Root Chakra
Building building
Pushing up, pushing,
Just under the surface of the waters
Great surging currents, unaccountable,
Pressure and light and heat, energy like
Wires running through your skin,
Circuits, get it down, get it out
Catch it, put it down, get it while its hot,
Throbbing angry red popping out,
Bleeding like the sun in your chest,
Like the winds of the earth in your heart
Like the rain between your legs
Like the elemental movements
The trick is to master it
Channel it and focus it and blow it through your fingers or
Mouths, radiate it, vibrate it, the frequency of Orion and
The Pleiades, and Diana, all death and birth, move it through you
Clear it, clear it, to be
The reactor that you are
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Lament of Big Bob
The Lament of Big Bill
Adam didn’t talk to Big Bill. He’d seen him around AA meetings, but he was always very quiet and didn’t seem much like the talking type. Big Bill spent 25- years in prison for murder. He was always a husky man, but prison had made him bigger. In prison there is not much more to do but workout and eat. So when Big Bill got out he was 250 pounds of hard muscle and stood about 6’7”. He was maybe 50, balding, very blond hair, so blond that his eye lids were blond. Bad pick tattoos scratched all over his arms and neck, some of them with racial overtones. His fore-arms were like tree trunks.
He never spoke in meetings. Adam was sitting directly in front of him and almost jumped when he piped up.
“My names Bill I’m alcoholic. Well some of you know my kids tried to hold up a bank a few days back, and now they are all in jail, ever’ one of em. So I guess I got nothing. My parents are dead. I didn’t even get to go to my mom’s funeral and she was the only one loved me. I’m livin’ in that van out there and I guess I should be happy to have someplace to sleep. They cut me loose and I just don’t know where to go. You all don’t know what I been through. I’m 50 years old and I been in prison since I was 25. I went in a young kid and now here I am an old man with nothing. Sometimes I wisht’ they woulda’ just given me the chair. I don’t like the man I am. I never knew how to live. No one ever showed me how to live. My old man used to beat on me since I could remember so I left at 15. A man does some things he knows ant right with when he’s starving. I did some bad things out there, and I guess I did some bad thing inside too. I don’t like who I am. I don’t like being full of hate. I don’t like being prejudice, I don’t like hating myself. I don’t like being Bill. What can I do? Sometime I just think I otta go stick someplace up. Worst thing is they kill me and that don’t seem so bad from were I’m sittin. Or they send me back down. I know how to live locked up, I don’t know how to live with you people. I can’t hardly look some of you in the eyes. And I wanta’ drink. Oh lord how I wanta’ drink, but when I do I’m libal to turn into a monster and I'm so tired of being that kinda man. That’s all I got.”
The crowd was completely silent. A very good looking black lady sat next to him and put her hand on his. When I turned around they were looking at each-other like they were seeing each other for the first time. It looked to Adam as though Bill would cry.
Adam didn’t talk to Big Bill. He’d seen him around AA meetings, but he was always very quiet and didn’t seem much like the talking type. Big Bill spent 25- years in prison for murder. He was always a husky man, but prison had made him bigger. In prison there is not much more to do but workout and eat. So when Big Bill got out he was 250 pounds of hard muscle and stood about 6’7”. He was maybe 50, balding, very blond hair, so blond that his eye lids were blond. Bad pick tattoos scratched all over his arms and neck, some of them with racial overtones. His fore-arms were like tree trunks.
He never spoke in meetings. Adam was sitting directly in front of him and almost jumped when he piped up.
“My names Bill I’m alcoholic. Well some of you know my kids tried to hold up a bank a few days back, and now they are all in jail, ever’ one of em. So I guess I got nothing. My parents are dead. I didn’t even get to go to my mom’s funeral and she was the only one loved me. I’m livin’ in that van out there and I guess I should be happy to have someplace to sleep. They cut me loose and I just don’t know where to go. You all don’t know what I been through. I’m 50 years old and I been in prison since I was 25. I went in a young kid and now here I am an old man with nothing. Sometimes I wisht’ they woulda’ just given me the chair. I don’t like the man I am. I never knew how to live. No one ever showed me how to live. My old man used to beat on me since I could remember so I left at 15. A man does some things he knows ant right with when he’s starving. I did some bad things out there, and I guess I did some bad thing inside too. I don’t like who I am. I don’t like being full of hate. I don’t like being prejudice, I don’t like hating myself. I don’t like being Bill. What can I do? Sometime I just think I otta go stick someplace up. Worst thing is they kill me and that don’t seem so bad from were I’m sittin. Or they send me back down. I know how to live locked up, I don’t know how to live with you people. I can’t hardly look some of you in the eyes. And I wanta’ drink. Oh lord how I wanta’ drink, but when I do I’m libal to turn into a monster and I'm so tired of being that kinda man. That’s all I got.”
The crowd was completely silent. A very good looking black lady sat next to him and put her hand on his. When I turned around they were looking at each-other like they were seeing each other for the first time. It looked to Adam as though Bill would cry.
Lament of Big Bob
The Lament of Big Bob
Adam didn’t talk to Big Bob. He’d seen him around AA meetings, but he was always very quiet and didn’t seem much like the talking type. Big Bill spent 25- years in prison for murder. He was always a husk man, but prison had made him bigger. In prison there is not much more to do but workout and eat. So when Big Bill got out he was 250 pounds of hard muscle and stood about 6’7”. He was maybe 50, balding, very blond hair, so blond that his eye lids were blond. Bad pick tattoos scratched all over his arms and neck, some of them with racial overtones. His fore-arms were like tree trunks.
He never spoke in meetings. Adam was sitting directly in front of him and almost jumped when he piped up.
“My names Bill I’m alcoholic. Well some of you know my kids tried to hold up a bank a few days back, and now they are all in jail, ever’ one of em. So I guess I got nothing. My parents are dead. I didn’t even get to go to my mom’s funeral and she was the only one loved me. I’m livin’ in that van out there and I guess I should be happy to have someplace to sleep. They cut me loose and I just don’t know where to go. You all don’t know what I been through. I’m 50 years old and I been in prison since I was 25. I went in a young kid and now here I am an old man with nothing. Sometimes I wisht’ they woulda’ just given me the chair. I don’t like the man I am. I never knew how to live. No one ever showed me how to live. My old man used to beat on me since I could remember so I left at 15. A man does some things he knows ant right with when he’s starving. I did some bad things out there, and I guess I did some bad thing inside too. I don’t like who I am. I don’t like being full of hate. I don’t like being prejudice, I don’t like hating myself. I don’t like being Bill. What can I do? Sometime I just think I otta go stick someplace up. Worst thing is they kill me and that don’t seem so bad from were I’m sittin. Or they send me back down. I know how to live locked up, I don’t know how to live with you people. I can’t hardly look some of you in the eys. And I wanta’ drink. Oh lord how I wanta’ drink, but when I do I’m libal to turn into a monster. That’s all I got.”
