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Archives 2001 11-14-2001

North County Lines by Bob

bobncl@hotmail.com

 

Strange vibes. Ancient rhythms. Ghosts drumming. Dreams on fire.

Thickly swimming, swirling in compressed space, piercing time's line.

Flying free, spirit tossed. Eternity is now. Always has been. Always will be. Forever has no beginning, no end.

Infinity, 8 sideways, circles looped, double 4's. Little Joe didn't have a 40-gig hard drive. Perhaps he didn't need one. Perhaps he did. Perhaps.

Centuries in a thimble. Mankind erased, etched again, perceived as the first time each time.

Phone ringing. Don't bother me. My rocket is loaded with nickels. Past the Moon. Rear-viewing Mars. I'm sailing beyond the stars.

I saw the Pope once. He was old. I flipped channels, looking for Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe.

Jesus walked upon the water so drowning men could see him.

"Bodhisattva, Bodhisattva, why did you die?"

"Die? Not I," replies Bodhisattva.

Dark in the park at night.

"What's under that light?"

"Caterpillar, caterpillar, why did you die?"

"Die? Not I," replies butterfly.

She is his sunrise, his sunset, his ace in the hole, his biscuits and gravy. Cried when he gave her the check for his first story sold.

About 100,000 subscribed to the magazine. Another 50,000 bought it off shelves. Perhaps a few dwellers on the threshold would understand his meaning. Perhaps. Strange how some see what's not there, while others miss what is.

They lived like savages that summer in the woods. Tribal tent at daybreak. Sleeping-bag bound, Taurus and Pisces in crystalline embrace.

Thick black coffee over an oak fire. Sizzling bacon. Three over easy. Grits. Red wigglers in the Suwannee, from the Okefenokee to the Gulf of Mexico.

If only she would have tied her shoes to the canoe like he told her, they wouldn't be in Valdosta, buying another pair.

The worst thunderstorm in years, came out of nowhere, hit like a hurricane.

"Don't freak out and we'll make it back alive with no broken bones."

He enjoyed pushing life to the edge, where truth, stripped of all particulars, void of all formalities, could be found.

What he discovered within would be examined later, when there was time for thinking, instead of participating in life completely.

Lightning flashed on all sides. He lit a Tareyton in the gushing rain. He was good at such things.

He constructed a bomb out of household products when he was a high school sophomore. Blew the awnings off the back of the house.

Dad was mad. The cops who investigated the explosion weren't happy either. The judge told him to limit his experiments to chemistry class.

He liked English more than chemistry, much more, the way his teacher taught it. She even taught him to appreciate Shakespeare. The Tempest is hilarious when performed correctly.

Imagine, a redneck swamper digging an old English dude who's been dead for centuries.

After blowing off the awnings, he joined a rock and roll band.

While they were trying to decide on a name for their group, he suggested the Maggots. The other members called his suggestion sick. He didn't care.

He knew and still knows, only one kind of music is worth playing. Rock and roll over Beethoven. Tell Tchaikovsky the news.

Being from the deep south, the group settled on the Tropics as a name.

He was the drummer. He was also the singer because he was the only member who could remember all the lyrics, the result of liking words more than drugs.

Far out, man. Pass it here. Who you trying to be, Humphrey Bogart? James Cagney is just as cool. "I made it to the top of the world, Ma!"

While playing at a sock hop, he quoted Shakespeare between songs to show off: "What strong hand can hold Time's swift foot back? None, unless this miracle have might, that in black ink my love may still shine bright."

The audience hissed, booed, and threw whatever they could find at him. He slung it back. A brawl ensued. The cops were called.

He didn't know it then. But he was a punk rocker 10 years before Johnny Rotten hit the scene as a soon to be dead Sex Pistol. Smack kills. Fire Burns. When it rains, the earth gets wet. Place that in things-to-remember.

Never clean a loaded .38 either. And eat everything on your plate because they're starving in China. But how will me being fat change that? Then I'll have to exercise.

I hate Bow Flex commercials. Hate. Hate. Hate.

Instead of killing bin Laden immediately when US troops find him, and they will, lock him in a room and make him watch Bow Flex commercials. After several days of that, he will gladly kill himself.

Terrorists. Anthrax. Martha Stewart. Toxic waste. The world is a giant insane asylum where the most dangerous inmates have the keys.

Sisters of the Day Church, swirling down Spirit Mountain from empty rooms on twisted brooms, sweeping away the final rays of another tedious day, into the darkness, out of sight.

Welcome the creatures of the night. Embrace them tightly. Hold them near. Do not fear.

Einstein developed the atomic bomb without using a 40-gig hard drive. Perhaps he didn't need one. Perhaps he did. Perhaps.

 

Overton County News
415 West Main Street
P.O. Box 479
Livingston, Tennessee 38570
tel 931.823.6485
fax 931.823.6486
ocnews@usit.net

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