….why paisley???

earlier this week, i had the pleasure of being introduced to an amazing writer by the name of barry graham through an interview he did with scot over on be not inhospitable… scot posted a piece written by barry called  bomb factory which just happens to be a one sentence piece of fiction…. i was so taken by the depth that he was able to reach with just that one sentence,, that i could not help but give it a try myself… and wow,, did i have a blast doing this…

when we were young by ~weeja on deviantART

jesse hung a right, and left off the gas, purposefully slowing as he wound down the faded brown ribbon a what was left a ole ginny combs road, as it laced its way towards the house where he was sure that he and his would live out their days in the shadow of that fine oak tree, where local spun yarn would have it, that ginny herself had spent many a warm summers day, dreaming on an old tire swing, knotted to a low branch, long before life become a ligature, and she found herself a dangling, at the end of her own rope….

my dear friend selma from selma in the city,, has started a writing prompt site called search engine stories..  her prompt for this week “funny rich man” seemed to coincide so well with the train of thought of my last post that i decided to write a little piece of fiction that incorporates both the topic of my previous post,  a hidden past,, and her prompt “funny rich man”… the following is strictly a work of fiction…

i must say,  it had always struck me as odd,, that for someone that had been born and spent the eighty or so odd years he had walked this earth,, within an hours drive of this exact spot,, he knew no one.. and no one seemed to know him… even the name of his father who had owned and operated one of the three largest local oyster farms,, for seventy odd years drew no recognition…

now  i realize that the area has grown and changed over the course of  seventy years.. in many ways i will concede that it has indeed “sold out”,, and become a full blow tourist trap in the warm summer months and yet,, despite the influx of new growth,, the majority of the families that were here eighty years ago,, are, oddly enough, still here today.. most are ranchers and oyster farmers.. for the most part,, two professions that tend to be passed on to the next generation,, and definitely not the kind of family business that just closes up shop and moves to another venue…

yes,, i can in all honesty say that it struck me as odd.. but seeing as how i stood to inherit much of the money and property both he and his father had a massed over the course of their life times,, i had never really given it all that much thought.. after all,, this was my one shot at a feeling of financial security as i entered my later years.. and who am i to question such a gift??

having worked my whole life in service positions, i had never had the opportunity to accumulate adequate savings,, or be enrolled in any type of retirement plan that would sustain me in my later life,,  so i do not overstate my sense of gratitude and the accompanying relief when i say,, it was as if i had been given “a gift from the gods” when he offered to leave the balance of his estate to me in return for my companionship and care in his twilight years..

it just never occurred to me to question the uneventful,, yet totally believable family history of the funny, rich, man i had the good fortune to meet one day over the coffee bar in a small diner restaurant,,  dressed as he was in faded coveralls and a limp black fishing cap…… that is until i was sorting thru the contents of one of the many safety deposit boxes he had left in my care when he passed,, and i came across the deed to some remote mountainous acreage that he had never spoken of,,  just 25 miles outside grand rapids, minnesota…..

********

1950
In January, after two years of planning, armed robbers use copied keys to break into the “burglar-proof” Brinks Building in Boston. They nab $2.7 million in cash, checks, and money orders. The Great Brinks Robbery is labeled the “crime of the century.” It takes until 1956 to charge and sentence all eight thieves. Most of the money is rumored to be hidden in the hills outside Grand Rapids, Minnesota.

if you are interested in even more information on the crime of the century,, you can find it here: Great Brink’s Robbery

photo:

http://euklides.deviantart.com/art/Buried-51746935

in essence,, my contribution to the items in that my parents placed in that garbage bag that accompanied me to my grandma’s house that summer,, was me.

Garbage by ~mordere on deviantART

the problem here in lies,, that when i got to grandmas,, when i set about unpacking my little “garbage bag full of freedom”,,  i never unpacked all the little pieces of me i had stuffed into that bag over the years…

i had finally been given a chance to live outside of the constraints of the religion i blamed for my inability to fit in.. i had been given the opportunity i had always dreamed about,, the opportunity to rise above it all,, to be free, to be me…