The crowd was completely silent. A very good looking black lady sat next to him and put her hand on his. When I turned around they were looking at each-other like they were seeing each other for the first time. It looked to Adam as though Bill would cry.
Adam didn’t talk to Big Bob. He’d seen him around AA meetings, but he was always very quiet and didn’t seem much like the talking type. Big Bill spent 25- years in prison for murder. He was always a husk man, but prison had made him bigger. In prison there is not much more to do but workout and eat. So when Big Bill got out he was 250 pounds of hard muscle and stood about 6’7”. He was maybe 50, balding, very blond hair, so blond that his eye lids were blond. Bad pick tattoos scratched all over his arms and neck, some of them with racial overtones. His fore-arms were like tree trunks.
He never spoke in meetings. Adam was sitting directly in front of him and almost jumped when he piped up.
“My names Bill I’m alcoholic. Well some of you know my kids tried to hold up a bank a few days back, and now they are all in jail, ever’ one of em. So I guess I got nothing. My parents are dead. I didn’t even get to go to my mom’s funeral and she was the only one loved me. I’m livin’ in that van out there and I guess I should be happy to have someplace to sleep. They cut me loose and I just don’t know where to go. You all don’t know what I been through. I’m 50 years old and I been in prison since I was 25. I went in a young kid and now here I am an old man with nothing. Sometimes I wisht’ they woulda’ just given me the chair. I don’t like the man I am. I never knew how to live. No one ever showed me how to live. My old man used to beat on me since I could remember so I left at 15. A man does some things he knows ant right with when he’s starving. I did some bad things out there, and I guess I did some bad thing inside too. I don’t like who I am. I don’t like being full of hate. I don’t like being prejudice, I don’t like hating myself. I don’t like being Bill. What can I do? Sometime I just think I otta go stick someplace up. Worst thing is they kill me and that don’t seem so bad from were I’m sittin. Or they send me back down. I know how to live locked up, I don’t know how to live with you people. I can’t hardly look some of you in the eys. And I wanta’ drink. Oh lord how I wanta’ drink, but when I do I’m libal to turn into a monster. That’s all I got.”
The crowd was completely silent. A very good looking black lady sat next to him and put her hand on his. When I turned around they were looking at each-other like they were seeing each other for the first time. It looked to Adam as though Bill would cry.
Your eyes (variation 3 from Mexico)
Your eyes (variation 3 from Mexico)
Your black eyes are obsidian knives
Wet on the heart
You cut from me
Still beating you held it
As it ticked
Down to
Death
What was I to do
But lay prostrate
Bleeding on your stone
Alter
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/aronduhon/blog#ixzz12ohKw9g8
Your black eyes are obsidian knives
Wet on the heart
You cut from me
Still beating you held it
As it ticked
Down to
Death
What was I to do
But lay prostrate
Bleeding on your stone
Alter
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/aronduhon/blog#ixzz12ohKw9g8
Zero sum
What breath sustains our sails
What faith when the world fails
What God to call upon
If not Zuse, the Titan’s son
What air fills our lungs
If not cheap booze and drugs
What dreams pray might hear
Where a mystic sage or seer
To speak it unto you
A text to cling onto
What faith when the world fails
What God to call upon
If not Zuse, the Titan’s son
What air fills our lungs
If not cheap booze and drugs
What dreams pray might hear
Where a mystic sage or seer
To speak it unto you
A text to cling onto
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Working
Working 2.
Guys called it “Catching Out”. It meant that you were going to work that day. At Labor Ready you might work and you might not. You showed up around 5am and sat around till someone came in needing a hand. Or the Labor Ready clerk would get a call, or an “order” for help and she would send a few guys out to the job. Day labor jobs are almost always about the worst possible jobs you could get. If you catch out from Labor Ready you almost never get paid more than whatever the minimum wage is at the time. It usually involved something dirty and dangerous.
About the worst job I ever had was throwing trash on the back of a trash truck. It was probably the most physically exhausting thing I have ever done. Hopping on and off the truck, hooking the garbage cans to the mechanism that dumped them in the truck, picking up trash bags and slinging the into the truck, it was all heavy and nasty. On quite a few occasions the bag would break, or come untied, and the shit would get on me. Going to the dump was another horror. You can’t stop smelling it after you leave. The stench sticks to your skin and cloths. It gets into the back of your nose.
But going to the landfill in the back of a trash truck to dump a load is not half as bad as working in it. Another terrible job I picked up once was pulling all the shit out of a large goose neck trailer for a guy at the dump. It was full of old garbage, cloths, furniture, and various house wares he’d got out of a dilapidated rent house of his. He paid me 7 dollars an hour. He rented the house for 600 a month and it was falling apart. It took about three hours. I had a handkerchief tied over my mouth and nose but it did little good. It kept falling off and the guy would get pissed if I stopped too long to adjust it. Finally I just took it off. The particulate in the air at a dump is so thick that you can taste it. It gets all in your hair, sticks to the sweat on your body, in your throat, everywhere. You can’t imagine the stench. You have to go there to know what it’s like. Just like hard labor, you have to do it to know what it is. After the job the guy had the big heart to take me to McDonallds and pay for my meal. I couldn’t taste the burger, all I could taste was the terrible rot of the dump. I kept blowing my nose at the table and my snot was black. He kept telling me about his kids and how fucked up they were, he told me they were afraid of hard work. Young buck like myself had a good future ahead of me if I just worked hard.
Guys a Labor Ready were half-way crazy bout’ half the time. Often they would come around in various states of inebriation. If the boss caught wind of them he would run them off. Even at 5am dudes would sneak a pint into the place and take a pull here and there to keep em’ going. Boss man saw he’d bitch loudly and black list you. Early in the morning no on talked much, but after the rot gut coffee (a quarter a cup)or enough pulls from the bottle they get to talkin. One dudes name was Bible. I saw him smash a guy with a thick plastic coffee cup once. The guy was sitting down in the day room with his back turned, and Bible ran up and clocked him on the side of the head. The dude just fell of his stool. The guy I was eating with didn’t even look up. We were sitting next to him. I looked up at him and he said “leave it alone Crash, but mind how some of these dudes act, stay clear of them”.
