The Fleas are Biting

So you create a moral universe for yourself, right?
It's like a law or whatever, you have to draw that line in the sand.
I mean, you have society and all that, but you also have to have your own personal shit.
Like, you might steal bread if your mother was starving or whatever, but you wouldn't steal a...a...screwdriver. ( Just for the hell of it)
Or take drugs, or you know, whatever else.

But as you get older, do the boundaries just kinda shift? Kinda edge farther and farther away until you have to fucking run to keep up.  And nothing really makes sense anymore that did, it really did.

Christ!
 Then you're looking around, thinking, "Where am I?  Where the hell am I?"
And then maybe you...you know, go to a shrink or whatever.
Drink beer, blow your head off.
I don't know.
I mean, is it that bad though?  To not know where you stand?
I mean, when you think of it, how do we ever know, the sands are constantly shifting under our proverbial fucking feet or whatever.

That will be 8.50.

Oh, uh, okay.  Here.

Thanks, have a good day.

I mean, did you hear anything I just said?  Was I speaking out loud at all?

What's that sir?

Nothing.

Have a good day!

Yeah, same to you.

Ding


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One Short Ghost

I thought I saw her looking out of that window.

No, not the lower one, that one, up there.  Yeah.

It was a curtain tho, or something, I guess.  Not a person.

Well I don't know why I thought it was a person, it just looked like it for a second ok!
Yeah, it looked like her,  her looking out.
Can't you see it?

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die mutant screensaver

She had a hard time returning from sleepland.
She would feel herself lifted as if bourne by the wind, kissed, and rocked while Mama said;
"Are you on the boat yet? Are you on the boat? Are you coming home?"
(it was so delicious to remain cooking in the womb of warm blankets and familiar smells! Two places at once!)

There was no hurry.  The ferry's were usually late
 at the sleepland dock anyway.
To be curled in a ball.   To sense the slant
 of the light and the warmth of Mama.
  To put off returning home while resting at home.
For a little bit longer.






"It's time to come back from sleepland Clary, you need to get on the boat.  Say good bye to sleepland."
"No."
"Yes. Say,  'I'll see you tonite sleepland'."
"No."

And then she was back, fully home again, and stretching.  Strrrreetchhhing.  And there was grit in her eye, wierd stuff, and she rubbed it very hard in a very satisfactory kind of way.
"That's sleep.  They put it in your eyes when you're in sleepland.  Everybody there wears it."
"Why?"
"To stay asleep."

"Why?"
"Because otherwise you'd wake up, and you'd actually see sleepland."
"I want to see sleepland."
"Was the boat late?"
"Yes.  I waited and waited."
"Oh well. I'm glad you're back."
"Me too."

And the day would start and be like any other day.  And where was sleepland then. Was it hovering unseen? Resting in the back corner of her pillow?
The ferry waiting patiently to carry her across the water.
 And I wonder, where is it now?

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Oh, Is It Over?

So now Summer is almost over.
Did you play?
Did you sing?
Did you soak up the sun till your skin was filled to it's utmost layers? (It's an organ too, you know.)



The air even now, even in the hottest August sunlight, has a secret chill to it.
A desperation.
A last gasp.

Soon we'll put all our toys away and prepare the chickens for the winter.  Buy a winter coat.  Wear more layers.  Drag out the sweaters, the hats, the gloves.


Oh, and what about the garden? Did you plant your winter vegetables?

Maybe there's time for a few more trips to the beach!
But the sun is feeling different these days, and although the lake is warmer than ever, it doesn't feel as deliciously hot to lay out after you get wet.
The warmth is not as generous.


The days are getting shorter.

And the school buses have begun rumbling down my street.

It seemed like the end of Summer when I was little was such a tragic event.  A time of opportunities missed, Oh why couldn't it last forever?

Now it's end is just a transition, a time passing into another into another into another, until there finally are no more.

Another last gasp.

I think I'll go outside.


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At Home Again

This was the house we grew up in. 

Or it could have been.

I think it looked pretty similar.

My memory's a little foggy on the details like this.

It's hard to dig into a memory well that's full of water!

We always had such a nice, lively household. 

This is what it would look like if it took the form of a carnival.

Yes!

And this was our cat: I think he was having an off day when this picture was taken.

Remember the noose?

No, I sure don't.

And this! This was our spoon! And our chair!

She never wanted that thing brought inside did she?

We shouldn't have let her leave it out to rot in the rain.

And our leg - her leg  -  our leg.

When you told me to jump ship, I thought I still had a million years left to do it.  I didn't know we were sinking so fast.  Huh.  I guess you knew more than I did.

Home's never the same place twice.

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