Propane

Conversation with a random person outside of a Harris Teeter waiting for a gas grill refill.

Spiderman 1. Spiderman 2. The Matrix. Stories about a man’s life. Movies and music. Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller. The Commodore’s ‘Brickhouse’. Songs about a man’s life. You think he gets compensated? You think that’s fair? Makin’ money off a man’s life? You’re taking a shower with your girlfriend. You’re naked in the shower. People filming you. Private life. Everybody watching it. You think that’s right?

“absolutely not.”

My ex wife’s a lawyer. You see that movie Hitchcock with Will Smith? Man sitting on a toilet in the bathroom. People filming him. That’s invasion of privacy. Spiderman 1. Spiderman 2. The Matrix. Stories about a man’s life. Other people making money. It ain’t right is it?

“No sir it’s not.”

Spiderman 1. Spiderman 2. That Matrix. Hah. Ain’t right.

“You have a good evening.”

Picks

Catatonia – Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised

Bell X1 – The Great Defector

The Airborne Toxic Event – Sometime Around Midnight

Yeah Yeah Yeah’s – Zero

Coldplay – Glass of Water

Royksopp – What Else Is There

I Am Kloot – Proof

Me Without You – Timothy Hay

Kids – MGMT

Sit Down By the Fire – The Veils

Bluejay – Bif Naked

Cage the Elephant – In One Ear

Sing

I’ve been singing too much lately to write. The poetry and words have been building up. The dam will break and flood this blog again soon.

PhD

I sat there in my ponytail and supergirl glasses watching my sister from a folded metal chair. Mirrors all around so I stared at the floor.

She glared at me then smiled at the new instruction from the wrinkled dancer. Two years of coaxing from her. And i relented. But just before the door opened I said I missed him.

Did I mention his name for no reason?

I was only three at the time. Maybe it was the hardwood floors.

My sister looks like a swan. My thighs bulge a little from the tights. But her boobs are too big. Surely the seasoned dancer will notice my flat chest. Enhancing my clean lines.

Maybe then I will glide onto the floor. And the mirrors will love me. But the glass on my face reflects louder than words. And my hands still hurt as she smacked the bag out of my hand for saying such things.

So I clutch them into a tightly balled fist.

Aaron McKinley said you could kick a girl in the crotch and would hurt as bad as if they had balls. I knew my eyes were puffy. But I had turned to the side anyway, enhancing my lines.

Left leg pushed forward slightly – the other tucked in. I had watched all the current dance films.

This was the cleanest line.

But the prune in the leotard kept gently guiding my sister as i removed ballet shoes and slipped into my Doc Martens.

Jean

She always climbed to the top before her father. Before the war. And when she was little he would stand at the narrow stairwell and call her back down in the double-decker bus heading from Oxford Street.

Dentist visits were no fun and when she came out puffy eyed and clutching her gloves, he knew it hadn’t gone well.

He would forgo the, “what’s the matter goose?” and only hold her hand and clasp it to his chest and wait for the arrival of the bus.

It was a twenty minute drive to the East End and when they arrived the eyes were clear. The hand again clasped to the chest and he could feel her pulse quicken through the thin wrist as the American leaned in the doorframe of the flat. Grandfather with his old world muscular stance and towel thrown over the shoulder refusing his entrance. And the hand slid out without the exiting kiss and they were gone to the dusk.

Lamplighters were approaching. Lovers clutching on the top of the double-decker bus. A father lights his pipe in the garden. A grandfather polishes a glass through the window of his son’s slowly breaking heart.

And the air raid siren screams. Planes sputter overhead. Schrapnel rains on tin roofs. Dishes can wait for another sunrise.

Royksopp

I’ve been listening alot lately to them and their new album ‘Junior’. But I ran into this video from a song off of a previous album and it felt like something i had dreamed before. Various elements edited from my head.

It’s been haunting me the past few weeks.

