Highway

Backstreet Boys - Dead on the road c/o tylershields.com

Back from the Highway! How was everyone's weekend? Moi? I had a fabulous weekend filled with lots of interesting things to do... To my friends who came along and invited me to tag along, The Stylist in SF, The Photographer and The Muse in LA, it was a lot of fun! We will have to do it again! 

NOW,  I'm sorry if anyone's weekend was INAUTHENTIC! But you simply made mine more fabulous! Google tells me you've increased my ranking! Thanks for being so curious about Kierkegaard! And it definitely helps a lady out! kisses!





Hi again Honey! Sorry I was away but I didn't miss you! Looks like you missed me though... In the heart or in the head but you are always thinking of me. Well then? Are you ready to share the rest of your statement? I didn't think so. But from the looks of things you have been very busy and you've invited a couple of friends! Me thinks you don't have much of a life. TSK! TSK! You should get out of the house more often and away from your phones, electronic devices, etc! Those will kill you. HA!

So let me see... you are from Cincinnati, New Haven, Medina, and Joliet. but that's not right at all! Look, I'm sorry but I can't stop living just to please you. That would be Inauthentic! DEAL WITH IT! But thanks to you I do have a higher Google ranking and perhaps the attention of some people who don't like Internet Bully's! Please understand that you did start all of this. By all means feel free to be mature and leave a comment and finish it! Because Honey, you can mask your locale, IPs, and click posts to your heart's content but unless you leave a comment, I don't understand or speak your brand of JACKASS! Do you have an interpreter?

You might as well leave a comment now since you've left a trail to follow. I love roadrunner's don't you? Such beautiful creatures. It's really all in the details, Honey. Those are the little things that will catch up to you in the end. I have nothing to hide but it looks like you certainly do. It must be dreadful to have to pretend to be something you are not and be quite bad at it. 

*you are not invisible. OOPS! I'm so sorry to point that out and you have no idea! It's OK to have a panic attack. Brown paper bags help. Deep slow breath's. Inhale. Exhale.
  
Honey, once you calm down, do try to remember this: You don't have to just lay in the road, you can get up and walk away. As long as you are alive you can do anything and change anything! Thank you for all of the love. If it isn't love, please realize how much your hate is promoting me! Oh I love it either way since it benefits moi! Thanks again dolls! 

kisses, m. 

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT: I'm glad you love the PINK HOUSE Brazil and London! It's an adorable choice of dream house! kisses, m.

On The Road

On the Road. You can walk, drive or even lay on the road. Simply make certain it isn't alive to... Well I'll let you decide which road you want to go down and whether it's alive.  I'm going to be on the road in the next day or so to see something interesting, something fascinating and go somewhere I've never been before. All three. I'm excited. And I'm feeling dead tired but I'm hoping the adrenaline will kick in before I have to head out. Enjoy the story. I'll share another dream home soon. Kisses, m. 

Yellow Line - Tyler Shields c/o tylershields.com

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. The black split in two by the divided bright line. Closer and closer. Frantically its pushing forward. Speeding engine roaring across the lines. Passing cars. Dodging bullets. Heartbeat pounds within a heavy chest. Radio sounds cut out as the approach draws nearer. Wires pass out of range in the night and there’s no more stops along this stretch. Last chance to turn back and every time its full throttle. 

The Long Stretch

(October 20, 2010)

As long as I can remember there have been men that crossed my way.

It’s been sometime since someone came along. Traveled through the dark night, bright day. Down this way. Down this stretch. The long stretch. Some travel beneath the stars in the darkness that blankets my roughened exterior with a coolness that never comes in the daylight warmth. The long stretch doesn’t beckon to them like it used to. Yet the call remains.

Any that cross close enough will hear it. The sound of my song. The song that leaves them wanting to find it. The one thing that can’t put a finger on, but once they’ve heard it can’t live without. And they’ll follow it. Follow it off into the end until it’s found. And they’re never lost for long once they’ve found it. Along this never-ending path that welcomes them.

Some that pass through know where they’re going but will never get there. Others don’t have a clue what they wanted when they stumbled down this stretch into nothing. That’s when it calls the strongest. The urge to take a turn off the map in the foreign direction you don’t know. It calls intensely. And that’s when they are mine. Some might think they’re run a little off course from the main road. They keep telling themselves that the road only looks like it keeps changing. Well if anyone ever crosses feeling while traveling down an unfamiliar stretch they might want to remember this one thing: You aren’t lost. The road isn’t where you think it is anymore. Once you’ve stepped one foot into these boundaries you no longer have a direction.

