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Rewind... must've been too bleary-eyed and cobwebby in the cranium to do it right the first time. Dadblastit! Going back to Thursday... Being none too alert in functioning in the AM, allowing for my usual 2AM-84 mile commute from Ground Zero (DC style), and staying up to watch the USA v Portugal match 'til the birds began the morning hiphop, this was always going to be a day to endure. Little Did I Know. Zombielike, going through the motions, TCB... being reminded that accents are very different here at home, wading through the hot mineral-oil-like pre-summer Virginia atmosphere. A Brooding Day, Internally & externally. Checked out the scotch bonnet patch... Jah may grant peppers, soon come, and hot sauce! Final swing around the rural route, stopped in the archdemon of WalMart (the dollar store, Greatest Country Invention Since the Yard Sale)marvelling how a guy can't find underpants (drawers... bloomers...Y-fronts) in this town... unless, of course, purple bordello panties suit your fancy(Sorry, don't swing that way). Spied blackness on the horizon, through the store window. Time to get on the Good Foot. To follow the path of archdemon Number Two... the four-wheeled barge piloted by the hat and the knuckled steering wheel (or at least all that I could see). To the west, a solid wall of Apocalyptic Abyss... belted by an arc of intestine-like cloud preparing to vent itself. Creeping through the backstreets to make the blast down the highway to a calm place, still tied to the bumper of the land yacht..."We're Spending Our Children's Inheritance!" On laxatives, I'm sure. Climbing the crest out of the town limits, the side-view playing the Wizard Of Oz. A Tidal Wave. One by one, the trailing cars' headlights snuffed out by the advancing Virginia Banzai Pipeline (like the baddest mutha in Hawaii's surf circuit... the song "Men Who Ride Mountains" absurdly playing back in a grey matter flashback). I'm Volvo surfing ("Volvo" meaning "it rolls," in Italian... wonder how "hanging ten" translates). Thinking "faster, Faster, FASTER" like the "Hop Head" in Reefer Madness. A decade later, up the drive, up the walk... machine-gunned by stratospherically-fired Storm Bullets. In the door... And all Hell breaks loose. Horizontal rain. Horizontal trees. Shit a-flying. Then it's over. Calm. Purple Microdot stratified sunset. Where's my bottle opener? Beat the Reaper... today. Fuck You, Mister Twister. |
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