but instead of doing that,, instead of flourishing in my new found freedom, i set off (subconsciously at first i believe) to alienate myself from everyone that reached out to me.. with in a matter of months,, my grandma had me pack up my little garbage bag,, and sent me home.. my parents who didn’t want me living in their house as it was their feeling that i was setting a bad example for my two younger sisters, were only too relived when a friend from schools parents agreed to let me stay with them.. i never even spent one night  in my parents house before i was on the move again…… it only took me a record breaking 7 months to fuck up that living arrangement,, which resulted in me being sent home, yet again…

this time i had no other options.. neither did my parents.. so i stayed  for a couple of months,, just long enough to get myself pregnant.. when i knew for sure that i was pregnant,, i stopped in at a local runaway shelter to see if they would help me intercede with my parents as i was sure if i told them,, they would want me out of the house again.. i had three months left of high school and really wanted to graduate.. (my mother had told me that i was a quitter,, and i would never finish anything… and i was desperate to prove her wrong..) so together,, the shelter councilor on one phone, and i on another,, called my family.. my mom wouldn’t talk to me,, and my dad said i was no longer welcome to live in his home as i was disrupting their family. so i lived the last three months of high school in a run away shelter.. the shelter had extended my stay as much as possible in order to accommodate my desire to graduate,, but as soon as that was achieved,, i had to go… i essentially became homeless, living day to day in motel rooms,, staying with the parents of one of the kids i had met in the run away shelter,, all the while, working two jobs till i could afford a place to live on my own…

by seventeen i had established a pattern for myself i have found it nearly impossible to break.. i run.. i disappear.. i live somewhere until i fuck it up,, and move on..  to date i have lived in six states.. i have lived in 22 cities,, and i am unable to count the number of actual places i have called home,, but i am betting the numbers run very close to a hundred…

at fourty seven years of age,,  i have been blessed with the intercession of a benefactor,, that has made it possible for me to live out the remainder of my days in one place.. i have a home.. i no longer have to run.. i have against all odds been afforded the opportunity,, once agian to rise above it all,,  and am still carrying pieces of me around in a crumpled old garbage bag…

the time has come for me to unpack…

time for a little piece of flash……

Girl Selling Smoothie Samples by ~NicolCaplin on deviantART

squinting in the noonday sun,, he tipped his head back and allowed the bitter cure to pour down his open throat. the built in gag mechanism, no longer activated by the presence of the distilled spirit, lay dormant as he filled his empty belly and subsequently his blood stream with the only source of warmth over which he currently had any form of control..

as a sea of chemical complacency set him adrift,, he put a safe distance between himself and the fetid core of his existence..

no longer lost and alone,, he surrounded himself with whispers of what might have been…

linda on simply snickers posted the following photo as part of her weekly poetry prompt,, and although i have not written anything new to accompany it,, nor does it incorporate the words that she made available this week i though i would drag this little story out of the archives of just paisley…. for those of you that have never seen it before…

Le Dejeuner des Canotiers
(The Luncheon of the Boating Party)
by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

twas the same semblance of the parsonage every sunday.. had it not been for the antics of the crenolyn sisters,, i fear,, it would have resulted in a ghastly bore…

week after week we assembled,, more out of circumstance than actual desire,, the luncheon spread,, the wine poured and the conversations quiet and conservative…

that is until the dishes began to be cleared,, and the wine continued to pour…

it was just such a sunday,, quite a while back,, you know,, i cannot reveal exactly how far back as that might give you some circumference with with to determine my age,, and as you know,, a lady never reveals her age… but none the less….

it was just such a sunday we were gathered,, at le gare,, there on the great rivers edge.. there was,, as i have stated the usual bunch,, the vespers and the creatons.. the angliers and the renaults.. and then of course the crenolyn sisters,, merced and ann marie,, surrounded as usual,, by a myriad of local men from about the parish,, young and old,, shy and randy,, each of them, insisting on wine,, more wine,, and yet more wine,, until it was evident the sisters had become pliable enough,,, and it was then my friend,, yes it was precisely then that the fun i am referring to would begin….

the sisters would inevitably have been spreading about the glimmer of hope that they either singularly or as a duo,, would make themselves available for dancing,, and one never could be sure how much more,, and just about the time the four piece would arrive,, alas,, the tumult would begin…

the men young and old,, you will notice i have not used the term gentleman,, as i doubt there was one in the bunch,, would salivate around them,, pecking and pawing,, scratching like a great crew of game cocks preparing to spar over the two available hens… inevitably,, amidst the wine,, and the merriment,, and the prospect of a song,, the sunday best would come off,, the chests would puff up,, the strutting would begin,, the tempers would flare,, and the arguments and physicality would indeed take hold…..