All directions ultimately converge upon one. And I am boundless. Long, dark and unending. The mass of my dark body is filled with faded pieces of discoloration from the unyielding sun. Parts of me are broken, yet remain strong and useful. Chunks lifted, pulled through the blackened gravel and unpaved holes compose my surface. Unreasoned patterns, breaks that show distinct mistreatment and neglect. But make no mistake those small pieces are merely a sum of my parts. The whole is intact.

Been here a long time. Longer than before they paved over me. Long before they had feet. Long before even they were here. The speeding demons. Four wheels charging across the plains harnessed by a fifth that governs the direction of the others. Behind the wheel and they think they’re still in control.

Man’s biggest problem is how he perceives the world around him. He likes to see things the way he thinks they are. How he thinks he controls them. Not how they really are. Sometimes I wonder if I were to bleed that I might feel the same way.

Listening to the sound of their flesh grating against my hardened surface as the gravel slices into soft tissues and tears towards the bones I wonder what it would feel like to bleed. Would it grant the key to understanding the passage of life and time like they do? Feeling the burning of skin as it pulls fresh from the interior layers beneath and the flow of life escapes. What understanding would the sensation of pain bring me? Bleeding out through remaining fleshy portions as a result of mortality. If this threshold of feeling is what lends their minds to believe in boundaries, I truly wonder if understanding will be enough. And if understanding what it means to be of the flesh would tame the insatiable urge to annihilate anything that crosses my stretch.

Alive through the moments of death that pass within my unending reach. Moments that will happen again and again. The shadows of the lost that edge closer and closer toward their destiny. All the while cracks that splinter across my wounded surface crave another taste. Waiting. For another taste of blood. Waiting. To be fulfilled by it. Calling out to the blood that comes. Waiting. For it to spill. Down. Down. Down. Deep into the fractures that lie of weakness in my hardened armor. Dripping. Crawling. Deep beneath the surface and drying. And the rain comes to wipe clean all traces of what’s come and gone across my boundless empire.

Blood Alley. Freeway of Flesh. Highway to Hell. Requiem Road.

In some parts of my boundless empire there’s been a name or two given to mark a few of the outstretching veins. They’ve seen their fair share of death. Life that travels on them and then spills into night without cause. It can be called many things but it don’t change what’ll happen if a desperate soul makes their way down one of these paths. And there’s nothing like a fresh soul waiting for life to show its value. Desperate for a change. Not caring where the call comes from next. With a small glimmer of hope that didn’t matter enough to expect something from.

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. Lines divide up the center of two lane black. Chk. Chk. Check the lights in the darkness that reflects black. Lights on. Lights off. Flashing. Only black bounces back beyond that yellow line. The feelings of fear and apprehension come through loudly like a record player etching out a tune against a revving engine barreling down the stretch through the night. Behind the wheel sits desperation as the wheels keep spinning faster and faster like there’s no tomorrow and rightly so there isn’t. Brakes squeal with the sounds of panic. Even though there’s nothing coming for miles in both directions the sonic boom of impact will clap across the horizon with the intensity and magnitude of thunder. The shadow of darkness will once again coat the stretch in the silence of night. Chk. Chk. By the bright light of dawn remain the last sounds of the engine brought down to mere whisper. Somewhere beneath a twisted metal wreck sitting in front of the open horizon lies the last breath of bleeding desperation that tomorrow couldn’t wait for.

Drive.

                     Night Driver. Bay Bridge. 2012.

Drive.                                                                                                             

(4-11-2011)

Tristan Allan wasn’t going anywhere for fun, at least that’s what he thought when he left the house exactly at 6pm for Sacramento. He didn’t want to drive to Sacramento after work that Thursday evening. No not at all. In fact Tristan much preferred to spend his evenings getting lost in a book with a nice tall glass of water. But on this particular evening his presence was required in the Northern California city for an appointment that had little to do with him. It had to do with a small request that had been made by his mother. And although at times he found her to be tiresome, Tristan often found it more difficult to refuse any of his mother’s requests. This time he was to pick up her newest Curio doll from the vendor arriving at Gate 20 of the Sacramento International Airport promptly at 12am. As ridiculous as it sounded he indulged her nonetheless.

Tristan Allan had always liked books. Especially how the endings were already predestined to occur. The timings of things involved happened in a set order. It was comforting to know how it all ended made sense. Especially since things that happened in life, like a change in routine, rarely made sense.

As a creature of habit and a man of pressing routine, Tristan rarely changed his habits but when he did so it was a matter of occasion. If it was a bit out of his ordinary it just wouldn’t do. But on this occasion when he so desperately preferred to stay in he went against the grain and changed his routine. Tristan thought to himself that the drive wouldn’t be so bad. He had often admired the cool colors of sunset that danced with the shadows of the landscape and with a little bit of music and a small bottle of water he set out for a drive.