Bible saw me and started to strut up. He had a blue tooth in his ear and was talking loudly, like he was planning something. The first thing he said to me was “wig splitter”. I don’t know why he said that. I guess he was trying to bring to mind what he did to that guy he smashed with the coffee cup. He sat down next to me and started talking loudly, like he knew me, like we were old palls.
“Crash, shit, look here, I got this lick, bouta come up. Shit, Fuck this here shit. Come outside,, say you gotta square?
We walked outside and I bummed him a cigarette.
“Look here, my bitch holdin an ounze of that kill for me, she say she gonna meet me up at Peterbuilt. You know them dudes all smoke, you somke huh? Yea, well, whatever, listen, ill give you a little to see if we get on the same ticket. Tell ol’ girl at the desk to send you out with me. Shit we gonna get paid on this shit…."
At Peterbuilt most the full time guys was white, redneck types. You could tell they had worked in production or construction or something of the like. Guys who do a lot of manual labor, esp. guys with full time jobs like that carry themselves a certain way. Most or all of the temp guys from labor ready was Mexican or black. And then me. Bible kept hanging around me talking non-stop some garbage. Showing out, strutting around, acting cool.
“Man I told that trick like my boy Jay-Z I got 99 problems but a bitch ant one, comin at me like that, say, you gotta notha square, yea, that an’t my muthafuckin kid, fuck that bitch, the little nigger ant mine, that little nigga ant getting my money, fuck that….say, look that white dude, go up to that dude and akst him he wanna by some kill”
I kept trying to shake him but he wouldn’t let me be. I think he just wanted to show off for me, I don’t know, like he was someplace else, like we was something else, like he had something, anything that mattered in his life. You ever been in someplace where you had to talk to someone you thought was either completely ignorant or disgusting or both, and you couldn’t get away? I guess youd have to be there to know. So said I would talk to the white guy and I walked up him. I talked low so Bible wouldn’t hear.
“Hey, where’s the boss? I’m almost finished with my job, I want to ask what he wants me to do next?”
He looked up from the machine he was running and spit “He’s round yonder” and pointed. I started to walk off.
I walked up to the bosses office he was sitting at his desk. He had a lot of what looked to be blue prints on his desk. He saw me coming and looked at me straight in the eye. He was smoking. I asked “Me adn Bible are finished, what you got for us next?” I smiled.
He leaned back in his swivel chair and put his arms behind his head, in a gesture of supreme relaxation. He yawned.
“Well, you working with Bible?" He looked at me for a few seconds and remained silent,"You looking for a job or you wanna be like them and work at the Temp agency so you an’t gotta work all the time. You know most of them don’t want to work”. His voice got low. “There as lazy as the day is long, and you tell Bible to pull up his Godamn pants, we don’t go for that n….” he stopped him-self , “that bull shit round’ here” He winked. “Whats your name boy?”
“Adam Duhhoon”
He looked up at the celling thoughtfully, "Duhhoon huh, Duhhoon, you kin to Fabian?"
"Yea that’s my uncle."
He smiled and slapped his desk, "No shit"!
"Yep."
"Yea. I guess you kinnda favor him a little."
"Iv been told."
"Your Granpaw is Leo then?"
"Yep."
"Well, now, he owns Exxel don’t he?"
"Yea."
"Self-made man Leo, just like my-self, didn’t nobody give us nothin, why arnt you workin for him?"
"I might start next week, I just got into town and he’s been out of town." I lied, I hated the bastard.
"Well, If you don’t talk to him call me, here’s my card, I know you arnt afraid of working hard. I worked with your grandpaw, we worked 13 hours a day at the ship yard, weldin, hes a good man, worked hard, drank hard too, just like Fabin"
"Yea he’s nuts", I hated him too,
"I know, Fabian is prone to get wild, but he’s a hard worker too, is he still working at EXXEL?"
"Yea."
"Tell him to call me next time you see him."
"OK"
"Listen, you and that Bible guy just sweep up, look busy. Tell your Grandpaw and Fabian you talked with me, Names Bill by the way, he shook my hand. "You don’t mind working 5 12’s do ya? We pay overtime after 40 but ya gotta keep up, production gets a little hectic round’ here, but you seem like a good boy who don't mind working hard"
"OK, yea, I don’t mind." I lied, I wanted to work when I wanted, when it came to hard labor. Part-time suited me fine. I was living with my parents and at that time in my life i didn't care.
I walked out and wen’t back to Bible.
"you talk to em?"
"Yea."
"What he say?"
"He told me to go ask some other dude, so I did, he didn’t want none either."
"Shit."
"Oh well."
"Shit, I gotta come up some how, shit maybe they hiring?"
"They might be, but don’t talk to the boss, come back and talk to HR, dress nice too, you might want to buy a belt"
"Shit I’d work in this bitch, full time, time anda half, it don’t even matter,THat time and a half, shit id work whatever, anyway, I told that bitch…"
Guys called it “Catching Out”. It meant that you were going to work that day. At Labor Ready you might work and you might not. You showed up around 5am and sat around till someone came in needing a hand. Or the Labor Ready clerk would get a call, or an “order” for help and she would send a few guys out to the job. Day labor jobs are almost always about the worst possible jobs you could get. If you catch out from Labor Ready you almost never get paid more than whatever the minimum wage is at the time. It usually involved something dirty and dangerous.
About the worst job I ever had was throwing trash on the back of a trash truck. It was probably the most physically exhausting thing I have ever done. Hopping on and off the truck, hooking the garbage cans to the mechanism that dumped them in the truck, picking up trash bags and slinging the into the truck, it was all heavy and nasty. On quite a few occasions the bag would break, or come untied, and the shit would get on me. Going to the dump was another horror. You can’t stop smelling it after you leave. The stench sticks to your skin and cloths. It gets into the back of your nose.
But going to the landfill in the back of a trash truck to dump a load is not half as bad as working in it. Another terrible job I picked up once was pulling all the shit out of a large goose neck trailer for a guy at the dump. It was full of old garbage, cloths, furniture, and various house wares he’d got out of a dilapidated rent house of his. He paid me 7 dollars an hour. He rented the house for 600 a month and it was falling apart. It took about three hours. I had a handkerchief tied over my mouth and nose but it did little good. It kept falling off and the guy would get pissed if I stopped too long to adjust it. Finally I just took it off. The particulate in the air at a dump is so thick that you can taste it. It gets all in your hair, sticks to the sweat on your body, in your throat, everywhere. You can’t imagine the stench. You have to go there to know what it’s like. Just like hard labor, you have to do it to know what it is. After the job the guy had the big heart to take me to McDonallds and pay for my meal. I couldn’t taste the burger, all I could taste was the terrible rot of the dump. I kept blowing my nose at the table and my snot was black. He kept telling me about his kids and how fucked up they were, he told me they were afraid of hard work. Young buck like myself had a good future ahead of me if I just worked hard.
