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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/05/2018 :  18:16:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Breaking history in a sleepy Border town. "Lemme tell you somethin', lady... Ten... Twenty years from now..." and he makes a wide sweeping gesture, "...you can kiss all this goodbye. All gone. You won't know it." "Historical landmarks," she says, "...it can't happen." He's suddenly quiet. Years later The Sailor and The Mute Fortune Teller on a street called Days Gone By.

Edited by - Ailinn on 12/03/2018 10:00:44
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/05/2018 :  22:21:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"You remember the first thing you ever wrote?" he says. "Letters To A Dead Man. I don't know why. I was fifteen in the New Paris Café. A beatnik coffee house. Everybody in black turtlenecks. We'd read our stuff and people would stamp their feet if they liked it. Snow plows in the street. Somebody singing fado. I remember that. And the white world outside the window," she says. "...the days flow of color..." he says. He believes colors have size. Red is the biggest. He can take you anywhere with his words.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 08/10/2018 :  16:58:33  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He was listening to that William Prince fellow
from the Peguis First Nation of Manitoba. A song
called Carny, carnivals being one of the enterprises
that hire indigenous folks. Deep body in that voice.

He was half, orphaned in sort of, grew up around
indigenous people who took him on. Indians they were
called back then. Open air prisons, the reservations.
A sorrow every time he went back, one thing or other,
his step-mom's eyes, the broken glass bits under his
old man's boots, two cars rusting in the sun.

There was a bread man worked out of his station wagon
and what he couldn't sell he'd bring around to the
reserve late in the day. Practically gave it away.
Donuts, buns, melting chocolate long johns. He had
to clear 'em out. The kids loved him.

Quiet guy, that bread man. You could tell he was smarter
than needed for the job, but there he was. It's likely
he was outlasting some setback or habit, and one day
he hoped to get a leg up on something better.

I guess he did.

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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/13/2018 :  21:01:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Tumbled granite boulders across the Valle de Guadalupe. Shining weather. Maverick wine. Olives and orange groves beside a grassy plank table. His broken stone oven that bakes better bread. Handwoven napkins from the bullfighters widow. A basket of lavender and limes. "...just a little accordion embroidery..." he grins.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/13/2018 :  21:05:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Old world cameo town. White pillowcases twist on the line like heirloom christening gowns. Window covered with rustic shutters far from any sea. Goats and sheep. Vineyards and tomatoes. Sky-met narrow dirt roads. Sunburned evenings cramped slant letters. Blisters on his fingers. Coyotes forlorn songs.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2018 :  17:18:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Ya know what I'm sayin'," he says. And she does. He's complicated. He's easy. He likes to surprise and be surprised. That morning's clever disguise. What the locals call May Grey. How far out can you go before you're too far? And this is the ocean. Blackboard-dark sky when the front comes down and the barometric pressure falters. Yeasty clouds. Heavy air. Torn sheets of rain. Small craft warnings. Fore and aft frantic angels. Waves teeth sharp and hungry and waiting. "Well, now..." he says, and he hands her the pen, "...write it all down for me..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2018 :  17:25:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His mouth of invention making her laugh and lean against him. 35 millimeter tears in their eyes. "Things happen..." he says, "but not accidentally..." Heart-driven years. Coffee-stained pages. A crowd of muses on the other side of the aisle waiting for him to pick up the brush.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2018 :  17:28:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ensenada. Cinderella of the Pacific. Electrical wires looped on the pole. Cat's Cradle crisscrossing the sky. Life in the margins on Baja Time. History's conspiracy. The pulse in his throat she can see.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2018 :  17:30:51  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"You come for the Grand Opening," Santiago says. The past faithful. Brave again.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 08/19/2018 :  18:16:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
On Saturday nine foot tall puppets of Twain and Poe chatted and strolled around Old Town. Twain all in white. Poe in blackblack. Part of Write Out Loud's sponsored TwainFest. Frog jumping contest included. Trevor's also nine feet tall. Forever in bronze mid-windup out beyond the bullpens at Petco Park. Air 76, water 76. Mostly sunny. Back to you, Blaine...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/25/2018 :  17:09:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Stained glass transom. Vertigo street. A chink in the blinds lets the days in. Sweet summer-stalled mornings scanning the chapters. Unwavering climb into his mind. Arcane hours. Earthbound flowers when June fills the rooms. Three-dimensional petal-blooms on the floor. Contradictory myths. A peripheral ocean.