And it wasn’t so bad until the need for gasoline registered on the dash. Long after the cool colors of sunset had faded, somewhere outside of Modesto the light flicked on while there were No Surprises from Radiohead coming out of the radio. With less than two hours until reaching his final destination, Tristan pulled off the highway.

The lights of the station were bright and blinding when he pulled in. Figuring it would be a quick stop he needlessly left the keys in the switch and the radio playing while he pumped the gas. Everything around him on the island was blanketed in a white hue. In the blackness across the lot a small glint of light reflected from the small unlit headlamp of a broke-down Coupe Deville with a burnt out interior. While looking at this something inside of Tristan grew uneasy but he resisted the feeling to finish pumping the gas.

Uneasiness never quite passes with the effortlessness that it arrives. And Tristan Allan had more than a slight reason to be nervous because what happened next happened faster than he could react. A long cool woman with quickness in her step came forward out of the dark. Three. Two. One. The cool steel of a revolver finds itself face to face with his deadpan stare. Behind the revolver she insists that he get back into the car and…

 “Drive.” She says

And Tristan Allan likes the way she says it. There is a sound of authority in her voice that makes him want to do what she says. It’s not that he likes to be controlled but there was definitely something about her that was completely different. And he didn’t seem to mind.

It didn’t matter that she wore a sidearm and kept the revolver between her legs cocked and pointed at him. In fact the way she stayed cool and collected when she originally made her demands had put him at ease. As he drove the car his head remained focused on the road while the corner of his eye watched her carefully.

She sat neatly with her black dress lifted just up to the top of her thighs and Tristan wanted to imagine what it would be like if she moved it back further. He felt little concern about the weapon resting there when he thought it. He wasn’t himself when he thought this as Tristan would never allow his mind to wander to these dark places. She was like a book of mystery sitting next to him but despite his efforts Tristan couldn’t read her.

Somewhere outside of Lodi heading further north towards his destined appointment Tristan realized that he’d strayed far outside of his normal routine leaving behind his scheduled itinerary and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. By this time he should have already changed the music to the third disc in his collection and been listening to track twelve on repeat for the third time. Instead he was preoccupied by the woman in his passenger seat who continued to insist him forward into the night and the music had long ago ceased from playing.

Tristan liked when the mysterious woman talked to him. She spoke with a slight force in her voice. It wasn’t the sound of anger exactly, but there was no mistaking that she was firm in her intent. She kept telling him about the direction of the road and calmly motioning him to change lanes while increasing or decreasing speed. Occasionally when she spoke he would turn and nod his head. He was insistent on making eye contact with the woman. In the hopes that she would reveal more than her instructions with a glance he looked over. Again… and again.

Although it seemed like they’d spoke volumes to each other they had not. The woman never revealed the actions of her evening and life before sitting next to him, and she never listened to the words that didn’t come out of his mouth. The words that he’d never spoke but only thought to say to her filled his mind. When truly the only thing he said to her was “Do what you want” when she had asked about lowering the windows.

With twenty-minutes away from his original destination, the woman tells Tristan to pull over. Tristan can barely understand what it means when she doesn’t want to continue. He follows her orders and thinks that he would rather continue than stop. Stopping could mean something new and he had barely grown accustomed to company in the car. When the car ceased and the dust cleared in the darkness surrounding the beacons of light from the headlamps, she said to Tristan slow and surely. “Stay or go?”

The revolver cocks once again and she waits for answer. Although Tristan thinks, “This is no way to get an answer out of anyone” he sits and lets her stay in control to explain. She tells him if he stays they need to keep driving until she reaches Oregon before leaving this car behind. If he stays for the ride she’ll let him go with his car then. Tristan wants to tell her about his prearranged moment at Gate 20 when she speaks but all he does is nod and listen until she stops.

Some place near mile marker 34, when she stops talking it’s his turn to be in control. Tristan Allan looks over at the beautiful woman and wanted to wonder why she picked him when it didn’t matter anymore.

It’s Tristan’s turn to reverse the roles and become the character who speaks with a firm tone. A resolved decision must come from a choice that changes the end of his story.

Unlike the book the mysterious woman had not been predestined to go with Tristan. Their meeting had been up to chance and had he gone to another gas station or stopped in another town, she wouldn’t be with him. Here before him sat the most fun his life had seen outside of a book and he hadn’t planned or found comfort in knowing about it ahead of time. This woman had been the one thing out of his routine and he hadn’t realized before this instant that she’d distracted him from worrying how it all fit into a routine.

No matter how close they sat to the airport, the clock in the dashboard flashed 12:33 am and just like that Tristan realized that his tiresome mother and her Curio Doll wouldn’t be waiting anymore, but the Oregon border would be. While thinking of all this Tristan Allan came to a decision that would change his life forever and when he looked into the woman’s eyes once again somehow he didn’t mind that his choice wasn’t predestined or part of a pressing routine. And with that Tristan Allan decided to... Drive.