Guys a Labor Ready were half-way crazy bout’ half the time. Often they would come around in various states of inebriation. If the boss caught wind of them he would run them off. Even at 5am dudes would sneak a pint into the place and take a pull here and there to keep em’ going. Boss man saw he’d bitch loudly and black list you. Early in the morning no on talked much, but after the rot gut coffee (a quarter a cup)or enough pulls from the bottle they get to talkin. One dudes name was Bible. I saw him smash a guy with a thick plastic coffee cup once. The guy was sitting down in the day room with his back turned, and Bible ran up and clocked him on the side of the head. The dude just fell of his stool. The guy I was eating with didn’t even look up. We were sitting next to him. I looked up at him and he said “leave it alone Crash, but mind how some of these dudes act, stay clear of them”.
Bible saw me and started to strut up. He had a blue tooth in his ear and was talking loudly, like he was planning something. The first thing he said to me was “wig splitter”. I don’t know why he said that. I guess he was trying to bring to mind what he did to that guy he smashed with the coffee cup. He sat down next to me and started talking loudly, like he knew me, like we were old palls.
“Crash, shit, look here, I got this lick, bouta come up. Shit, Fuck this here shit. Come outside,, say you gotta square?
We walked outside and I bummed him a cigarette.
“Look here, my bitch holdin an ounze of that kill for me, she say she gonna meet me up at Peterbuilt. You know them dudes all smoke, you somke huh? Yea, well, whatever, listen, ill give you a little to see if we get on the same ticket. Tell ol’ girl at the desk to send you out with me. Shit we gonna get paid on this shit…."
At Peterbuilt most the full time guys was white, redneck types. You could tell they had worked in production or construction or something of the like. Guys who do a lot of manual labor, esp. guys with full time jobs like that carry themselves a certain way. Most or all of the temp guys from labor ready was Mexican or black. And then me. Bible kept hanging around me talking non-stop some garbage. Showing out, strutting around, acting cool.
“Man I told that trick like my boy Jay-Z I got 99 problems but a bitch ant one, comin at me like that, say, you gotta notha square, yea, that an’t my muthafuckin kid, fuck that bitch, the little nigger ant mine, that little nigga ant getting my money, fuck that….say, look that white dude, go up to that dude and akst him he wanna by some kill”
I kept trying to shake him but he wouldn’t let me be. I think he just wanted to show off for me, I don’t know, like he was someplace else, like we was something else, like he had something, anything that mattered in his life. You ever been in someplace where you had to talk to someone you thought was either completely ignorant or disgusting or both, and you couldn’t get away? I guess youd have to be there to know. So said I would talk to the white guy and I walked up him. I talked low so Bible wouldn’t hear.
“Hey, where’s the boss? I’m almost finished with my job, I want to ask what he wants me to do next?”
He looked up from the machine he was running and spit “He’s round yonder” and pointed. I started to walk off.
I walked up to the bosses office he was sitting at his desk. He had a lot of what looked to be blue prints on his desk. He saw me coming and looked at me straight in the eye. He was smoking. I asked “Me adn Bible are finished, what you got for us next?” I smiled.
He leaned back in his swivel chair and put his arms behind his head, in a gesture of supreme relaxation. He yawned.
“Well, you working with Bible?" He looked at me for a few seconds and remained silent,"You looking for a job or you wanna be like them and work at the Temp agency so you an’t gotta work all the time. You know most of them don’t want to work”. His voice got low. “There as lazy as the day is long, and you tell Bible to pull up his Godamn pants, we don’t go for that n….” he stopped him-self , “that bull shit round’ here” He winked. “Whats your name boy?”
“Adam Duhhoon”
He looked up at the celling thoughtfully, "Duhhoon huh, Duhhoon, you kin to Fabian?"
"Yea that’s my uncle."
He smiled and slapped his desk, "No shit"!
"Yep."
"Yea. I guess you kinnda favor him a little."
"Iv been told."
"Your Granpaw is Leo then?"
"Yep."
"Well, now, he owns Exxel don’t he?"
"Yea."
"Self-made man Leo, just like my-self, didn’t nobody give us nothin, why arnt you workin for him?"
"I might start next week, I just got into town and he’s been out of town." I lied, I hated the bastard.
"Well, If you don’t talk to him call me, here’s my card, I know you arnt afraid of working hard. I worked with your grandpaw, we worked 13 hours a day at the ship yard, weldin, hes a good man, worked hard, drank hard too, just like Fabin"
"Yea he’s nuts", I hated him too,
"I know, Fabian is prone to get wild, but he’s a hard worker too, is he still working at EXXEL?"
"Yea."
"Tell him to call me next time you see him."
"OK"
"Listen, you and that Bible guy just sweep up, look busy. Tell your Grandpaw and Fabian you talked with me, Names Bill by the way, he shook my hand. "You don’t mind working 5 12’s do ya? We pay overtime after 40 but ya gotta keep up, production gets a little hectic round’ here, but you seem like a good boy who don't mind working hard"
"OK, yea, I don’t mind." I lied, I wanted to work when I wanted, when it came to hard labor. Part-time suited me fine. I was living with my parents and at that time in my life i didn't care.
I walked out and wen’t back to Bible.
"you talk to em?"
"Yea."
"What he say?"
"He told me to go ask some other dude, so I did, he didn’t want none either."
"Shit."
"Oh well."
"Shit, I gotta come up some how, shit maybe they hiring?"
"They might be, but don’t talk to the boss, come back and talk to HR, dress nice too, you might want to buy a belt"
"Shit I’d work in this bitch, full time, time anda half, it don’t even matter,THat time and a half, shit id work whatever, anyway, I told that bitch…"
Thursday, October 14, 2010
pentameter
pentameter
Odysseus was silent stringing his bow
Penelope had seen her hero's scar
The time had come to lay the base dogs low
This was the task for which he came so far
When proud Eumaeus raised his stolen cup
To drink stolen wine, it was less than sweet
The last thing the doomed man saw
Was wine and blood mixed at his feet
Odysseus was silent stringing his bow
Penelope had seen her hero's scar
The time had come to lay the base dogs low
This was the task for which he came so far
When proud Eumaeus raised his stolen cup
To drink stolen wine, it was less than sweet
The last thing the doomed man saw
Was wine and blood mixed at his feet
Working
In Sour Lake, Texas the mosquitoes are a halo around your head, they attack you as soon as you stop moving, all at once, like a trained squadron. When you slap them dead the little bodies stick to the sweat, and smear when you try to wipe them away. After a while you are wearing a vest of dirt, mesquite guts, and the mixed blood of who knows what.
