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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 04/21/2020 :  11:23:15  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We sat on the back porch drinking coffee waiting for the twilight and the grass to grow thru the dust. She whispered, a sound like a butterfly sighing, and asked what I was thinking about.
Now, Darlin, only now, I said.



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/24/2020 :  14:58:08  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Long days. Trance afternoons. All that ale-color mica-flecked air. The summer glows on. His breath on the mirror. His raised eyebrow and lit cigarette. His art that leaves smoke on the walls. He turns and quietly closes the door. "...painted it to slow it down..." he says, " ...to see what it was."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/24/2020 :  15:05:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Clouds float in puddles on the beach road. Wet prints down the centerline. The storm moves in closer. Crosses the Bay. El Nino's renegade water. Four corners leaking. Lightning streaking the sky. Tarp and sandbags. Broken horizon. At 5pm the cliff slides and snaps the track like curling ribbon. Soon they're counting candles. "I'm tellin' you now," he says, his palm flat down slicing the air. The ocean's dark prophesy leaning in. "What we need... What we need..." he pauses. "Well that's how it starts," he says laughing.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/24/2020 :  15:08:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Jus' tell the story," he says. "Don't explain it."

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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 05/04/2020 :  09:07:09  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I was picked up hitchhiking by Mr Krause, the father of Allison, one of the dead girls, a year after the killings at Kent State. It was an incredible conversation about his growing radicalism. He was on his way to Washington to testify. I was going to demonstrate. It was an interesting ride.


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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2020 :  16:58:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Fervent prayers. The ocean's wet ear. Gull-crowded sky. Sun-shined flowers. "Heaven over our heads," he says. A day on the other side of the glass. A day the trees wear tiaras. Gold locket watch in his pocket. Pistol snug in his boot down India to the PCH. Ships rocking in the Harbor. Sun setting.

Edited by - Ailinn on 08/16/2020 16:32:40
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 05/08/2020 :  09:54:15  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
“Beware lest you lose the substance
by grasping the shadow.”
-Aesop


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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/08/2020 :  16:29:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Double features. Warner Pathe news. Red Ryder. The Perils of Pauline. Ghosts in the balcony..." he says, "...plush ruby seats. Eyes wide on the screen. Free popcorn."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/16/2020 :  18:25:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Days gone by...

Cold on a long night in late Spring. Small fires against the foothills. Random shots in the dark. NO TRESPASSING signs. He traces his brow with Braille fingertips. Places the lodge there. Swings onto an unmarked dirt road in the middle of Indian country. His sense of direction uncanny. The wedding celebration starts at sunrise and lasts two days. Med is the tribal chairman's granddaughter. Heart of the reservation. Marrying within the tribe. Though Lucas, her betrothed wears a suit and silk tie and works in a high rise in the city. Roasted squash. Fry bread. Beef and deer meat. Buttery chili corn and smoked abalone. Shaken-jar ice cream with honey. Sunsets in layers. All purple and flame.

Later they make a house in Sage near Lake Skinner. We come for reunion. For love. Fish the weekend away in a place that shines.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/01/2020 :  20:56:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Did you like it there?" he asks. "Close your eyes and tell me what you see." "Episodic," she says. "Little rooms I pass through. My father happy when friends fly in for golf. Raucous laughter. Sweepstakes and Revolution. My mother floating in and out of the frame. Waiting for her face to appear. Scarlet Fever's dark room. Bandage over my eyes. She came and read to me. Thin cotton nightgowns she insisted they change every few hours. Do children still get Scarlet Fever?"
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/01/2020 :  21:01:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...secret place. I'll take you there," she says. "Low fold in the meadow. Lilly of the valley. White and purple violets big as silver dollars. Clear water running over smooth stones. The bank sloped enough to lie quiet watching the sky slide by." "Did you go there alone?" he asks.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/06/2020 :  18:44:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...hot in a kitchen full of steam where the cooks are busy. Lobsters in tanks and on drain boards. Amber liquid cooling in jars. Magic, the cooks say. For chowder or bisque. I sit at a long stainless table. An oversize apron under my chin. Picking seeds out of plump sticky raisins. My fingers are small and quick. My father is smiling. Five shining dimes in his pocket for me. My mother is out on the green lawn by the blue hydrangeas. Her long hair a dark scarf on the wind.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/06/2020 :  18:56:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There could be shadow galaxies, shadow stars, and even shadow people.