The D Chronicles Vol 1 - (Men): Drive

Drive                                                                                                             

Tristan Allan wasn’t going anywhere for fun, at least that’s what he thought when he left the house exactly at 6pm for Sacramento. He didn’t want to drive to Sacramento after work that Thursday evening. No not at all. In fact Tristan much preferred to spend his evenings getting lost in a book with a nice tall glass of water. But on this particular evening his presence was required in the Northern California city for an appointment that had little to do with him. It had to do with a small request that had been made by his mother. And although at times he found her to be tiresome, Tristan often found it more difficult to refuse any of his mother’s requests. This time he was to pick up her newest Curio doll from the vendor arriving at Gate 20 of the Sacramento International Airport promptly at 12am. As ridiculous as it sounded he indulged her nonetheless.

Tristan Allan had always liked books. Especially how the endings were already predestined to occur. The timings of things involved happened in a set order. It was comforting to know how it all ended made sense. Especially since things that happened in life, like a change in routine, rarely made sense.

As a creature of habit and a man of pressing routine, Tristan rarely changed his habits but when he did so it was a matter of occasion. If it was a bit out of his ordinary it just wouldn’t do. But on this occasion when he so desperately preferred to stay in he went against the grain and changed his routine. Tristan thought to himself that the drive wouldn’t be so bad. He had often admired the cool colors of sunset that danced with the shadows of the landscape and with a little bit of music and a small bottle of water he set out for a drive.

And it wasn’t so bad until the need for gasoline registered on the dash. Long after the cool colors of sunset had faded, somewhere outside of Modesto the light flicked on while there were No Surprises from Radiohead coming out of the radio. With less than two hours until reaching his final destination, Tristan pulled off the highway.

The lights of the station were bright and blinding when he pulled in. Figuring it would be a quick stop he needlessly left the keys in the switch and the radio playing while he pumped the gas. Everything around him on the island was blanketed in a white hue. In the blackness across the lot a small glint of light reflected from the small unlit headlamp of a broke-down Coupe Deville with a burnt out interior. While looking at this something inside of Tristan grew uneasy but he resisted the feeling to finish pumping the gas.

Uneasiness never quite passes with the effortlessness that it arrives. And Tristan Allan had more than a slight reason to be nervous because what happened next happened faster than he could react. A long cool woman with quickness in her step came forward out of the dark. Three. Two. One. The cool steel of a revolver finds itself face to face with his deadpan stare. Behind the revolver she insists that he get back into the car and…

 “Drive.” She says

And Tristan Allan likes the way she says it. There is a sound of authority in her voice that makes him want to do what she says. It’s not that he likes to be controlled but there was definitely something about her that was completely different. And he didn’t seem to mind.

It didn’t matter that she wore a sidearm and kept the revolver between her legs cocked and pointed at him. In fact the way she stayed cool and collected when she originally made her demands had put him at ease. As he drove the car his head remained focused on the road while the corner of his eye watched her carefully.

She sat neatly with her black dress lifted just up to the top of her thighs and Tristan wanted to imagine what it would be like if she moved it back further. He felt little concern about the weapon resting there when he thought it. He wasn’t himself when he thought this as Tristan would never allow his mind to wander to these dark places. She was like a book of mystery sitting next to him but despite his efforts Tristan couldn’t read her.

Somewhere outside of Lodi heading further north towards his destined appointment Tristan realized that he’d strayed far outside of his normal routine leaving behind his scheduled itinerary and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. By this time he should have already changed the music to the third disc in his collection and been listening to track twelve on repeat for the third time. Instead he was preoccupied by the woman in his passenger seat who continued to insist him forward into the night and the music had long ago ceased from playing.

Tristan liked when the mysterious woman talked to him. She spoke with a slight force in her voice. It wasn’t the sound of anger exactly, but there was no mistaking that she was firm in her intent. She kept telling him about the direction of the road and calmly motioning him to change lanes while increasing or decreasing speed. Occasionally when she spoke he would turn and nod his head. He was insistent on making eye contact with the woman. In the hopes that she would reveal more than her instructions with a glance he looked over. Again… and again.

Although it seemed like they’d spoke volumes to each other they had not. The woman never revealed the actions of her evening and life before sitting next to him, and she never listened to the words that didn’t come out of his mouth. The words that he’d never spoke but only thought to say to her filled his mind. When truly the only thing he said to her was “Do what you want” when she had asked about lowering the windows.

With twenty-minutes away from his original destination, the woman tells Tristan to pull over. Tristan can barely understand what it means when she doesn’t want to continue. He follows her orders and thinks that he would rather continue than stop. Stopping could mean something new and he had barely grown accustomed to company in the car. When the car ceased and the dust cleared in the darkness surrounding the beacons of light from the headlamps, she said to Tristan slow and surely. “Stay or go?”