Edited by - Ailinn on 08/27/2018 17:28:31
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/25/2018 :  17:16:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
This summer the mountain burned. Idyllwild in the San Jacintos. Tinder ground. Trees going up like parchment scroll proclamations. High-risk rescues. Sparks on the air. Grit in the ponderosa. Blankets of Foscheck in dirt road Dark Canyon. A place to make angels in winter snow.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/27/2018 :  17:35:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In sleep's blue room. ...And Adam names everything in the new kindled air. Briars and burrs in their hair. Flowers in thrall around them. Snarl of ferns catching their ankles. Mists lifting. Rushing wings. Mossy banks. Bubbles of light on the water. The future approaching layered green. Her hand inside his hand. Safe sun pouring down. Little niches they can't see around. Almost a fictive place but for grace and confirmation. The night coming on. The clamor of stars, "...when stars were still loud..." he says leaning up on one elbow.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2018 :  18:13:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
My sons are local men. Proposing to their wives on the Padre score board or Lifeguard Tower 21. They fish from the jetties. Surf New Years Day. Observe tradition. Our children go back to school. Fire, Earthquake, Active Shooter drills. Literature describing Run, Hide, Fight, and Lockdown precaution. My sons don't show their dismay. We buy shoes and number 2 pencils. Leak-proof lunchboxes. ID bracelets. Dear old Golden Rule days.

Save the children, save the children...

Heaven help the children find their way...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2018 :  18:20:15  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...who goes with him through the nights with her wide broom sweeping stars. "Don't stop," he says closing his eyes, "...the garden...? "Oh, many..." she says, "Some sudden. Some slow. Some anchored to clouds. All manner of color and scent to explore. What more do you need to know?" Quick-angle flight of the dragonfly... No. More languorous. More detail. More glow.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2018 :  18:24:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Grandview stairs at high tide. "...like stepping into the maelstrom," he said. No plot but to keep him. Alive. Careful as a child on the witness stand, Your Honor. She still rides in cars. Takes the kids for pizza. Lights one white candle in an evening window. Paddles out on the board, sunburned cheek on her arm scanning the wet horizon. So much song in the spindrift she knows.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 09/04/2018 :  08:01:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Our differences overshadow our humanity, as we exclude others who do not share our opinion. Altruistic religions teach us to do the opposite… to include others… to love one another. This conflict of mind and heart is the eternal war of worldly concern versus transcendent trust. A spiritual schizophrenia.

As prophesized, the battle is accelerating.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 09/06/2018 :  17:21:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

"Spiritual schizophrenia."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 09/06/2018 :  17:31:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...psychotic experience...?" he asks leaning in. "Fever," she says. "Couldn't move my head. Kept my fists closed so life wouldn't leak out of my fingertips. IV's. Rails on the bed. Popsicles in my mouth. Ice blanket. Blood-red sea with truck-size crabs crawling out. Insects with lit cigarettes at the nurses station. Nightmare in every corner. "Meningitis," the docs told me later,'...fried those wires.'" "Do you still have nightmares?" he asks. "Sometimes a flash overrides the system," she laughs. "Parallel experience...our brain chemistry. Write your dreams down..." he says, "...so much disappears when we open our eyes."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 09/06/2018 :  17:37:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Wheel Inn truck stop off the 10. Dinosaurs. Nomads. Shaman shadows. Midnight gypsies and charlatans. Clairvoyants waiting on Elvis. Steady diet of chicken-fried steak. Sea of semis in the parking lot. CB crackle. Freeway hum. "...some kind of spirit vortex..." she says. He says, " You believe that?" She says, "Don't you?" "Hahaha," he laughs. No safe way around that.
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