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i was inhaling a solitary smoke in front of the employees entrance at the Witching Hour... a place verboten in the laws of HR. wandering along the shadowy sidewalk, avoiding the cracks that made abstract expressionist patterns further into the dark, i stopped in front of the fa�ade of the abandoned high tech building that neighbors the place where my money comes from. barely four years old. swoopy, barrel vaulted canopy in plexiglas. chains instead of downspouts, anchored into concrete. three stories of empty, faintly glowing with minimal lighting... the better to see the trespassers, i presumed. still, the logo anemically illuminated the entry. once, this place coursed with people. with souls. with purpose. with determination. little by little, the tide of protoplasm trickled to but a few, as the realities of the boom revealed the rot at the center. this was the last piece i'd written since my last little absence from keyboard musing with intent. from that time on, i've been granted a brief " bachelorhood": meaning, though, no marital severance... no, she's just gone to Florida for a week. some bachelorhood. up to this point, all it's really meant is absence... the usual responsibilities are in place, plus some. entire day was spent transporting everyone to the airport in Richmond, then to Biggles' to help them move to their new home: a real one, that they will own. in the course of that afternoon, among illegal aliens, i got bombarded with little assumed responsibilities... like, carting around the license-less, half-heartedly agreeing to another trip to Richmond on Thursday for a free blues show. but, as they say, "nothing is free." neither is my time. for days, now, the monsoon has risen. beginning last Thursday, when i ran off to check on Mum and the garden, stopping by Slickwillie's for a chat. having left the top down on the ragtop, spouse in the area. i should know better to think anyone would be looking out for me, on that. upon returning... three inches of water in the floorboard. now, it smells like wet, used socks that've been bubbling in the brine of a basement. that'll learn you. not having touched any outdoor work on the house, Sunday should've been the day for action. except for the day-long rain. and more rain, Monday. the reason i drove back home, with distant storms illuminating the tree-lined landscape in the early morning hours... fearing the worst for the leaky cellar. luckily, the fears were unfounded. my dreams, though, had other plans. the first real nightmare i've had in years sprang shockingly after two hours of sleep. the nameless, faceless annihilation kind. bodies cut in bloody swaths by mindless horrors, while i observed, temporarily unharmed. sat my ass bolt upright in the bed, too... immediately attempting to analyze what it might have meant, in those rare hours when even the most insignificant incidences take on epic proportions. regardless, i awoke, refrained from losing myself in the computer, and drew for the first time in more months than i care to admit, before making the return to work. where the cycle begins, anew. i'd hate to think it's going to take nightmares to get me back to the drawing table. |
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