The revolver cocks once again and she waits for answer. Although Tristan thinks, “This is no way to get an answer out of anyone” he sits and lets her stay in control to explain. She tells him if he stays they need to keep driving until she reaches Oregon before leaving this car behind. If he stays for the ride she’ll let him go with his car then. Tristan wants to tell her about his prearranged moment at Gate 20 when she speaks but all he does is nod and listen until she stops.

Some place near mile marker 34, when she stops talking it’s his turn to be in control. Tristan Allan looks over at the beautiful woman and wanted to wonder why she picked him when it didn’t matter anymore.

It’s Tristan’s turn to reverse the roles and become the character who speaks with a firm tone. A resolved decision must come from a choice that changes the end of his story.

Unlike the book the mysterious woman had not been predestined to go with Tristan. Their meeting had been up to chance and had he gone to another gas station or stopped in another town, she wouldn’t be with him. Here before him sat the most fun his life had seen outside of a book and he hadn’t planned or found comfort in knowing about it ahead of time. This woman had been the one thing out of his routine and he hadn’t realized before this instant that she’d distracted him from worrying how it all fit into a routine.

No matter how close they sat to the airport, the clock in the dashboard flashed 12:33 am and just like that Tristan realized that his tiresome mother and her Curio Doll wouldn’t be waiting anymore, but the Oregon border would be. While thinking of all this Tristan Allan came to a decision that would change his life forever and when he looked into the woman’s eyes once again somehow he didn’t mind that his choice wasn’t predestined or part of a pressing routine. And with that Tristan Allan decided to... Drive.

Drive. There are a great deal of things in this world that will change your life. Meeting new people happens to be one of my favorite things. As every person is a world unto themselves with so much to contribute to our own world. A chance meeting that happens through a plethora of ways and instantly BAM… you’re still friends ten years later. In this world you never know who you will meet and how it will affect your life. It is important to embrace these encounters at any cost. Not everyone is meant to be in your life as you may think it. Sometimes the people you have passed judgment on… could be someone extremely significant in your life. Often I encourage people to take chances. Why? Because as you grow older… don’t get me wrong there are chances as you get older, but they grow fewer and lack the same zeal as they once may have had. A golden opportunity will knock on your door once. If you pass on it, the next one is different. Remember there are many golden opportunities in this life; just make sure you don’t let them all pass you by because practically no one should expect a rose garden without planting seeds. Enjoy. Kisses. m.

The Long Stretch.

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. The black split in two by the divided bright line. Closer and closer. Frantically its pushing forward. Speeding engine roaring across the lines. Passing cars. Dodging bullets. Heartbeat pounds within a heavy chest. Radio sounds cut out as the approach draws nearer. Wires pass out of range in the night and there’s no more stops along this stretch. Last chance to turn back and every time its full throttle.

The Long Stretch.

As long as I can remember there have been men that crossed my way.

It’s been sometime since someone came along. Traveled through the dark night, bright day. Down this way. Down this stretch. The long stretch. Some travel beneath the stars in the darkness that blankets my roughened exterior with a coolness that never comes in the daylight warmth. The long stretch doesn’t beckon to them like it used to. Yet the call remains.

Any that cross close enough will hear it. The sound of my song. The song that leaves them wanting to find it. The one thing that can’t put a finger on, but once they’ve heard it can’t live without. And they’ll follow it. Follow it off into the end until it’s found. And they’re never lost for long once they’ve found it. Along this never-ending path that welcomes them.

Some that pass through know where they’re going but will never get there. Others don’t have a clue what they wanted when they stumbled down this stretch into nothing. That’s when it calls the strongest. The urge to take a turn off the map in the foreign direction you don’t know. It calls intensely. And that’s when they are mine. Some might think they’re run a little off course from the main road. They keep telling themselves that the road only looks like it keeps changing. Well if anyone ever crosses feeling while traveling down an unfamiliar stretch they might want to remember this one thing: You aren’t lost. The road isn’t where you think it is anymore. Once you’ve stepped one foot into these boundaries you no longer have a direction.

All directions ultimately converge upon one. And I am boundless. Long, dark and unending. The mass of my dark body is filled with faded pieces of discoloration from the unyielding sun. Parts of me are broken, yet remain strong and useful. Chunks lifted, pulled through the blackened gravel and unpaved holes compose my surface. Unreasoned patterns, breaks that show distinct mistreatment and neglect. But make no mistake those small pieces are merely a sum of my parts. The whole is intact.

Been here a long time. Longer than before they paved over me. Long before they had feet. Long before even they were here. The speeding demons. Four wheels charging across the plains harnessed by a fifth that governs the direction of the others. Behind the wheel and they think they’re still in control.