it was then,, in the spirit of keeping the peace that lord vespers would take it upon himself to call for a lorry,, and as the raucous ensued,, he would personally usher the sisters,, agape and aghast that their feminine mystique had yet again uprooted such a angst ridden rivalry among the men folk,, and off they would be carried,, back home,, alone.. all the drunker and none the wiser to sleep it off yet again in the arms of no one,, lest you count each other,, which is exactly what those of us in the know chose then,, and still all these years later,, choose to believe……

pity isn’t it… neither of them ever did marry.. still together,, the two of them,, as far as i know….

just a little piece of flash (100 words… no more no less…) i pulled over from the ink pot.. some of you may have seen it before,, but i am hoping there are a good many of you who have not… i need a night off… be back tomorrow with something new…..

she had developed a penchant for availing herself to men that would introduce utter chaos into her ordinarily uneventful life.

as if on cue, each time she felt the chaotic life they had created, spiraling out of control, her thoughts would become eschewed and she would find herself frantically searching for a way out.. fight or flight.. up until today,, she had always chosen flight..

why on earth she had chosen today she was unsure, but that mattered very little… at this moment,, she had more important things to think about… like what she planned on doing with the body….

photo:

http://myseventhlife.deviantart.com/art/Body-64311695

the only way, that no one would have recalled seeing the little boy, with the bloody nose, sitting alone, in the cart, outside the public restroom, at the busy farmers market,, (where she unceasingly alleged that she had “stepped in for just a second,, just a second,, that is all it could have been,, just long enough to grab some dry paper towels and dampen a cool compress for his head…”) was if,, he was never really there….

they had found his blood under her fingernails.. on her tee shirt.. and embedded in the dirt on the bottom of her shoes.. they had found outstanding arrest warrants,, in three states.. they had found previous convictions on drug and prostitution charges.. all of which were scattered over a ten year period… fifteen years ago…. but what they never found,, was her boy…

like a torn page from the front of a tabloid,, she instantly became today’s top story.. they dissected her childhood,, in intimate detail.. they resurrected a most distasteful history of physical and sexual abuse.. they scrutinized her subsequent descent into the slick underbelly of prostitution and drug addiction.. they stripped her naked,, and paraded her thru the living room of america,,, three. times. a day…

so convinced,, were they,, that she had killed him,, that they never even looked, for her boy.. instead,, they formed huge morally outraged search parties who combed the fields,, the woods,, the warehouses… for his body… (and loudly protested her sentence of life without parole,, as passed down by the court,, with righteously indignant cries of “an eye for an eye!!!”) but no one, ever even looked,, for her boy…

and had he not freed himself from the wreckage of the old root cellar,, beneath the tornado damaged farmhouse,, not two miles away, from the site of the old farmers market,, (some five years after she exhaled her last,, at the wrong end of a knotted bed sheet, in her solitary prison cell…) no one,, would ever have found,, her boy….

photo:
http://lucillle.deviantart.com/art/Lost-77734807

there are new poems up on the ink pot and just paisley…. if you are looking for something new… but i dragged this out of the archives,, because i felt like reading it again… and i am hoping you will too……

this is EXTREMELY MATURE, STRICTLY ADULT SUBJECT MATTER,, although it is written in strictly a tongue in cheek style,, it is not for those that will not see past the subject matter to the true brilliance of the words themselves…

keep in mind,, as an artist,, my purpose in life is to elicit emotion,, and if i succeed in doing that,, regardless of the subject matter,, i am in my glory…

willit had always felt that carnivals were a gift from the gods… children running willy nilly,, parents beer soaked and distracted.. sitting idly by while their prodigy queue up for one glittering stomach churning attraction after the other…. line after endless line of tender flesh,, uncalculating minds,, childish curiosities…. easily ensnared,, caught up as they were sure to be,, in the element of a day of unbridled child like passion…

he had just taken his place in line for the looming monstrosity commonly referred to as the ferris wheel,, behind a delightful grouping of four tender young treats,, when the gods saw fit to unleash the most torrential rain of good luck he had ever personally been witness to….

