Street lights sparkling amid the broken glass. An empty lot. The bag man knows the weather. One leg gone in Vet Nam. Who cares, get along get along. Bags hanging off his weel chair, can’t stand to piss so pisses anyhow. Pants stained a million times over. Who care who cares get along now. Nothing to see. Sleeps under the light so he can see to fish through his pack. A few solitary pleasures, cheap wine, roll a cigerett. Sometimes another will walk up on him, share a pull of the bottle. Mostly not. Gone to the food bank. Gone to the salvation army. Who cares who cares move along.
Everybody gotta be some place not him. Every body gotta be some thing. Not him. Every body gotta point to prove. Not him. Bag men make no points. Look at him like an animal. Walk faster when he goes to ask for something. Its his own fault. This America. Everybody get shine in America. Everybody get something in America. Can be president. Can be big time movie star. Can be published intellectual. Can be millionaire zen master. In America. Move along. We all got things to be.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
In the End: Part 1.1
In those days death stalked the earth unabated. After the bombs came the plague. It roamed from the skeletal cities to the scorched countryside, casting death like dice among the living. The dead were burnt in great pits in an attempt to stop the spread of the infection. They burnt day and night. Their light reflected from the low cloud sheath that blanketed the earth, bathing the night in orange translucence.
In those days the sick fell dead in waves. The infection would spread through populations multiplying exponentially, then recede for a time. Whene it appeared to be passing, it would swing its scythe again killing by the thousands. By the end of the war most of the cities were totally empty. Those that remained in them formed loose fraternities and tribes. They marked themselves by various means. The ones that the plague didn’t take held on like refugees in a dying world.
In those days it became clear that a few were immune to the sickness. It was not clear how infection spread, weather through blood, or water, or air. But if some people got sick, showed all the signs of death, but recovered, they never feel ill again.
In the beginning the National Guard tried to prevent looting and stop the spread of disorder and infection. The government tried to hang on to a bankrupt system long after it became apparent that it was all falling apart. And yet all the federal ministries finally succumbed to the plague. When most of the people who were in charge of governance died, and the administrative chain broke down, the ones that were left took their remaining wealth and drifted away. There were bomb shelters scattered across the continent, some still sealed perhaps. Most of the top officials tried holding up in secret bunkers in the D.C. area,or at the state capitals but when the plague infected them the residents either died, or left. One could come upon tunnels leading to the opened shelters, secret passage ways under government buildings or in the subways. All the ones that opened to the outside world were ether looted and abandoned or occupied by tribes.
Aron's mother set up a shop in the third floor of an old apartment store in what remained of Beaumont, Texas. Aron and his brother, along with some hired guns, would travel to Houston to loot and trade, bring the goods back, and barter with them. Everyone his immediate family save Aron's dad had survived the plague. Some would count them lucky.
Long before the bombs his uncle suspected a war. He bought land and built a large compound, complete with a bunker 15 feet down. He had co-owned a construction company. He figured out how out build an underground shelter via the internet, retired at 45, and did it.
Aron had no way of knowing how long they stayed in the bunker after the bombing stopped. He had heard that some of the big cities on the East coast were hit by nuclear missiles, but he had no way of knowing. Mostly it had been conventional bombs, which can do almost as much damage if they fall in sufficient numbers. But the war was over fairly quickly. Once the plague set in and spread across the continent, there were not enough people left to fight or command it. The governments quickly fell apart, and the solders deserted. The Bolivarian forces tried to occupy some cities but they died too quickly to get a foot hold. The plague had stopped the bombing, not a peace settlement; it was a much more efficient means of killing.
By the time the Duhon’s emerged most of the soldiers were dead or gone. There was no chain of command, so most of them hunkered down, joined a tribe, and tried to get by the best they could. There was no shortage of food and supplies. All the electricity stopped, but people had gas generators, and there was gas to freeze food and run other electrical gadgets . There was plenty of canned and otherwise preserved goods. When tribes fought they did so over fuel and weapons, or good land on which to settle, or machine parts, or the like. Some areas were safer than others, and one had to travel with armed.
