The crashing wave is more than a line in the sand,
Challenging all preconceptions and mastery of the land,
Pachinko blings and needle nose pliers in the repairmands hand,
It’s time in the listing light, to take a stand.

Outside a girl skipped down the street. She wore a polka dotted dress up high around her waist. The summer air stuck to her like maple syrup on a waffle. Her hair was done in pony tails making her seem slightly younger than the sixteen years she had spent on Earth. All across the street girls came out from their red brick houses, and skipped. It was that way that summer. A strange occurrence, but one doesn’t question what the youth does. No one understands them anyway.
As the girls skipped it would become increasingly clear that some of them strained under the weight of clothes and hair accoutrements. They persisted in this activity regardless, less concerned for their health then the precise movements and form they sought to perfect. One of the young ladies, a girl from Charlotte, North Carolina held tight to a southern drawl as she sung a song none of the other girls recognized. By the end of the summer they all knew the words. 

“‘Cause I don’t want to throw rice

I want to throw rocks at her

She took the only love I had

No, I don’t want to throw rice

I want to throw rocks at her”

The song was written by a famous singer of old times. Dolly Parton. It really had no place in the current world, but somehow it intertwined with the girls skipping, became some sort of anthem and meant more to them then the skipping itself. It was a strange summer after all. The girl from Charlotte, North Carolina, would marry later that year, a young prince or vice counsel or some such was the one to court her. He asked her to throw rice at the wedding, a family and ancient tradition. She obliged, but kept a small rock in the seam of her wedding dress as a precaution. That is how the story goes at least. 

3.

The dogs name was Felix. He was brought home by father before the boy was birthed and had a healthy two years of attention before the young ball of screams and smells arrived one snowy evening. At first Felix was curious, and before he had the chance to acknowledge the changing landscape the boy had become less of an intrusion and more of a friend. They went everywhere together. Down to the small creek that spilled out of a far away drainage pipe, to search for worms. The boy would laugh at Felix as he rolled through the water, turning his golden fur brown. Sometimes the boy would take Felix into town with him. They carried fifty cents on these occasions, enough for a soda and small bit of jerky. This is where Felix truly found his joy with the boy. Sitting on the curb watching the transports  go by it was inevitable that the boy would drop a piece of jerky, allowing the old Labrador to snack on the delicacy. It was a simple life, but one measured by fifty cents, and a half mile walk home in the fading sun. 

A cold winter rain fell on the nose and ran off into the new year but as far as Jack could tell it was just another day. Everywhere he looked felt like yesterday, the same thing again and again.
His small comfort of maple flavored latte gave him the warmth and alertness to move forward. In the following hours he would go and meet with countless clients, trying to upsell their phone plans to include things they would never use.
His masters in Native American studies obsolete the day he put the graduation robe on.
For Jack it didn’t matter much. The routine had led to numbness, an occasional night out for drinks with old college friends did little to dispel the notion of motions uninterrupted. Occasionally a news story would break and it would make him take notice, but not for long. The next day would be the same. He chose not to complain, many had it worse off than him. Many did not have the routine of a common daily life.
A common daily life.

2.

Candle didn’t wait for her sister to return home before starting the preparation. Local authorities would be by soon and it was always a mystery if they came with ill intent.
It had been five years since she and Bertie had been on their own, and they had managed so far. Only once had an inspection gone poorly and Candle had the scar to prove it. An overeager inspector had lashed out at Bertie and Candle foolishly intervened. She still could see his eyes sometimes when she went to sleep. Orange and brown and filled with violence.
The year after a new inspector arrived, and she wondered often if he had been disciplined or simply reassigned. Most of these were routine, a check of your water supply, a look into your upkeep of the small area room afforded your family. Most of the neighbors passed easily, but once she heard a scream and later sobbing a few houses down. A week later they had new neighbors. Candle was putting away the last of their clothes into a small storage bin when she heard Bertie coming through the front door. 

“Im sorry im late sis” Bertie chirped as she came bouncing into their small abode. “What can i help with?”
Candle gave her a small hug, wiping dirt off her sister’s cheek with her sleeve.
“I think we are good, you remember the rules?”
Bertie shrugged.
“Sure thing sis, don’t talk, smile and let them do their job”
Candle didn’t think her sister would cause any problems after the one incident and she felt guilty about even reminding her. Bertie had felt guilty enough about it to begin with. They only had a few moments before the door speaker chimed in.
“Inspector Visit, Please open up ” came a scratchy voice on the other end. 

Showtime.

American Dreams

Cadillac snow on the window,
Letting engine oil drip down your lungs,
Rainbow melted puddles on top of the asphalt,
And cinder for sinners on the third eclipsed year.
A snowman melts his carrot nose a victim to nature,
Browned and burdened by Pinochio lies.
Telling tall tales, that eventually morph into facts.
Rewriting history, leaving the truth to interpretation,
To believe the smiling men of television,
And consume the swill of the princes of commerce lay bare.
American dreams.

After.

“Do you not think she will miss you?”

He looked to the floor, took a long slow drag of his cigarette,
“Maybe some.”  His eyes slowly left the floor, a plume of smoke moving between him and the stranger.
“But she will be better off.”

The stranger nodded but didn’t let him off so easy.

“Hard for a father to make that decision. Perhaps one day she won’t agree.”

It was a fair assumption, sometimes he had the same thoughts of his mother. He sighed, put the cigarette out and stood to leave. The stranger grabbed his left hand, pulled it to her chest.  She forced him to make eye contact.
“I wasn’t trying to scare you off”.

He gave her a study, frail and holding on, much like him, much like everyone. He could stay, he could tell her many reasons for his choice to run away. But the timer on his wrist passed time, and he knew it was time to move on. He gently removed his hand from her breast, watched her shoulders slunch with defeat. He thought about offering her some small solace, a peck on the cheek, a hug, something human. Instead he turned to go, without a word, leaving the stranger behind and with her everything he had ever known.

Driving thru familial traditions, 
Left behind memories of home, but far away from everywhere.
A stray dog runs along, seeing the future in a snow globe of light. 
The length of a womans boot, tall and black, crestfallen stars
And everyone is right. Everyone is right.
But you are wrong.
And it can only result in driving right thru the guardrail ahead.
Make it count for something.
Make it count for anything.

I can not promise you anything will be better tomorrow, 
Because it hasn’t been better in forever.
I can not promise you it will work out, 
because all i can do is try to keep the lights on in my own home. 
I can not promise to fight the enemy, 
because all I see are misguided humans. 
I can not promise that all lives matter 
because we are all tax write offs.
I can not promise you will have allies, 
Because the allies get stoned with those preserving the patriarchy.  
I can not promise you love,
because the people I love wont even talk to me some days, 
I can not promise you the highway will get easier,
Because the construction will always need repairs,
I can not promise my son that he will see the ocean as an old man
Because we spend too much time not even thinking if he will,

I can not promise you much, 
Except I know you are tired. 
Because this life…… this beautiful fucking thing we call life….
Takes every ounce of hope we have left. 
To just see tomorrow. 

But I can promise you this, I hope each one of you do.

something Dumb #2 pink panther is a repaint/repackaged Black Panther . Each figure comes on card back with Kirby stickers all over the back. Limited to 10 pieces. $20 if I can hand it to you, thirty shipped in the USA.