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T O P I C    R E V I E W
buckman Posted - 09/24/2004 : 18:16:26
I sit in the dark in the back of the saloon...
What is between my table and the dusty
street is twenty feet that is
on the very edge of Hell...
The townspeople say they are sinners: the townspeople say they are evil...
The reality is that they are just Cowboys and
they are very much alive and much of the
rest of this town has already died... I talk to
the Lord and I Know what is Evil
and what is not,
which is why I hold services here and
not in a church....
These men make a decision
every time they put the whiskey to their
lips, every time they put the
tobacco to their mouths....
They make a decision between a
longer, duller life or the life
that they are choosing to live....
Yet I can see the desperation in
their eyes; I can see
that for every year that they age,
they remove themselves another year from their
childhood and their youthful dreams...
I can see that the only time
They will smell the
fragrance of a lady is
when they choose to pay for her...
I can see that they care not a
bit about Eternity, but only for today...
But, that is Just Alright
with me and the Lord


If everybody went to heaven they'd run out of room.... Rev Buckman


20   L A T E S T    R E P L I E S    (Newest First)
Ailinn Posted - 10/21/2020 : 16:57:21
-Valley of the Gods. "No guardrails."

-"Think about..." Blue midnight. People walking in the street with candles. "...what's in my other mind. Think out loud. I'm listenin'..." he laughs. Flash of gold she wants to touch with her finger.

-The stars come on. The fish stay low. The wind sings in the branches.

-Flickering balconies in Heaven. A little disturbance on the ground. Someone shaking the ladder.

-You more here than me now.
Ailinn Posted - 10/05/2020 : 17:17:34
The garden. Lush and urgent where they enter the dream. Summer-lit acts of the flowers. Little shrines. Epiphanies at their fingertips. All the minor gods singing. Wise with love and humor. No interrupted lifelines. No bullet holes in the saguaro.
Ailinn Posted - 10/05/2020 : 17:12:49
Dreams in the Rhyolite Station. "First winter croup kettle smell," she says. "Alone in my paper boat I lay very still so it won't tip over. I look up and not into the water. The sky is black with star-hole fires. I'm afraid. I may be crying. I see the silver teeth of the ocean. Feel its rocking spell. This dream lasts for several nights. Nothing else happens. The first thing I steal is the money. I'm not planning. I'm just walking away." He leans in... His irresistible mind... His cryptic conversation... "Do you remember the names of your pets or toys...?" he says. Surprised, she says, "Do you?" "Every one..." he says, "...every one."
Ailinn Posted - 09/29/2020 : 07:29:27
...and a ruby at the top o' the mast.
Ailinn Posted - 09/27/2020 : 17:01:42
Blue morning glories. Hollyhock. Dusty butterflies. Heavy grass shiny with dew. An island on an island. Father in his cap and Dublin plus fours. Mother with her gingko-shape fan. Seven verdigris leprechauns in the driveway fountain. Pots of gold over their heads. Spell-binding shadows leaping with life. June 1st the tourists arrive. Endless luggage. All unrecognizable now. Lawns with white gravel paths to the sea wall. Revolving black granite bar. The leprechauns gone to auction. "Do you miss it...?" he asks. "Did you ever have one of those View Master things...? Almost real, but the colors brighter... Cast in the role of the day," she laughs, "I'll be the dreamer. You be the dream."
Ailinn Posted - 09/25/2020 : 16:20:53
Midnight in the tunnels. Banks of pay phones steamy windows. Hello and goodbye. Jittery Terminal time. Restless trains. Surprise Exits. (Quixote in the stacks. Lorca lingering with the gypsies. The knights acquiescent in daylight. Their all-seeing eyes and heavily armored hearts.) Snow starting to show on the sidewalk. A black and white photograph. The paper crisp and distant. Curling edges.
Ailinn Posted - 09/19/2020 : 17:25:28
On the second day he's stippling the ground in patches. Paint smears on his raveled shirt. "Shadow shadows..." he says. "What's happening under the trees." It's Summer. Long days. Warm oranges. La Migra in the eucalyptus groves. Blown-silk skies leaning over the valley. Runnels of gold in the sand.
Ailinn Posted - 09/19/2020 : 17:20:22
"I worked in the kitchen. Sprinkled water on stale bread. Trays and trays of it into warm ovens. Comes out just like fresh," she says. "Later, cash at the window. No work permit. No social. Kodak even let me keep the clothes. I ordered room service. Two kinds of toast. Chilled butter. A silver basket with berry jam." He's laughing, shaking his head. Opening and closing his eyes unaware of his power. "Hot as hell nights. Fightin' streets," he says. "High towers an' overpasses. Freeways. Tracks at both ends. Too many unanswered questions..."
Ailinn Posted - 08/28/2020 : 16:40:37
Pistol on the table. "Gunshots?" she says. "It happens," he says. He draws the shades and locks the door.
Ailinn Posted - 08/28/2020 : 16:38:25
Fifty miles on is the town. Liquor on four corners. One hundred brands of tequila. Bilingual parrots. "...just a stop along the way."
Ailinn Posted - 08/28/2020 : 16:32:41
Weeks later. A long dirt road. Pastel-colored house. Bright-cushion chair on the porch. Hand-crafted stone wall studded with glass. Unruly bougainvillea. A man in a fringed leather vest leans on a hoe. The woman beside him shades her eyes.
Ailinn Posted - 08/28/2020 : 16:28:26
The puddled parking lot. Turn of fate. Looking back. Who takes the first step? Éist! Not a word. His hand on her shoulder walking back to the car. Sudden fusillade of stars. Two ships in the harbor floating bounty.
Ailinn Posted - 08/26/2020 : 19:16:09
...and... "Red is a bigger color."
Ailinn Posted - 08/26/2020 : 19:14:01
Ricochet vision. Fortress of fog. Drift fence whipping along the channel. Lightning spiking the clouds. Red flag. Small craft warning. "I put it away for you..." he says. Their story. The asterisk in the telling. "No blank pages," he says.
Ailinn Posted - 08/26/2020 : 19:08:47
Moon a slow fade in the park at the top of Laurel. Down the steep hill sails glint on the bay. Loud tables off India with the old tuna men's tales. His heart alive in a city he's grown used to.
Ailinn Posted - 08/26/2020 : 19:06:03
Wayside shrines. Crayola colors. Scant grass and dusty crossroads. Granite mountains mineral light. Big red Coca-Cola rushing by. Sun in his hair. Warm grapes in her hand. Edge of the vineyard.
Ailinn Posted - 08/26/2020 : 19:01:44
Fortress-built door. Arched alcoves and mosaic tile floor. Crucifix in a niche in the wall. The bullfighter's widow in white above Ensenada Harbor. Santiago with wine from the Valle.
buckman Posted - 08/26/2020 : 07:48:24
They stopped at the river.
She knew it was where I hid the moon...