Man’s biggest problem is how he perceives the world around him. He likes to see things the way he thinks they are. How he thinks he controls them. Not how they really are. Sometimes I wonder if I were to bleed that I might feel the same way.

Listening to the sound of their flesh grating against my hardened surface as the gravel slices into soft tissues and tears towards the bones I wonder what it would feel like to bleed. Would it grant the key to understanding the passage of life and time like they do? Feeling the burning of skin as it pulls fresh from the interior layers beneath and the flow of life escapes. What understanding would the sensation of pain bring me? Bleeding out through remaining fleshy portions as a result of mortality. If this threshold of feeling is what lends their minds to believe in boundaries, I truly wonder if understanding will be enough. And if understanding what it means to be of the flesh would tame the insatiable urge to annihilate anything that crosses my stretch.

Alive through the moments of death that pass within my unending reach. Moments that will happen again and again. The shadows of the lost that edge closer and closer toward their destiny. All the while cracks that splinter across my wounded surface crave another taste. Waiting. For another taste of blood. Waiting. To be fulfilled by it. Calling out to the blood that comes. Waiting. For it to spill. Down. Down. Down. Deep into the fractures that lie of weakness in my hardened armor. Dripping. Crawling. Deep beneath the surface and drying. And the rain comes to wipe clean all traces of what’s come and gone across my boundless empire.

Blood Alley. Freeway of Flesh. Highway to Hell. Requiem Road.

In some parts of my boundless empire there’s been a name or two given to mark a few of the outstretching veins. They’ve seen their fair share of death. Life that travels on them and then spills into night without cause. It can be called many things but it don’t change what’ll happen if a desperate soul makes their way down one of these paths. And there’s nothing like a fresh soul waiting for life to show its value. Desperate for a change. Not caring where the call comes from next. With a small glimmer of hope that didn’t matter enough to expect something from.

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. Lines divide up the center of two lane black. Chk. Chk. Check the lights in the darkness that reflects black. Lights on. Lights off. Flashing. Only black bounces back beyond that yellow line. The feelings of fear and apprehension come through loudly like a record player etching out a tune against a revving engine barreling down the stretch through the night. Behind the wheel sits desperation as the wheels keep spinning faster and faster like there’s no tomorrow and rightly so there isn’t. Brakes squeal with the sounds of panic. Even though there’s nothing coming for miles in both directions the sonic boom of impact will clap across the horizon with the intensity and magnitude of thunder. The shadow of darkness will once again coat the stretch in the silence of night. Chk. Chk. By the bright light of dawn remain the last sounds of the engine brought down to mere whisper. Somewhere beneath a twisted metal wreck sitting in front of the open horizon lies the last breath of bleeding desperation that tomorrow couldn’t wait for.



The road is alive. What do you think? Travel on a road the seems to change direction right in front of you. hmmm? On the road. Love Kerouac. And it’s been far too long, Jack. The road it calls to me. Ever hear that? Some might laugh. But it does. A sense of adventure. A sense of unknown lies out there. Outside of what you and I know. Could tell you a little story about the road, except I don’t get to take unnecessary road trips a lot these days. Every trip that’s been taken in the last few months has had a purpose and an end. Although sometimes I bend the rules in returning. Cause I miss those trips when it was just nothing and somewhere new. A good friend of mine laughs at this. “How can you go when you don’t know where you’re going?” To this I always reply. “I’ll know when I get there.” And I usually do.


Anyhow, things are never what anyone thinks they are. Perception is in the mind. And we choose how limited our minds can be. We will only see judgment if we attack ourselves first. And remember your past doesn’t make you. It is what we do today, tomorrow, and the next one after that. These are new days. Filled with new choices. And your choices, these are the things that define you from moment to moment. Be kind, be yourself, and don’t worry about what the girl/guy next to you thinks. He or she is not you. You are all wonderful just the way you are. Ooops… Digressed. Anyway, back to a little R&R after.... crash. bang. pow. ok? It’s really a story for another night! enjoy. kisses. m.

Passing through.

Passing through.

Car broke down, eh? Want a lift? Get in. If you’re not too picky there’s a truck stop up a ways. I can drop you there on my way. Oh, I’m not going too far. My place is up the road a bit further than that. So where you headed? Just passing through to the main road. That’s an odd way to come by things. I guess there’s nothing like scenery. It’s just… well these parts are uncommon to outsiders. Oh not to worry. It’s not that anything bad ever happens round here, it’s just that since the money went out of the area and through the main stretch of highway not much sense in people stopping. See there’s the old diner right there. Ellie’s. Been out of business six months now. Old Ellie and Frank Bass used to run it. Yeah it was her namesake. Frank was a bit of a romantic in those days when they opened the place. Served the best apple pie you’d ever tasted in your life. People would come all around for that pie. That’s a shame cause you’ll never taste it. And there’s Manhattan gas. Closed since last year. The fellow that ran the place fell out of touch after it shut down. Such a shame. There used to be a soda fountain in the front that served the coldest pop you could find in these parts. On a hot day there would be a crowd hanging out. Funny thing is you would have had something to eat and that car fixed right up by now if they were still open. Something about those old places closing makes me a little nostalgic. Ah you wouldn’t know about that would you? Alright, here’s your stop. Nice to have the company. Don’t forget us now.

