February 23, 2011

Waiting...

I stood nervously waiting on the empty platform, the snow building up by my business shoes. I could feel the cold coming in, it wasn't pleasant and I shook them free of their freezing prison for a moment. My gloved hand wandered into the pocket of the camel hair jacket that kept me from freezing to death. As my fingers wrapped around a familiar shape, I knew my business today. I had to avenge someone, someone who was betrayed too easily, like a crumpled piece of paper, wantonly tossed aside. As my thoughts became more and more intense, the less I realized how hard I was squeezing the object in my hand.

Suddenly, I saw it in the distance. It was more like it had seen me. I quickly walked over to the signal box and pulled a lever back. Above my head, a wig-wag signal began to slowly rock back and forth, monotonously blinking its yellow light, seemingly trying to call for help in the pitch black of the snowy night. The interurban blew its whistle, acknowledging a stop for me. As it hissed to a stop, I saw him, sitting there in the smoking section of the car. A frozen look washed over my face as I imagined the past, the conductor looked at me at the top of the steps. "Come aboard sir." Momentarily, I was caught unaware and I boarded. As the door closed behind me, the heat of the car, my glasses fogged up forcing me to pull them from my face. My vision returned.

I meagerly walked down the aisle of the non smoking compartment, A large mother with her two sleeping children bundled in snow clothes. Their mittens on a long cord still hung over their necks. A navy officer sat behind her, his pristine black uniform highlighted the gold buttons and medal bars on his chest. I came to the frosted glass door, with the word "Smoking" etched into the foggy glass. Pulling it back, the smell of a few camel cigarettes and a pipe lingered. I sat in front of the quarry, a cigarette squeezed between his fingers, a curling wisp rose to the ceiling and the ash hung for dear life. His gaze was fixed on an advertisement screwed into the wall. It was for a new suburban development in Levittown. I pulled the seat in front of him to reverse, and momentarily, he was surprised at the new addition. I sat in front of him, his face screwed up in anguish, accentuating his old features, hardened from years of hard work. He drew his hands up to his overcoat lapels, and pulled them in, making him look almost like a wrapped up pug. He knew why I had come, he knew what I was going to tell him, and he most certainly knew what I was going to do.

Before I said anything, my hand fumbled around in my pocket for the hard object that had been waiting for him. As my fingers wrapped around it, he winced, expecting the worst. I drew it out and slowly cradled it in my hands. It was a small wooden case, about the size of a pencil case, and as I pulled back the catch to open it, I saw him breath a sigh of relief. Or as close as he could get to relief. The little brass hinges squealed a little as the lid opened, and I pulled out a dog tag, a small rosary and a photograph. "Mr. Clemson, I grew up with your son Bill. I knew you, and you knew me. But before you say anything, let me finish first. You wern't around much for Bill growing up. I saw how you hurt Mrs. Clemson that day you disappeared, Bill wasn't any better for it either. But the war rolled around, and he and I served our country, but for him, he served it fully to the end. When I came home, your wife, she's not here anymore. She's gone Frank. So is Bill."

His furrowed brow gave way, that expression of relief had turned upside down, as he realized the gravity of what I had just said to him. He looked at me, almost gasping the word, no. A thin, dirty tear rolled down, following each crease and crack in his face. I handed him the picture, rosary and tag and he couldn't contain himself. His head bowed over the objects now in his hands, a low sob came over him, and his body began to shake as he held the last items of what once was his family. The gnarled hand that held the rosary clenched it tightly and began to thumb each bead, and the sound of prayer began to fill my head. A bell clattered in the other compartment signalling that the train had stopped at a station. I gathered up myself, shut the box and left the old man alone.

February 22, 2011

Print

Sam nervously looked at herself in the mirror, her silky white shirt hugged against her body around the waist and her eyes darted back down to her left hand where she adjusted her ring. She ran her hands over herself, edging over every single detail in her outfit. She looked around the loft seeing all the things that she and Rafe had put together. The stolen Barcelona chair that Rafe took out of the Yale architecture library for her, the rack of hockey sticks of stolen sticks that she took from various games they would go to when they would chase the Cornell Big Red. They always had to get one hockey stick from the opposing team and get the big red team to sign it. She carefully traced her hand delicately over the things on the dresser. She looked at them longingly and walked to the railing and looked down into the living room below. Rafe had a small little print shop in one corner and she had a small painting studio in the other. A couple of worn out brown leather couches arranged in a small sitting area with a flatscreen tv at the other end. Mugaboo, their wirehair terrier was snoozing on the sheepskin rug in the sunlight. She listened very carefully, she heard a record crackling on the turntable, the gentle breathing of the vacuum tubes as a slow voice slowly began to rise in a low crescendo over the gold wire speakers.