I had been working with Chris for about two months at that point. Chris was from a tiny town on the Louisiana Texas, border named Vidor, near where we were working. He had smoked crack for 10 years but was recently sober when I got to working with him. I never saw Chris wear anything but Dickies overalls, a t-shirt, and boots. He was a huge man, 7’ 3”, with a big bull neck, broad shoulders, big thighs, and a gut. He smoked constantly and had an odd habit of licking his finger tips before he took a drag. Chris owned all his tools, his truck, and paid me a decent wage considering I was completely inept at everything other than painting. He lived in a small house and was pretty poor but he was proud that he owned his own business.
Once he started talking about God you could hardly shut him up, or never get a word in edge wise, assuming you had something to say about such a thing. He would make up various rituals during the work day sometimes, and ask me to do them with him. An example of this was he took to burning cedar blocks in a small fire in the yard of the cabin we were working on, and he wanted me to throw some in the fire with him. He said it chased off whatever evil spirits happened to be hanging around. He would mumble prayers as he worked. He had also taken to researching what he considered to be natural medicine. He thought that people needed to get off prescription meds to be truly healthy. I don’t know that smoking entered his thinking on this point. When he wasn’t talking about God he was talking about the natural healing properties of fruits, vegetables, herbs, and whatever else he took a hankering after.
Oscar ran a half-way house in Beaumont, Texas and had learned carpentry in Angola where he did ten years for holding up a mortuary. He shot a man during the holdup but the man didn’t die. He was a drug addict, street pimp, and two-bit con-man most of his life, but found religion in jail, got out on parole after 15 years, sobered up on the outside and started a half-way house. He basically built the house single handedly, and a lot of people in Beaumont had come through, got out, and stayed sober. He was well known in Beaumont by people who worked in the “recovery” and “rehabilitation” fields. He met Chris at an AA meeting. He had agreed to help Chris with some carpentry that the job needed.
Chris seemed impervious to the mosquitoes, they bit him steady, especially on the nose, neck, head, ears and eye-balls. He smoked madly and talked as they tried to fly into his mouth. We were on top of a 13 foot high scaffold trying to plumb a fascia board with the soffit underneath. He couldn’t get the cuts to fit together properly and was trying to man-handle them so that they would be flush. He was throwing his entire 250 pounds into the board, trying to get it to stay in place while I hit it with a nail gun, bending it as we went. He was shaking the entire scaffolding with the violence of his battle against the fascia. The scaffold was rattling and squeaking. It seemed to me that it would pop apart at any moment. He just kept talking and talking…like we were standing on the ground and were not in imminent danger of falling and being hurt.
"No, what I'm sayin' is that tomato seeds have med-I-ci-ni-al uses. The Indians new that. So I'm researchin' tomatoes see. Look, if you get cancer the thing to do is eat them tomatoes and the seeds will have a healing effect on the body system". Chris just continued smoking, ciggerett bobbing from his lips fling ashes, fighting with the beam. The mosquitoes darted around his head and whipped through the thin line of smoke.
Oscar just sat below looking up at me and Chris on the scaffold. He was regarding the battle with some skepticism. He never did any work, just told us what to do. He was the one that made the cut that was not the right angle. We were out of wood and we were trying to make that one work so we didn’t have to buy any more. Owens fucked up but nobody would say so because he was 70 years old and was working for free anyhow.
Oscar yelled up from his safe position on the ground "Adam, get closer to Chris, when he pushes it in you got to hit it with a nail quick, don’t let it spring back up. What size nails you got anyway, them little ol shitty ass things you got in that gun might not do the trick. You might need some masonry nails.”
Chris just keeps talking, seeming not to hear Owens "..so the point is to plant tomatoes in the yards, and then you get the seeds of you want to make a real strong dose, but you have to get the oil from the seeds by God, that’s where the Vitamin K2 is at , then you could cure cancer with some real high doses of tomato seed oil. The doctors know this but they’s out to make money that’s all, you can’t trust them nowadays. " He never misses a word, now more loudly so that Owens can hear better; "see its the oil in them seeds, the oil is concentrated in them seed…"
Owens stands up out of his chair in an exasperated manner, looking up, and squints, holding his hand in the shadow of the sun and interrupts Chris' discourse. "ADAM!!!! You hold that board like a little ol' girl, you gonna' make my old ass climb up there and do it for ya, put some ASS INTO IT BOAH'"
By this time Chris was getting excited and near screaming so Owens could hear him. I winced at the sound of his country logic. He has worked himself into a near frenzy over the miraculous healing powers of tomato seeds. But I can’t get the nail to stick. Chris puts the board into place and I Shoot a nail into it but the nail is not long enough to fasten the board flush. We pause a second and Owns ties a package of longer nails to a rope, throws the rope up and I haul it to us. But of course they don’t fit right in the gun.
“You gonna have to do it the old fashioned way, all ass holes and elbows. Don’t be afraid of some hard work, it’s good for you, hell that’s what made this country so damn grate, hard work. It’s all ass holes and elbows from here boy, you gonna get it, you gonna remember me one day and remember all the stuff I tell you. You gonna remember all right. Don’t never be afraid of some hard work. I’m not, that’s why I an’t gotta answer to nobody. Anybody can own their own business. You always talkin about wage slavery, well, you should start a business. “
The mosquitoes have planed their attack and Chris' sweat starts to drip onto me. I started praying despite myself, "OH shit get the board in place god please let the board!!!" The scaffold shakes wildly as Chris tries to wrestle it in place. It seems to me that it is seconds away from collapse. Owens sat back down assured that neather men are carpenters.
I had been working with Chris for about two months at that point. Chris was from a tiny town on the Louisiana Texas, border named Vidor, near where we were working. He had smoked crack for 10 years but was recently sober when I got to working with him. I never saw Chris wear anything but Dickies overalls, a t-shirt, and boots. He was a huge man, 7’ 3”, with a big bull neck, broad shoulders, big thighs, and a gut. He smoked constantly and had an odd habit of licking his finger tips before he took a drag. Chris owned all his tools, his truck, and paid me a decent wage considering I was completely inept at everything other than painting. He lived in a small house and was pretty poor but he was proud that he owned his own business.