Chad lived in the remains of the Lamar University Library. It was relatively well preserved because it was built like a fortress. A 5 story red brick, concrete and cinder block building with one 5 inch strip of reinforced glass running up each side for windows. They were set about 3 inches into the brick. The university was not bombed for whatever reason, only the nearby petrol plants. The library was basically one big monolith with a few windows. Chad had been a professor and when the bombing started and he held up in the library one day during an air raid, and decided that he would stay. He too was spared by the plague. The neighborhood surrounding the University was almost totally abandoned before long. He would loot the houses in the days following the bombing and help dispose of the dead, carrying them to the pits. People would feed him for his assistance. There was enough dead that he kept busy by day. AS people wandered off or died the surrounding area became slowly deserted and Chad took to growing vegetables in the old soccer field. He shot whatever he could, squirles, rats, possums, birds, ate vegetables and whatever he could loot.
In those days the sick fell dead in waves. The infection would spread through populations multiplying exponentially, then recede for a time. Whene it appeared to be passing, it would swing its scythe again killing by the thousands. By the end of the war most of the cities were totally empty. Those that remained in them formed loose fraternities and tribes. They marked themselves by various means. The ones that the plague didn’t take held on like refugees in a dying world.
In those days it became clear that a few were immune to the sickness. It was not clear how infection spread, weather through blood, or water, or air. But if some people got sick, showed all the signs of death, but recovered, they never feel ill again.
In the beginning the National Guard tried to prevent looting and stop the spread of disorder and infection. The government tried to hang on to a bankrupt system long after it became apparent that it was all falling apart. And yet all the federal ministries finally succumbed to the plague. When most of the people who were in charge of governance died, and the administrative chain broke down, the ones that were left took their remaining wealth and drifted away. There were bomb shelters scattered across the continent, some still sealed perhaps. Most of the top officials tried holding up in secret bunkers in the D.C. area,or at the state capitals but when the plague infected them the residents either died, or left. One could come upon tunnels leading to the opened shelters, secret passage ways under government buildings or in the subways. All the ones that opened to the outside world were ether looted and abandoned or occupied by tribes.
Aron's mother set up a shop in the third floor of an old apartment store in what remained of Beaumont, Texas. Aron and his brother, along with some hired guns, would travel to Houston to loot and trade, bring the goods back, and barter with them. Everyone his immediate family save Aron's dad had survived the plague. Some would count them lucky.
Long before the bombs his uncle suspected a war. He bought land and built a large compound, complete with a bunker 15 feet down. He had co-owned a construction company. He figured out how out build an underground shelter via the internet, retired at 45, and did it.
Aron had no way of knowing how long they stayed in the bunker after the bombing stopped. He had heard that some of the big cities on the East coast were hit by nuclear missiles, but he had no way of knowing. Mostly it had been conventional bombs, which can do almost as much damage if they fall in sufficient numbers. But the war was over fairly quickly. Once the plague set in and spread across the continent, there were not enough people left to fight or command it. The governments quickly fell apart, and the solders deserted. The Bolivarian forces tried to occupy some cities but they died too quickly to get a foot hold. The plague had stopped the bombing, not a peace settlement; it was a much more efficient means of killing.
By the time the Duhon’s emerged most of the soldiers were dead or gone. There was no chain of command, so most of them hunkered down, joined a tribe, and tried to get by the best they could. There was no shortage of food and supplies. All the electricity stopped, but people had gas generators, and there was gas to freeze food and run other electrical gadgets . There was plenty of canned and otherwise preserved goods. When tribes fought they did so over fuel and weapons, or good land on which to settle, or machine parts, or the like. Some areas were safer than others, and one had to travel with armed.
Chad lived in the remains of the Lamar University Library. It was relatively well preserved because it was built like a fortress. A 5 story red brick, concrete and cinder block building with one 5 inch strip of reinforced glass running up each side for windows. They were set about 3 inches into the brick. The university was not bombed for whatever reason, only the nearby petrol plants. The library was basically one big monolith with a few windows. Chad had been a professor and when the bombing started and he held up in the library one day during an air raid, and decided that he would stay. He too was spared by the plague. The neighborhood surrounding the University was almost totally abandoned before long. He would loot the houses in the days following the bombing and help dispose of the dead, carrying them to the pits. People would feed him for his assistance. There was enough dead that he kept busy by day. AS people wandered off or died the surrounding area became slowly deserted and Chad took to growing vegetables in the old soccer field. He shot whatever he could, squirles, rats, possums, birds, ate vegetables and whatever he could loot.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Story 1
Adam would always go see him on the pretense of playing with his kids. But he didn’t much like the kids. They were dirty faced little urchins. When he walked up to the trailer they were always sitting in the dirt. Looking up with idiot eyes. Drooling. Matted hair stuck to their dirty faces. The yard was a riot of broken parts. Machines in various states of disrepair. Cars. Dishwashers. A pile of plastic trash that was meant to be burnt but never was.