-Stephen Hawking
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/10/2020 :  16:40:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Laurel to India. Past the tattoo shops up to the Park. Sunlight flashing off airborne windshields at Union and State. He drives with his shirt sleeves rolled up. (The archive of information there.) "You don't know what's not until it's not," he says in the coffee shop. "Does that sound right to you?" Water leaps in the fountains off El Prado. Technicolor frieze on patio screens. She stirs sugar in a demitasse cup. He says he doesn't believe in accident or coincidence. "...You like it here, honey?" he says. His face open. His mind insistent and quick. She draws maps of the towns and directions on the napkins. He puts them in his pocket.

Edited by - Ailinn on 08/16/2020 16:42:51
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 06/16/2020 :  19:05:24  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

This is the wallpaper in the tenement in Cleveland in 1954
This is an October Sunday at Yankee Stadium in 1976 with my son and wife
This is everything you wished I was and everything I wished I wasn't
This is too hot to handle and too much to bare
This is all I held back that you needed
This is the love of a lifetime passing in the street
This is the letters I meant to write
This is all the I'm sorrys we never get to say
This is an aching deep inside from need
This is vanilla spice candles and the smell of cinnamon

This is tangible evidence of insanity
This is dancing crazy alone without being drunk
This is the poets trying to keep from drowning
This is the soldier who wonders why
This is seeing God in a woman's eyes and looking for it again forever
This is losing everything and starting over
This is playing music and hearing the crowd applauding
This is what it's come down to

This is perfect sex
This is postcoital postpartum postnasal depression
This is off the beaten path without a paddle
This is the side of the road with no destination
This is vanilla chocolate And strawberry
This is going to the grocery store hungry
This is running with the scissors just because you can
This is tipping your cap to Don Quixote
This is waiting for the Rapture in a black suit

This is a hundred thousand voices singing I can't get no satisfaction
This is blue eyes and brown eyes and redheads and blonds
This is the one who leaves you wanting and
The one you want to leave
This is an adult dose of the grownup's medicine
This is the beginning of the end of the beginning
This is re-creation, revelation, pain and frustration,
This is forgiveness and redemption
This is salvation, edification, sanctification....
Healing...

This is most of what you needed and a little of what you wanted
This is all you thought it would be
This is exactly as it should be
This is what you made it...

Yeah,
That's what This is...



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/28/2020 :  20:25:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The town coming back after miles of bluebonnets. The lush earth greening up like cresses where a morning mist settles on the village square. Four-corner clock tower. Bandstand gazebo. Knee braces and corbels and spindle rails. Gingham curtains in the gas station window. How could they ever leave.

Edited by - Ailinn on 07/25/2020 18:15:18
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/02/2020 :  17:37:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Outside the store they face their reflection in the wide window. It trembles in its frame when a truck rumbles over the cobbles. Some curbside dust flies up. Refraction at their ankles. They stand still for a lifetime. "...alright," he says.

Edited by - Ailinn on 07/25/2020 18:17:24
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/02/2020 :  17:42:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hardware store. Narrow-board hardwood floor and ceiling. Barrels of nails. Bins with bolts and screws and washers. A corral of bygone tools. A curious corner with garden seeds and jigsaw puzzles. They bring home one called Maid of the Mist and another called Magnolia. Pink trees down a vanishing dirt road. A thousand pieces on the table.

Edited by - Ailinn on 07/25/2020 18:18:33
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/09/2020 :  15:46:30  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
-The door bell rang early. Before 8am. "Mornin'," he says, "Let's go get some breakfast."

-Tipped back in his gravity-defying chair, "...you blushed," he says. "An' when we sat in the booth you put your bag between us."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/09/2020 :  15:54:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...my bag... Too heavy to carry alone. I leave it at the Station. I don't know if it's against the law so I walk away quickly. On the train I try to remember what was in it. "Milk or juice?" Sister Catherine asks the first morning at breakfast. "Coffee, please," I say. She sets a carton of milk on my tray. Smiles when I say thank you. Later in the hotel I call down to the desk. Coffee arrives in a tall silver pot. Three hot cupsful. Toast too sometimes. Fat pats of butter on a chilled seashell plate. He shakes his head slowly. He doesn't blink. "Keep talkin'..." he says. "What happened to the Pinkerton man...?" she says. (All those sand bags and bottled water in the garage.) "Well, now..." he grins, "I heard he went back to Barstow."
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