Once he started talking about God you could hardly shut him up, or never get a word in edge wise, assuming you had something to say about such a thing. He would make up various rituals during the work day sometimes, and ask me to do them with him. An example of this was he took to burning cedar blocks in a small fire in the yard of the cabin we were working on, and he wanted me to throw some in the fire with him. He said it chased off whatever evil spirits happened to be hanging around. He would mumble prayers as he worked. He had also taken to researching what he considered to be natural medicine. He thought that people needed to get off prescription meds to be truly healthy. I don’t know that smoking entered his thinking on this point. When he wasn’t talking about God he was talking about the natural healing properties of fruits, vegetables, herbs, and whatever else he took a hankering after.
Oscar ran a half-way house in Beaumont, Texas and had learned carpentry in Angola where he did ten years for holding up a mortuary. He shot a man during the holdup but the man didn’t die. He was a drug addict, street pimp, and two-bit con-man most of his life, but found religion in jail, got out on parole after 15 years, sobered up on the outside and started a half-way house. He basically built the house single handedly, and a lot of people in Beaumont had come through, got out, and stayed sober. He was well known in Beaumont by people who worked in the “recovery” and “rehabilitation” fields. He met Chris at an AA meeting. He had agreed to help Chris with some carpentry that the job needed.
Chris seemed impervious to the mosquitoes, they bit him steady, especially on the nose, neck, head, ears and eye-balls. He smoked madly and talked as they tried to fly into his mouth. We were on top of a 13 foot high scaffold trying to plumb a fascia board with the soffit underneath. He couldn’t get the cuts to fit together properly and was trying to man-handle them so that they would be flush. He was throwing his entire 250 pounds into the board, trying to get it to stay in place while I hit it with a nail gun, bending it as we went. He was shaking the entire scaffolding with the violence of his battle against the fascia. The scaffold was rattling and squeaking. It seemed to me that it would pop apart at any moment. He just kept talking and talking…like we were standing on the ground and were not in imminent danger of falling and being hurt.
"No, what I'm sayin' is that tomato seeds have med-I-ci-ni-al uses. The Indians new that. So I'm researchin' tomatoes see. Look, if you get cancer the thing to do is eat them tomatoes and the seeds will have a healing effect on the body system". Chris just continued smoking, ciggerett bobbing from his lips fling ashes, fighting with the beam. The mosquitoes darted around his head and whipped through the thin line of smoke.
Oscar just sat below looking up at me and Chris on the scaffold. He was regarding the battle with some skepticism. He never did any work, just told us what to do. He was the one that made the cut that was not the right angle. We were out of wood and we were trying to make that one work so we didn’t have to buy any more. Owens fucked up but nobody would say so because he was 70 years old and was working for free anyhow.
Oscar yelled up from his safe position on the ground "Adam, get closer to Chris, when he pushes it in you got to hit it with a nail quick, don’t let it spring back up. What size nails you got anyway, them little ol shitty ass things you got in that gun might not do the trick. You might need some masonry nails.”
Chris just keeps talking, seeming not to hear Owens "..so the point is to plant tomatoes in the yards, and then you get the seeds of you want to make a real strong dose, but you have to get the oil from the seeds by God, that’s where the Vitamin K2 is at , then you could cure cancer with some real high doses of tomato seed oil. The doctors know this but they’s out to make money that’s all, you can’t trust them nowadays. " He never misses a word, now more loudly so that Owens can hear better; "see its the oil in them seeds, the oil is concentrated in them seed…"
Owens stands up out of his chair in an exasperated manner, looking up, and squints, holding his hand in the shadow of the sun and interrupts Chris' discourse. "ADAM!!!! You hold that board like a little ol' girl, you gonna' make my old ass climb up there and do it for ya, put some ASS INTO IT BOAH'"
By this time Chris was getting excited and near screaming so Owens could hear him. I winced at the sound of his country logic. He has worked himself into a near frenzy over the miraculous healing powers of tomato seeds. But I can’t get the nail to stick. Chris puts the board into place and I Shoot a nail into it but the nail is not long enough to fasten the board flush. We pause a second and Owns ties a package of longer nails to a rope, throws the rope up and I haul it to us. But of course they don’t fit right in the gun.
“You gonna have to do it the old fashioned way, all ass holes and elbows. Don’t be afraid of some hard work, it’s good for you, hell that’s what made this country so damn grate, hard work. It’s all ass holes and elbows from here boy, you gonna get it, you gonna remember me one day and remember all the stuff I tell you. You gonna remember all right. Don’t never be afraid of some hard work. I’m not, that’s why I an’t gotta answer to nobody. Anybody can own their own business. You always talkin about wage slavery, well, you should start a business. “
The mosquitoes have planed their attack and Chris' sweat starts to drip onto me. I started praying despite myself, "OH shit get the board in place god please let the board!!!" The scaffold shakes wildly as Chris tries to wrestle it in place. It seems to me that it is seconds away from collapse. Owens sat back down assured that neather men are carpenters.
Friday, October 8, 2010
For the laughing Fat man
Despite your best efforts, your skin will sag loose
Hang from the bottom of your arms
As molecules of dust swirl in the light
Stabbing through the kitchen window
Despite your best efforts you will not
Be unburdened of your flesh
As the purple lotus advances toward heaven
One eye down toward the afterbirth puddle
Despite your best efforts the sun remains
Unconcerned, making time as gravity
Unwinds the screws of your joints and
Loosens taunt nerves
Until like a sail being deprived of wind
We go falling falling into the rushing current
Of nothingness
and all is as it should be
Hang from the bottom of your arms
As molecules of dust swirl in the light
Stabbing through the kitchen window
Despite your best efforts you will not
Be unburdened of your flesh
As the purple lotus advances toward heaven
One eye down toward the afterbirth puddle
Despite your best efforts the sun remains
Unconcerned, making time as gravity
Unwinds the screws of your joints and
Loosens taunt nerves
Until like a sail being deprived of wind
We go falling falling into the rushing current
Of nothingness
and all is as it should be
Lamb of moloch
Lamb of Moloch
It had been raining for five days but the work went on, continually. Day and night. Two shifts 12 hours each. It was called a “shut down”. That’s when a big petroleum processing plant shuts down completely for maintenance. The longer the plant is off- line the more money is lost. Hundreds of thousands of dollars a day. So the bosses push to get it done. Everybody works 7 days a week, 12 hours a day.
A petroleum plant is a mass of gauges, pipes, heaters, coolers, valves, and dials. A knot of metal twisting stories high, called stacks. In the rain the “stacks” were surrounded by giant sheets of plastic, hung from wires and tied off to the scaffolding that surrounded the stacks. The wind was so high the rain still blew in. The sheets caught the wind like sails, and ripped. They popped and whistled. Everything in the stack was dripping wet. Guys had to climb up the “racks” or scaffolding--into the great tangle of pipes to do the work. In the rain and dark this was a terrible work. They were often nearly soaked before they even got to the place in the pipes they had to work. Lights shined harsh florescent light from the ground on the outside, but in the middle it didn’t help. Inside the stack small lights were hung at various points, but it was still too dark. Shadows hid everything because everything was a tangle of pipe. It was squirming through the entrails of a robot monster.