a sudden creak followed immediately by a unearthly sound,, that of metal being twisted beyond all imagination,, the wheel wrenched free of the pinions that had once held it fast… and before proper thought could be given to what was happening,, the wheel did what wheels have always done best… she up and rolled away….

inextricably mired in human fodder,, she plodded her course,, thru vats of hot cooking oil,, over moldy tents housing less than accurate foreseers of the future,, atop a vast array of human oddities,, caged and otherwise.. smashing,, destroying,, invigorating,, enlightening.. enabling chaos.. the very distraction of eminent destruction ensued almost immediately….

with the nimble wit and swift step of a professional,, willit took heed of his personal call to action.. he leapt in,, snatched up a tender young boy,, who was held stead fast with fear,, and amusingly enough,, not in any danger whatsoever as the wheel had already rolled far clear of the space which the two of them so conveniently occupied…

hand over mouth.. fore arm between firm young thighs.. it was snatched up that he was… with a passion that can only be described as that of a firefighter with an oxygen gasping victim in his arms,, beating a path of retreat from the all consuming flames following ever so quickly at his heals,, our boy willit was off … as he made his hasty retreat from non present danger,, he heard the unmistakable crash as the wheel toppled over.. coming to rest atop the grandstand packed to overflowing,, quite aptly,, with avid fans of destruction,, as the demolition derby was well underway…

in his thirst for the flesh that fought ever so fervently against him as he made his most daring escape,, he gripped the boy tighter.. too tightly in fact.. as when he arrived at the van it was evident,, he had indeed snapped his sapling neck.. no longer a livid play thing,, he would have to make due with the still tepid receptacle this tasty young morsel had most regrettably become….

and with the pomp and circumstance equal in glory only to a sacrifice made to the gods that had shined upon him this day,, with favor as bright as the celestial being itself,, he administered his own personal favorite variety of “far from artificial” respiration,, before properly disposing of the non recyclable container,, and setting off in search of dessert….

photo:

http://www.durkin.com.au/rides/wheel.jpg

a little piece of flash for three word wednesday…

edgar sat entranced at elsie’s bedside, tenderly touching his wife’s near lifeless hand, as her body entered the final stage of life. the rise and fall of her chest had long since ceased to be visible, but the gentle warmth of her frail hand,, cupped firmly in his own, allowed him to know,, she was still there with him..

he supposed he had lived a lifetime wondering what this moment would be like,, but now that it was here,, all he could think of was how glad he was that “his elsie” wasn’t here.. as she had always hated having to say good bye…

photo:

http://prc666.deviantart.com/art/Old-Couple-51896710

just for fun… using the words from this weeks Friday 5 on poefusion…..

“well yer honor…

it all started out real innocent like.. we was a celebratin’ jannette heres pro-motion,, you see its not ever day that a friend of mine shall we say climbs up the ladder to success.. so after work, we left outta the wal mart and headed us up to jessies over on handcock..”

“it was there we had us a margarita or two and they tasted sa good, and they went down sa smooth,, a’for we knowed it we was a drinkin’ straight shots a tequilya. you know how you do it, with tequilya,, first the salt,, then the lime,, then the shot,, uh huh,, and after a few a those i knowed i best be a gettin’ off home, as i was soon to be too drunk to drive…”

“so then we went ta my house,, as her husband woulda had him a big ol’ fit had he knowed she was out a drinkin’ with me,, and it was on the way there that she tells me she has her a li’l stash a that ol’ skunk weed.. and a seein’ as how neither of us had anything to smoke it in,, we made one of them li’l ol’ home made pipes,, you know the ones,, when you wrap the tin foal around the end of a pincil??”

“so anyways,, yer honor,, it was shortly after we smoked that,, that i guess i musta blacked out some… but if them poloroids is a tellin’ the truth,, i’d have to say it was just about that time that we done a li’l ol’ strip tease out there on the picnic table just outside my trailer… and it was a while we was a doin’ that,, that your boy,, i mean officer woodacre here,, come a cruisin up.. i cannot say for sure,, as i told you b’fore my memory is a tetch brittle in parts..”

“but i assure you,, yer honor,, at no time,, did i offer him no sexual favors for no money… as i am not that kinda guy…”

“excuse me??… yes sir,, that’s right sir,, that one there in the dolly parton wig,, that there would be me…”

photo:

http://www.heraldtimesonline.com/stories/2007/04/06/_ul_Firefighter+Z.jpg