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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/03/2016 :  17:43:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Mist-kissed nights in the wheelhouse. Abalone light in the galley charting ornamental stars. Salt-scoured sea-bright mornings. Waves effervescent spray. Zing on the line. Fish shining.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/03/2016 :  20:30:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Talisman fountains spilling behind verdigris gates. Neptune and Poseidon. Venus afloat on her shell. The glitter boulevards temptations below. His sound in the house with tile floors and blue shutters. His waking and sleeping. His voice in those high hills in the shadow of The Sign and The Cross.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/10/2016 :  18:30:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They lived in the perpetual present. That's not to say they didn't save memories of the future and the past. But the shape of his hand on the hourglass turned their days. Sweet sun-flooded bungalows off India. Jets skimming construction cranes perilously perched on high rise rooftops. They watched the neighborhood surrender to valet parking at the corner market. Fairy-lit forests popping up at the curbs. Casa replaced with Chez. "...and tomorrow..." he said, "...there'll be doormen and doves in the lobby." His prescient vision. His accurate...days gone by.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 12/16/2016 :  12:11:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Writing the story of Mickey Newbury was exhilarating… eye-opening, soul-stirring and illuminating. In a word, CRYSTAL. But on some shadowy evenings, when I sailed too far out to sea, the exploration turned hard… dark, rocky and petrifying. In a word, STONE.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 12/20/2016 :  10:30:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
-for Joe Z.

...and then a flash from the lighthouse window...

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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/20/2016 :  10:39:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A maritime warehouse and salvage yard. Rigging blocks and porthole mirrors. Weather stations and vision-full spyglasses. Shipwrecks and disaster. Chronicle of days gone by. They wear gloves to sort through this treasure. Haul it out in the salt-heavy harborside sun. A pair of nautical lanterns. Brass lamps for a kitchen window.

Edited by - Ailinn on 04/09/2019 18:02:32
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/20/2016 :  10:46:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Holy coastlines and mystical seas. Water not on any nautical chart. Benign neighbors and year-long fruit on low branches. He settles into the old rocker. Adjusts the logs on the grate. Sips his tea or brandy. Glow over the stove where the kettle stays warm and the clock chimes only the odd hours. They're deep in the warp and weave of it. Caught in the undertow. Smoke floats across bluff tops from Christmas tree-lit campgrounds. Embers adrift in December's sky.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/29/2016 :  22:01:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Amargosa ghosts. Scoured landscape. Eerily silent but for sand whispering over gravel. The green bottle house and haunting white Last Supper spirits. No people in the present. Past lives hidden under the low Milky Way. A short step into the stars. He wrote their names on the Rhyolite Station. Fractured mirage on a dusty windshield. Death Valley heat asleep in the car.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/04/2017 :  18:41:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Parking lot on the corner of PCH. Planes taxiing in before making the U onto the runway at the edge of the continent. Thunder in the ground when the big jets spool up. DC-10's so heavy and slooowww... They spend the afternoon standing on the tailgate waving and going deaf.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/04/2017 :  18:44:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He reaches for her hand in the twilit park. Arcane time of evening. Her eyes blink open. The ground shifts a little under her feet. The Carousel horses shiver and stamp. The first sparse stars appear. "Watch your step now..." he says when the calliope music whistles and the platform starts to move.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/08/2017 :  18:00:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They had arches and alcoves in a handmade house. A surfeit of sun-spangled windows. Sparks along the adobe wall where they slept in a nautilus shell dream. Beyond the Border their other lives were happening out in the street. "Don't let it get in the way," he said.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/11/2017 :  15:37:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In thrall. The stalled mornings. Creases of angels wings folding the sheets into tight corners. No frailty shot through the nights. The storyteller's life coalescing before a woodland fire. Green trees. Dim light in a faraway window that may be home.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/11/2017 :  15:41:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Smog in the valley. Saffron sky. Sepia colored evening. The road rolling on through dangerous foothills where the mountains ground down to sand. She reached out and touched his cheek. He leaned into her palm and the last scrap of sunlight looping over his profile.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/18/2017 :  17:16:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They realize how shocking it is. How it stuns you. Knocks you down hard on the floor. That long train ride. The streaming moon crossing America. The tunnel of rain and fatal swerve at Dead Man's Curve. The seasons of two sets of footprints. Traffic magic. Rushing headlong into twilight's high beams.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/18/2017 :  17:25:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I grew up listening to the litany of Sweepstakes and Revolution. Men in lightly starched shirts drinking whiskey and occasionally breaking into song. I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen was an anthem. White linen tablecloths. A riot of flowers. Ice cubes clinking in a glass. Women in gauzy dresses that floated shelter around them. When that chapter ended I knew how to check into a hotel. "Don't stop talking," he says. Some common miracle flickering just outside the frame. A move back in time in citron light. Scheherazade or a seanchai tale alive for one more night.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/23/2017 :  18:27:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Another wedding with birds and fresh flowers. Folding chairs trekked through the deergrass across the bluff top. "A trucked-in affair this mornin'," he says contentedly peering out through the kitchen window. The idyllic view. The sun spilling out of the sky. The calm clouds and white capped water. The guitars and plastic cups for champagne. The two white doves, Bill and Coo, in a gilded cage shivering beside the bride's mother. Just enough time for the guests to be seated. Then a cloud of dust behind the Sheriff in his big SUV. AMERICA'S FINEST - TO PROTECT AND SERVE. The Minister tries to intervene but he's no match for the bellowing brothers. The Sheriff's grown tired of this weekend charade but the bachelor landowners keep shouting about taxes. So the vows are exchanged in the headlands parking lot to the delight of Holiday Tours.

"I been thinkin'..." he says staring out the window later that day. Knitted brows. A dangerous sign.

Edited by - Ailinn on 07/09/2017 19:54:43
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/28/2017 :  17:21:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He opens the blinds and dispatches the night. Gone in a blink with hot coffee. The ocean pulls under the pier. The sun wakes up in the kitchen. He sits down at the table with his newspaper and calendar to study the porosity of time. The revolving doors in deep-harbor cities. The allotment of breaths and heart-skipping beats in great and small moments. The memories that take years to distill. "...the days flow of color..." he says. She suspects he alters the flow when he can. Undoing the dark with his splash of distraction. Suddenly a riot of birds at the window. Waves of poppies ablaze on the hill. Their slender thread-like stems and eye-catching black-pepper faces. His paint-stained fingers. His allegiant art. His myriad layers of invention.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 01/31/2017 :  13:43:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Waves of poppies ablaze on the hill."

Beautiful.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 02/01/2017 :  20:33:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thank you, Joe. You are most kind. How about a story from those Bakersfield days and Maracaibo nights.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 02/04/2017 :  08:58:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We spilled out of the car like The Monkeys. Our manager and designated driver, Léon, had booked two gigs this night, five kilometers apart. We would play six songs at the Club Bella Vista, then run to our Ford station wagon with tambourine, guitars and drum sticks in hand. The sixties were a blur for Los Hippies, partly due to Léon’s driving.

He sped us to our second show, a young lady’s Quinceañera celebration, where another set of warm Fender amps awaited. Our lead guitarist, Carlitos, plugged in and attacked the opening riff to The Beatles rocker, “Roll Over Beethoven.” As we belted out, Gonna write a little letter / Gonna mail it to my local DJ, those joyful Maracuchos danced like their lives depended on it.
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