27  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A steep curb corner overlooks the bay and the bridge where ships are silently rocking. Morse code flickers at the skylines metallic edge. Gale force winds force them backwards up the hill. He turns up her collar in front of Vincenzo's bakery. (Six kinds of macaroons in the window.) His lips are cold in November.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 09/18/2016 :  17:10:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dawn light climbing out of the Sonoran bowl ringing the harsh Santa Rosas. Bougainvillea circling the courtyard with tissue-thin memories. Mica-flecked air and honey-thick sun in his benevolent mirage. He watches the blinking lizards and slow-moving trains. The desert's mural magic. The mountains around them grinding down to sand. Days go by. Years pass.
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 09/20/2016 :  20:17:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lightnin' bugs tonight...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 09/22/2016 :  10:38:22  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~*~ Been a few years of depression and over work. Stopping to tip my hat and say howdy.~*~


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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 09/22/2016 :  13:07:51  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Howdy, Hank. Wonderful to see you in these parts!
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 09/28/2016 :  17:37:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He's fascinated with sleep and the nature of dreams. The RPM's slowing down. The progression of alpha, theta, and delta waves. Alternative states of consciousness. REM time and spindle spikes and the bubble in the level that tips the mystery in. He's a master of this labyrinthine tangle. "What's dripping in the pan in the moment..." he grins. He's scraping his stick against the white-washed fence. She's skipping along beside him trundling her hoop. Sweet lullaby light coming down. DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 10/04/2016 :  20:39:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Houses on cliffs or on sand where the sea comes in aslant. His eyes surprised everyday the way the shore changes, "...an' all that water out there..." A vineyard town where he falls asleep in slow motion. Where the hours are tolled by Mission bells and the dirt roads all have saints names. A house in the hills with nascent light through the trees. Dawn branches briefly shining. Coyote footprints on the cold tile floor. Birds of Paradise. Hot hedges. Barefoot days when crossing the creek bridge just meant watching out for splinters.
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