Dwain lived in a beaten trailer on an asphalt road. Adam lived up the hill. Adam would go to him, and just walk in the house. He would often be sitting at the table, drinking, smoking. Downturned eyes. Flies buzzing. The kitchen vomiting the stench of the rotting food that had long since clogged up the sink. Adam would just pull up a chair and sit down, and Dwain would start talking. He talked of two things only. His ex-wife and the kids. He had been a truck driver when they were married. He was gone for long stretches of time. He was a convict so he said that was the best he could do. His uncle owned the trucking company so he was thankful to have that.
In those days, he said, they fought all the time. He would come home and they would fuck first and fight not long afterwards. She wanted him to be in town. She was lonely. Plus raising kids was no easy chore. But he couldn’t find a job in town. Especially in Woodville, a tiny hamlet carved out of the Big Thicket. There wasn’t much work around. Most folks in town worked at the saw mill, but they would not hire him on account of his record.
Well, it got worse and worse. He started smoking speed to keep him up on long hauls. When he came home he was tweeked, strung out, could hardly get it up. So the sex stopped, and she thought he had been fucking lot lizards, so he was worn out. But it was the speed. The shit clogs up the veins down there he complained.
Adam would just sit a listen. He liked the smell of the whiskey and cigarettes. Sometimes his oldest daughter would be around. Adam liked her too. She was always dressed skimpily. Even at 11 Adam knew what the status was.
He would always complain that she was like her mother. “Girls only dress like that for one reason” he said, “and it ant cuse its hot. You see these little hoocies in that shit in the winter time. They want to get nailed. That’s the long and the short of it. Not long after she got pregnant and she never came around.”
In the fall Adam came was coming home from school and saw as the police and the ambulance their. The cops were standing around with the paramedics Adam ran down to the corner as fast as he could when the bus dropped him off. Dwain had took a handful of Vacitin, chased it with a bottle of whiskey, and died in his sleep.
Adam would always go see him on the pretense of playing with his kids. But he didn’t much like the kids. They were dirty faced little urchins. When he walked up to the trailer they were always sitting in the dirt. Looking up with idiot eyes. Drooling. Matted hair stuck to their dirty faces. The yard was a riot of broken parts. Machines in various states of disrepair. Cars. Dishwashers. A pile of plastic trash that was meant to be burnt but never was.
Dwain lived in a beaten trailer on an asphalt road. Adam lived up the hill. Adam would go to him, and just walk in the house. He would often be sitting at the table, drinking, smoking. Downturned eyes. Flies buzzing. The kitchen vomiting the stench of the rotting food that had long since clogged up the sink. Adam would just pull up a chair and sit down, and Dwain would start talking. He talked of two things only. His ex-wife and the kids. He had been a truck driver when they were married. He was gone for long stretches of time. He was a convict so he said that was the best he could do. His uncle owned the trucking company so he was thankful to have that.
In those days, he said, they fought all the time. He would come home and they would fuck first and fight not long afterwards. She wanted him to be in town. She was lonely. Plus raising kids was no easy chore. But he couldn’t find a job in town. Especially in Woodville, a tiny hamlet carved out of the Big Thicket. There wasn’t much work around. Most folks in town worked at the saw mill, but they would not hire him on account of his record.
Well, it got worse and worse. He started smoking speed to keep him up on long hauls. When he came home he was tweeked, strung out, could hardly get it up. So the sex stopped, and she thought he had been fucking lot lizards, so he was worn out. But it was the speed. The shit clogs up the veins down there he complained.
Adam would just sit a listen. He liked the smell of the whiskey and cigarettes. Sometimes his oldest daughter would be around. Adam liked her too. She was always dressed skimpily. Even at 11 Adam knew what the status was.
He would always complain that she was like her mother. “Girls only dress like that for one reason” he said, “and it ant cuse its hot. You see these little hoocies in that shit in the winter time. They want to get nailed. That’s the long and the short of it. Not long after she got pregnant and she never came around.”
In the fall Adam came was coming home from school and saw as the police and the ambulance their. The cops were standing around with the paramedics Adam ran down to the corner as fast as he could when the bus dropped him off. Dwain had took a handful of Vacitin, chased it with a bottle of whiskey, and died in his sleep.
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