The guys wore harnesses and lanyards. They hooked their lanyards to the racks and climbed up. They called it “tying off”. But it was hard maneuvering through the tangle, even without lines to get hooked on gauges and tied up in. So guys often “flew” up. They climbed without tying off because it was quicker and easier. There were safety guys who were supposed to watch everything, but they often looked the other way because the job had to get done for anyone—including them—to get paid.
Most of the guys were x-cons. They had shaved heads and tattoos. The tattoos that made it obvious where they had been to anyone with an eye to see. It was absolutely the best job any con could get. When they all showed up at starting time they were loaded into a bus at the gate and the buss drove back to the stacks. They called the buss the “Grey Bird”, same as they do in jail. They had a ruff sense of humor, much like that in jail, and they cliqued up the same as they would in jail. The cliques followed roughly racial lines. There was some mixing, but not too much. Guys always jostled for position in the little hierarchies that were constantly being erected and challenged. Like in Jail one was either a shark or a fish. Also like jail there was a constant threat of violence. Fights often broke out but were quickly stopped. Confrontation was usually over petty grievances, and tended to be settled just as quick.
Adam considered it all slave mentality. He didn’t much talk to any of the guys. He kept to him-self. He had a plan. The plan was to make enough money to pay for a few semesters of school and quit as soon as he could. Most of the guys left him alone. He seemed to them not very sociable, or scared, or both. He was no threat and stayed out of the little rivalries so he was not given much mind one way or the other. When he did talk to the other workers he bitched about working conditions. Sometimes they seemed responsive, sometimes they just replied that they were glad to have a job, and to not let the foreman hear them talking that uppity shit.
One night the crew leader, tried to get under his skin. He kept sending him to get Benntol Karitine. BK was a solvent that the men used to melt the adhesive that was left on the pipe when the insulation was stripped off. It was one of the nastiest jobs, and the most dangerous because it involved a lot of climbing up and down the stacks. There was a large tank of the stuff on the ground near the stack. Adam would have to climb down with a five gallon bucket, fill it up by siphoning the BK from the tank, and tie the bucket to a line that was brought up to the top. If the bucket got hung up it was his job to un-lodge it.
At the bottom a guy was standing watching Adam climb down.
Why you let him do you like that AD, tell him to send someone else.
Adam took off his helmet and wiped his fore head on his sleeve. Fuck em, I’m gonna quit at the end of the week anyhow, I made enough to go back to school. This job is easy because every time I come down I rest. They don’t say much if I take my time.
AD listen, it’s all about respect you got to let guys know they can’t fuck with you like that. You shouldn’t have to come down every time. Its considered bitch work, you should be patin by now. Yous a painter by trade ant you.
Respect? Adam looked at him with amusement. I get paid the same weather I’m haulin BK or paintin. I don’t care what that chicken shit crew leader thinks of me. He gets paid as much as we do, they choose another one each night. They do that to make some guys think they are better than the rest. But truth is they ant no better than dog shit, just like the rest of us is treated like dog shit. l If you guys were smarter you’d demand to lay out while its ranin. Nobody should have to work in the damn pouring rain, but instead your too busy knocking dicks like you was in jail. Ya’ll should get it together and stop givein each other such a hard time. You should learn how to give the bosses a hard time instead.
I’m gonna be a boss sometime soon. That’s why you gotta get the good jobs not the shit jobs. It shows you can move up, take on more responsibility. One day i'll be manegemnt.
Adam laughed. It’s all the same. All jobs are the same out here if you are working in the stacks. You get paid the same and the conditions are the same and the hours are the same and the risks are the same. IF your not sittin your fat ass in the office then your out here with the rest of us dogs, and if your out here its all the same.
Adam tied off the bucket and started back up the stack. Half way up he got tangled up in his line. He could barely move enough to un-hook him-self. It was hard to see. The easiest thing to do was just un-hook, free himself from the tangle of lanyard, and tie off again. It was hard to move but much easier not being tied up to a scaffold. He went to unhook himself. Just as he did his foot slipped.
There was a large open spot just behind him. He fell into the hole backwards. His hard hat came off as he fell and he hit his head on a pipe. The lanyard lines trailed up as he fell like impotent wings.
The guy below watched blankly as he fell.
His broken body stretched across a gauge near the bottom of the stack, head dripping blood. The blood fell on the pipes, dripped slowly down and puddled on the concrete.
The lights smoked as the rain pelted them. The blood was absorbed into the concrete, or washed away by the rain.
It had been raining for five days but the work went on, continually. Day and night. Two shifts 12 hours each. It was called a “shut down”. That’s when a big petroleum processing plant shuts down completely for maintenance. The longer the plant is off- line the more money is lost. Hundreds of thousands of dollars a day. So the bosses push to get it done. Everybody works 7 days a week, 12 hours a day.
A petroleum plant is a mass of gauges, pipes, heaters, coolers, valves, and dials. A knot of metal twisting stories high, called stacks. In the rain the “stacks” were surrounded by giant sheets of plastic, hung from wires and tied off to the scaffolding that surrounded the stacks. The wind was so high the rain still blew in. The sheets caught the wind like sails, and ripped. They popped and whistled. Everything in the stack was dripping wet. Guys had to climb up the “racks” or scaffolding--into the great tangle of pipes to do the work. In the rain and dark this was a terrible work. They were often nearly soaked before they even got to the place in the pipes they had to work. Lights shined harsh florescent light from the ground on the outside, but in the middle it didn’t help. Inside the stack small lights were hung at various points, but it was still too dark. Shadows hid everything because everything was a tangle of pipe. It was squirming through the entrails of a robot monster.
The guys wore harnesses and lanyards. They hooked their lanyards to the racks and climbed up. They called it “tying off”. But it was hard maneuvering through the tangle, even without lines to get hooked on gauges and tied up in. So guys often “flew” up. They climbed without tying off because it was quicker and easier. There were safety guys who were supposed to watch everything, but they often looked the other way because the job had to get done for anyone—including them—to get paid.
Most of the guys were x-cons. They had shaved heads and tattoos. The tattoos that made it obvious where they had been to anyone with an eye to see. It was absolutely the best job any con could get. When they all showed up at starting time they were loaded into a bus at the gate and the buss drove back to the stacks. They called the buss the “Grey Bird”, same as they do in jail. They had a ruff sense of humor, much like that in jail, and they cliqued up the same as they would in jail. The cliques followed roughly racial lines. There was some mixing, but not too much. Guys always jostled for position in the little hierarchies that were constantly being erected and challenged. Like in Jail one was either a shark or a fish. Also like jail there was a constant threat of violence. Fights often broke out but were quickly stopped. Confrontation was usually over petty grievances, and tended to be settled just as quick.