300. Ever been through a stretch that’s not quite a ghost town, but there’s little left to it. There’s a lot of places like that here in California. In many parts the economy dwindling has not been too kind. Actually just heard about some real ghost towns and.... Another story in itself. Have a good night. enjoy. kisses. m.

Gaffled.

Gaffled

People don’t notice something is gone until it comes back. That missing link can go unnoticed for a while without a second thought or glance. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Then there it is… on the TV, outside the supermarket, or walking down the street. Soon enough you’ll realize, if you’re lucky, that something has been missing and that maybe you don’t know how long it’s been gone.

Danny pushes at his face with one hand as he looks around at the street around him, behind him and up ahead. Through his swollen, creased left eye he can see the rest of the guys walking up slowly to the rear. Still dressed in the same white tees and creased black chinos they were wearing when they left. From an outsiders eye they look like a pack heading out for the night. This couldn’t be further form the truth. Tijuana, has a split lip and two black eyes. Shorty is nursing a limp that threatens his balance. White Rob keeps twitching and talking about strange things under his breath.

Up ahead Danny can make out the front porch of his Mom’s place. She’s sitting on the front porch with Alberta Johnson watching the final colors of twilight take effect. Two gossiping hens watching and waiting for the fallen soldiers to make contact. He can already see her cane start waving as he draws closer to the fence line. And just like a force to be reckoned with he has no choice but to face the music.

Not even three feet through the gate, she lets him have it.

“Where the hell have you been all week?! Pendejos!”

Danny edges nearer to the base of the porch. He is stopped by another barrage of language and the wild movements of her cane pointing in his direction.

“What the…? Look at your face. Estas loco! I swear you better have a good reason for it. Damn you fools comin’ up here like this after a week! I’ve been sick with worry.”

 “Mind ya business and you might live longer,” spouts off TJ standing at the front gate.

“Tijuana, shut up fool, that’s his Moms.” Shorty hauls off and cuffs TJ in the head. “No disrespect, ma’am.”

“You have some nerve! To come up to my house and talk this way. Daniel, you and these idiots better get outta my sight! And tell those other idiots across the street to stop calling over here. No one cares where you’ve been. If they did they would have found you and not bothered me.”

“Look I’m sorry Mom. Can we talk about it later?” Danny quietly says before trying to walk back out the front gate.

“Wait a minute! And where’s the car? Don’t you know tomorrow is Sunday? I have to go shopping.

Forget it. I’m already tired from talking to you. Get your G-Damn asses outta my sight!” His mom hollers and gives her cane a final wave before resuming her conversation. “Alberta can you believe this? Such disrespect. I know your grandson is a cardiologist. I don’t know where my boy went wrong.”

Danny and the boys didn’t always come home. Despite all the noise his Mom would throw out at him, that never set back the good times. Most nights there was a kick back somewhere or an even better something. It never seemed out of place if the old black Impala didn’t roll up in the drive for a few days. Especially if they hit the highway for a few. Funny thing was no one thought they’d ever roll back up without a ride.

Heading across the street, the pack follows Danny with a less than stellar confidence. Out on the porch there’s Los and Sergio kickin it with forties in the dark. Los leans forward and nods to greet the beaten pack.

“How you been livin’? Look like you got hit in the face with somethin’.” Sergio greets the broken crew. “If you want, there’s some cold ‘Ronas in the house.”

Los waves them up to the house. “Well then, take a load off. Where you been? No one has seen or heard from you fools since Hector’s kick back last week. The place got raided and we thought you was in county, for sure.”  

“Nah, we stayin’ off that shit for a few.” Danny shakes his head at Sergio and answers Los’ inquiries. “Some crazy shit happened after we left Hector’s place. I don’t know where we was but I don’t think… it wasn’t county.”

“Why’s it so dark? What can’t no body pay for some light bulbs around here?”spouts off TJ. Shorty raises his hand at TJ again and White Rob keeps looking at the sky talking in circles.

Los leans in and smiles. “Come at me with some game. Lay down the story. You all show up at my place half dead and walking, seven days after my boy Hector gets raided and locked down without a tale. I’m not buyin’ it.”