The shuffle of barefeet over wood and the sound of the old coffee boiler percolating in the kitchen area. Sam rested her elbows on the edge, counted under her breath, one... two... three... then from below her the shirtless form of Rafe walked out from the kitchen. A smile curled on her face as she watched his form walk over to the hot table and pick up a copper etching plate. As Rafe began to clean the plate, she carefully watched him dart from machine to machine finally running the plate through the itaglio press. Her hands clenched the rail nervously, anticipating the final result. Rafe pulled back the catch blanket, his face smiled as he pulled back the paper holding it against the light. She walked slowly down the stairs, her bare feet plodding down each step. Her hair, tied back in a little pony tail reflected against the large warehouse windows. She carefully walked down over to him, and she wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her nose into his shoulder. Rafe dropped his arm and the print onto the table and grabbed her. He wheeled around, and looked at her.

You know, I gotta get these done for George.
I know babe, but I just want you.
Sush, you can help me if you want.
Well...

Sam leaned onto the press plate, she slid her bottom onto the platen, still kissing Rafe. His arms, wrapped around her. They kissed for awhile longer on the printing press. Before he stood back and realized what he had done.

Shit sweetie, look at your shirt.

Sam looked down at what once was her crisp, white satin blouse, now was pock marked with blotches of printing ink.

Rafe! I...

She blushed.

February 09, 2011

Ledsehwer

Senseless
the bitter cold, tumbling
over the rail, cascading
ever gently over.

Covering
the gentle warmth, Protecting
what last is important, wondering
if it was all a dream.

Syntax
in this case, contemplating
how it fits in, observing
that it doesn't.

Reading
silently, rolling
over silent words, adding
their own vibrancy.

Thinking
it could be true, equating
the possibilities, formulating
the answer.

It
is
not.
But
can
be.
To
all
see.

Narrating
an ongoing battle, writing
the story, printing
only the words.

February 02, 2011

Atheists are Wrong and Evil!

It's like Bobby Franklin wiped the law on his bottom

Bobby Franklin, wtf are you doing? So, just as a quick summary for each one of this house bills he's attempting to pass in the Georgia House. I dont think they get more ridiculous as you go along, but merely, each one is ridiculously weird in its own unique way.

Crimes and Offenses: Prenatal murder: to provide
HB1: abortions and contraceptives are illegal & will undermine authority of the Supreme Court. It is no longer the authority of the state, college heads, and local and city governments to provide safe contraceptives and abortions.

Georgia Right to Grow Act; enact
HB2: Right to grow chickens and goats in the city. Cause you know, the last thing you want to do is to remain subservient to the market providers. Lets just return to the feudal system, raise chickens and trade pigs for female companionship. Or the other way round.

Constitutional Tender Act; enact
HB3: Separation from US Legal tender and shift to using gold and silver as legal tender. The motive? The US dollar is weak and tied to china! China is communist, therefore evil, and to avoid something or other, blah blah blah, I JUST WANT TO PAY MY GROCERIES IN GOOOOLD.

Life Liberty and Property Restoration act; enact
HB4: Defines all our rights are given from god and not the civil government. There are several things that we are given. Life, Liberty, NOT the pursuit of happiness, but! Propertah! Dont own propertah? Go git some propertah!

Freedom of Choice and Security Act
HB5: Guns aren't evil, People are! Let them people have guns! It goes as far as to define: People are evil within. Not because of material objects. Well now. Good to know, that although guns dont cause evil, but people do, people should be given the right to own a material object that doesn't cause evil.

Emergency Defense of the Home Act
HB6: Yeeehaw! Let's drive around with explosives and alcohol, it'll be legal thanks to this little doozie.

Right to Travel Act
HB7: Drivers licenses aren't in the constitution, hell, let's shit all over the Georgia DMV system.
HELLS YES. Woot woot, that means 12 year olds and 14 year olds can drive, to quote him: "What's stopping them?"

Due Process Restoration Act
HB8: Ban Security cameras because their intention to curb crime is an infringement on the privacy of the people who just happen to walk by

Kathryn Johnston's Law
HB9: A right to security from forced entry of the government when conducting a search, sting or raid. So... you mean, I can still keep my basement full of weed?

Child Protection Act
HB10: Fences! Fences! That's what will keep our children safe! FENCES.

Freedom from Compulsory Pandemic Act
HB11: You know, it's really our decision whether or not we wish to be subjugated to a pandemic, and even then, people still object to having needles and godless science injected into them. Vaccinations for all! Against typhus (yay), the flu (hooray), malaria (uhh...), Hungarian Potato fly Innocular dystrophy syndrome (what? Is that even real?). And ALL THE TIME
SHALL YOU BE INJECTED!

Georgia Food Freedom Act
HB12: Your peanuts shall never be mislabeled thanks to this puppy.

If you'd like to read the whole thing in context next time you're on the toilet, bring some of these printed out, read the toilet paper, and wipe your bottom with these bills.

http://www.legis.ga.gov/Legislation/en-US/Search.aspx (search for Franklin, in member name)

Just think of all the people standing up as sections of constitutional law, and the guy flying past is Bobby Franklin.