Adam considered it all slave mentality. He didn’t much talk to any of the guys. He kept to him-self. He had a plan. The plan was to make enough money to pay for a few semesters of school and quit as soon as he could. Most of the guys left him alone. He seemed to them not very sociable, or scared, or both. He was no threat and stayed out of the little rivalries so he was not given much mind one way or the other. When he did talk to the other workers he bitched about working conditions. Sometimes they seemed responsive, sometimes they just replied that they were glad to have a job, and to not let the foreman hear them talking that uppity shit.
One night the crew leader, tried to get under his skin. He kept sending him to get Benntol Karitine. BK was a solvent that the men used to melt the adhesive that was left on the pipe when the insulation was stripped off. It was one of the nastiest jobs, and the most dangerous because it involved a lot of climbing up and down the stacks. There was a large tank of the stuff on the ground near the stack. Adam would have to climb down with a five gallon bucket, fill it up by siphoning the BK from the tank, and tie the bucket to a line that was brought up to the top. If the bucket got hung up it was his job to un-lodge it.
At the bottom a guy was standing watching Adam climb down.
Why you let him do you like that AD, tell him to send someone else.
Adam took off his helmet and wiped his fore head on his sleeve. Fuck em, I’m gonna quit at the end of the week anyhow, I made enough to go back to school. This job is easy because every time I come down I rest. They don’t say much if I take my time.
AD listen, it’s all about respect you got to let guys know they can’t fuck with you like that. You shouldn’t have to come down every time. Its considered bitch work, you should be patin by now. Yous a painter by trade ant you.
Respect? Adam looked at him with amusement. I get paid the same weather I’m haulin BK or paintin. I don’t care what that chicken shit crew leader thinks of me. He gets paid as much as we do, they choose another one each night. They do that to make some guys think they are better than the rest. But truth is they ant no better than dog shit, just like the rest of us is treated like dog shit. l If you guys were smarter you’d demand to lay out while its ranin. Nobody should have to work in the damn pouring rain, but instead your too busy knocking dicks like you was in jail. Ya’ll should get it together and stop givein each other such a hard time. You should learn how to give the bosses a hard time instead.
I’m gonna be a boss sometime soon. That’s why you gotta get the good jobs not the shit jobs. It shows you can move up, take on more responsibility. One day i'll be manegemnt.
Adam laughed. It’s all the same. All jobs are the same out here if you are working in the stacks. You get paid the same and the conditions are the same and the hours are the same and the risks are the same. IF your not sittin your fat ass in the office then your out here with the rest of us dogs, and if your out here its all the same.
Adam tied off the bucket and started back up the stack. Half way up he got tangled up in his line. He could barely move enough to un-hook him-self. It was hard to see. The easiest thing to do was just un-hook, free himself from the tangle of lanyard, and tie off again. It was hard to move but much easier not being tied up to a scaffold. He went to unhook himself. Just as he did his foot slipped.
There was a large open spot just behind him. He fell into the hole backwards. His hard hat came off as he fell and he hit his head on a pipe. The lanyard lines trailed up as he fell like impotent wings.
The guy below watched blankly as he fell.
His broken body stretched across a gauge near the bottom of the stack, head dripping blood. The blood fell on the pipes, dripped slowly down and puddled on the concrete.
The lights smoked as the rain pelted them. The blood was absorbed into the concrete, or washed away by the rain.
Monday, October 4, 2010
fir dan decon
For Dan the con
Towers towards what end like
Moths think up!
Street-light moon sonatas
Little fuzzy bug stanzas like cups up
Whole opened like sewers belching filth lift lit
lard the lurd been good
Cheep thirst after Christ
but
That day
the sky cracked open with a terrible roar
a slit behind the clouds!
Roses beyond the stars opened for her
and Mary was assumed
a virgin
too pure for death
Towers towards what end like
Moths think up!
Street-light moon sonatas
Little fuzzy bug stanzas like cups up
Whole opened like sewers belching filth lift lit
lard the lurd been good
Cheep thirst after Christ
but
That day
the sky cracked open with a terrible roar
a slit behind the clouds!
Roses beyond the stars opened for her
and Mary was assumed
a virgin
too pure for death
The small café in the Barns and Noble was filled with people, but that didn’t matter to the old man. He sat with his wife and granddaughter. Since the couple belonged to the Church of the Apostolic Christ his wife wore a long skirt that looked to be cut out of a bed sheet. She had long thick white hair which was tied up in a bun on top of her head. The little ankle that showed was sheathed in very thick skin toned stockings. She was reading “God’s Plan For the Nation”.
Her granddaughter, 12, sat next to her. She was looking over a Goosebumps volume. She wore blue jeans and a tee-shirt tucked in. It read “Hot Hearts Bible Camp”.
The old man sat in between his granddaughter and his wife. No one talked. He wore jeans and a polo style shirt tucked in. His belly hung bloated and obscene over his belt. The shirt was streaked to capacity. His bulbous breasts hung down similar to a woman’s. His navel was a crater. He sat reading Pent House letters. Every so often he would look up and his eyes would follow a young girl walk by. After some time it became apparent that he had grown an erection. It looked like a stuffed slug hidden in his crotch. He would shift his position to better accommodate it. His breathing became heavy and none among his clan talked
When someone complained the barista finally came up to him and asked him to please leave. He got up laboriously, grunting, and walked toward the bathroom. The two other kept reading as if nothing had happened, never looked up.
Her granddaughter, 12, sat next to her. She was looking over a Goosebumps volume. She wore blue jeans and a tee-shirt tucked in. It read “Hot Hearts Bible Camp”.
The old man sat in between his granddaughter and his wife. No one talked. He wore jeans and a polo style shirt tucked in. His belly hung bloated and obscene over his belt. The shirt was streaked to capacity. His bulbous breasts hung down similar to a woman’s. His navel was a crater. He sat reading Pent House letters. Every so often he would look up and his eyes would follow a young girl walk by. After some time it became apparent that he had grown an erection. It looked like a stuffed slug hidden in his crotch. He would shift his position to better accommodate it. His breathing became heavy and none among his clan talked
When someone complained the barista finally came up to him and asked him to please leave. He got up laboriously, grunting, and walked toward the bathroom. The two other kept reading as if nothing had happened, never looked up.
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