The horse skittered, she danced,
Oh, how Carmelita loved when a horse danced.
And
She loved when she found one of my secret places.

So many places still to find,,,,
She has yet to find where I hid the sun...



Ailinn Posted - 08/16/2020 : 16:25:34
These pictures:

-Sun ticking down. Cliff leaning over an ocean. Three flat sandy miles to Moonlight.

-The step-up room with two easels. Hallowed light leaping the walls.

-Keys in a jar on the counter. The glass too hot to touch.

-"Blue earth. ...for the most part. Just imagine..." he says. Many thresholds. His stop-your-heart point of view.

-First light. New birds alive in the trees. Yard still full of stars when he opens his eyes and the room slowly floats into focus. His heart awake in two worlds.

-Time-stalled panorama of dreams. The Valley's revolving warm door. Vineyards and flagrant flowers. There's a washing machine but no dryer. Sack of clothespins hung on the pole. Seventeen steps to the courtyard fountain where she's fading in pieces.

-"Alright then..." he says. An edict. His mouth full of smoke. Her blood moving too fast.

-"Somethin' to keep in your mind," he says. "This...this..." he pauses. "This what...?" she says.

-The world tilts a little. A crease in the Universe. "You... You..." she says. "Never did. Never did," he says laughing.
buckman Posted - 08/10/2020 : 07:19:39

I sit in the dark in the back of the saloon...

What is between my table and the dusty
street is twenty feet that is
on the very edge of Hell.

The townspeople say they are sinners;
the townspeople say they are evil.
The reality is that they are just Cowboys and
they are very much alive and much of the
rest of this town has already died.

I talk to the Lord and I Know what is Evil
and what is not,
which is why I hold services here and
not in a church.

These men make a decision
every time they put the whiskey to their
lips, every time they put the
tobacco to their mouths.
They make a decision between a
longer, duller life or the life
that they are choosing to live.

Yet I can see the desperation in
their eyes; I can see
that for every year that they age,
they remove themselves another year from their
childhood and their youthful dreams.
I can see that the only time
They will smell the
fragrance of a lady is
when they choose to pay for her.

I can see that they care not a
bit about Eternity, but only for today...

But, that is Just Alright
with me and the Lord;

If everybody went to heaven
they'd run out of room.




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