Royksopp – What Else Is There

(having embed issues – gave up and posted link)

Woody

Woody and the Barracuda, 1969

I was lost in a hardware store when i was young. and i was only one aisle over. but the lights were too bright and the shelves taller. and i cried out for my dad.

every workday morning i would awaken to the front door shutting. a key jingle. door shut. the barracuda starting. a few warm-up revs and the loud sound of that engine until it went quiet at the end of the street, pause, and then even louder as it turned down Princess Anne Road and faded into the morning. my father was my alarm clock and i awoke to him.

saturday mornings were quieter and i was first up. cartoons in the living room until he came down to make breakfast and watch This Old House. the home filled with the smell of sausage and inquisitive voice of Bob Villa.

we would head out after in the Barracuda. the bench seat in the back would be set down creating a flat surface and i would lay on my back and stare at the sky through the fastback glass. he would turn and i would slide. i would feel that engine move. vibrate. pauses between shifts. i would place my hands against the sides to brace for when he really let her open.

we would buy paint. we would get gas. visit my grandmother. buy BBQ. look for parts. and between stops I would fly over the roads, face to the sky.

there was no one like my father. there was nothing like that car. and i loved hopping out after him. following him. being with him.

and somewhere between his work, and those weeks, and rides around to unknown destinations – life moved faster than expected. school. scouting. sports. college, moving out, friends, marriage, children.

until i stood in the driveway of the house and the car was no longer there. and now dad doesn’t seem to be either.

and i’m back in that aisle. shelves still towering and lights as bright. and it’s all so strange. the fear sets in and i call his name. and he says from the other side. “I’m right over here buddy.” He sounds so calm. And I know right where he is.

No. 5

Everyone had to write a male and female name on a piece of paper, pass it around and use whatever it said. Then the prompt was given: I woke up screaming.

I was lying in a field. I could smell earth. I felt it between my fingers. Two photographs were beside me. They were not my own. I was dripping like a wet blanket but I felt heavier. My ears popped. My name is Alice. I checked my pants pockets for anything. No idea why. Hair was clinging all around me. I heard a train in the distance. I looked around. A dresser on the other side of me. I shook my head. My name is Alice. My shoes were missing. I scanned the empty field. I scanned the bleeding photographs. I held a spoon in my hand. I plunged it into the dark soil. Soft breeze blowing and my heart hurt. I need my ibuprofen. How far am I from the house. The ground shook. I had nowhere to run. I inhaled deeply. This dream had happened before. Maybe. A head popped up. Earth fell to the side. Plaid and a brunette popped out. My name is Alice.
“Are you ok?”
I woke up screaming. The boy asked rising like the undead.
“Where do you live?”
“Where’s Clarence?”
And as the family rose from their earthen crypt, the teenager pointed south to the darkened horizon.

No. 4

Prompt: Just before she entered the room. I actually squeezed two in before the time was up.

1.
A plane roared overhead. It was Monday. Second floor windows open and I had long since turned the radio off. The wind blew just right and I could hear the game wafting in. Lights were off. Crickets were cheering in the distance. I was sweating lying still. This is what I did every game night. Just as my father and I had done. We would lay in my bed with windows open and radio crackling. He would drink beer and I would drink a pop. But now I’m holding the beer and the space beside me cold, just before she entered the room.

2.
I was a penguin waddling through clinking glasses and adjusted bowties. Cumberbund fit too tight and my shoe scuffed on the curb. Hands were too sweaty by the way I tried to remove clinging napkin from them. I was too self conscious to eat but I held the crackers and cheese anyway. The trash can was becoming an awkward guest as I paused too long removing shredded paper bits from my hand. My brow glistened. Overhead lights baking me. Shrinking the fabric like I was in a dryer tumbling far too long. I slid through the chatter looking. It was far too long since I had given her that magnolia flower. She only smiled as I smiled now turning back into the corporate fatigue. It had been far too long as I chose my spot. Grounded for once. Sure in my mind finally. Decision made as the air conditioning kicked in just before she entered the room.

No. 3

So the class started with a six word memoir made famous by Hemingway. He wrote:

For sale
baby shoes
never worn

So we had five minutes to write the same based on love and loss, and these are the ones i wrote:

Back seat
naked bodies
lovers crying

Hotel restaurant
two drinks
one empty

Black coat
sweet perfume
trailing away

White bear
dozen roses
mud soaked