 “Where’s your ride? If I had a ride as sweet as your black Impala I wouldn’t let it out of my sight. So what’s up, Danny?” Sergio chimes in with a cross-eyed look.

“Shorty thinks it’s in impound. Right?”

“Yeah, Danny the ride’s gotta be in impound.” Shorty quickly agrees and shuts up.

“What the fuck? Don’t show up and act like that? We go back.”

“Alright,” Danny starts and the pack follows his lead, “but I warned you. This is some real X-files shit going on. Hella don’t trip off of it. Cool?”

“You’re among family. You got my word.”

“Shorty… go on.”

“Alright, ‘member we’re leavin’ Hector’s last Saturday. Danny says that it’s hella dead and we need to bounce. So TJ, White Rob, and Jingo take off with us to find the party at Esco’s place. You know his hermanita got married and there was some party. Then…”

Los stops him in the middle… “What? You know where Jingo-Jango is? Where is he?”

Shorty waves his hands and Danny starts, “Yo, I don’t know how to tell you this but Jingo, didn’t make it. He just couldn’t handle it. Aww, man I’m sorry.”

Shorty starts back in… “So we’re takin the back streets to over by the high school where Esco was staying. There’s no one around. White Rob and TJ decide to smoke. It’s cool cause there’s nothin’ going on.”

Shorty waves his hands around a few times and Danny jumps in.

“So I’m driving, Shorty and Jingo are cool watching the other two blaze it like mad. No worries. Then there it is…like out of no where. This light. So we’re all thinking the same thing…”

“Damn ghetto bird,” White Rob steals the words before falling back out into the unknown.

“Right, hell yeah, me and Danny are like ‘Fuck it’s the ghetto bird’ and we’re like ‘put that shit out’ to those fools.”

“Except, the light gets brighter and closer to the ground. Before they could get that shit put out there we were stopped dead. The car stopped. No engine. No radio. No lights. Cells don’t work. No signal. Interference. And the damn ghetto bird was getting closer until it’s on us. The five-0 must have stepped up their game. Because that was some high tech shit or somethin’ else.”

“Stop! Why the fuck didn’t you run?” interrupts Los.

“Run? There wasn’t time.” Shorty snaps back quick. “It was in a flash then over. I don’t remember what happened to the car. They must have tazzed us or some shit cause all of sudden...BAM! Then we were awake in this strange place. Didn’t look like no kind of jail I’ve ever end up in.”

White Rob speaks quietly “Tiny walls with openings of circles. No bars. Water in a tray.”

“Shut up fool! You had water?” screams TJ and slaps White Rob. “I didn’t have no water before they busted my face. Police brutality! Or whatever those things were?”

“Dude, don’t you remember seeing any five-0?” Sergio drops his empty forty on the ground.

“Yo, I don’t know. If this is five-o I don’t know what kind of game they are runnin’ these days. Money is tight and all, but these fools had some crazy ass things going down. I get that there’s some budget cuts, but man they’re hiring some weird lookin’ people to work down there. There was one guy with tentacles. Fingers all over his body. Like something out of Aliens-lookin, E.T. copy cat mutha-fuckers and they kept messin with Jingo. I don’t know what their deal was. Shorty?”

“Danny’s right, they had this woman and her head spun around three times before stopping and she kept sticking Jingo and White Rob with some weird ol syringes. Jingo couldn’t hang. They just didn’t let up.” When they were tired of that, then they had these really big hairy goons, like Chewbacca an’ shit, come in and give the rest of us a beat down. ’member? That’s when they took your keys for the Impala.”

“Fuck! My ride! Damn, it better be in impound. My moms is gonna kill me. I don’t even remember no mug shots or fingerprints. Shorty how’d we get back?”

“They? Shit, I don’t know. Didn’t we wake up by the side of the road earlier?”

“Oh yeah, fuck wow, this has been a week. So what do you think? Crazy shit.”

“Huh?” Los drops open a jaw.

“Look if you can say huh then you heard me? What do you think?”

Los and Sergio hold back straight until they’re just about to bust open.

“HAHAHA! They got gaffled for their ride.” Los starts in, “By mutha fuckin’ X-files rejects n shit. HAHAHA.”

Before long Sergio joins in while lighting up a smoke. “That’s some funny shit though. For real. If you all got jumped out then all you had to do was call someone. E.T. PHONE HOME! HAHA!”

“F-u-uck You!” spouts out TJ and no one raises a hand.

The pack stops and looks at each other.

“I don’t need this shit.” Danny starts to walk away and the others follow. Before he leaves Danny yells back one final thing. “My moms says to STOP CALLING!”

“Nah, save that noise for E.T! Maybe he’ll bring back your ride. Beam it down for you nice and clean! HAHA! Quit trippin.”

 “I’m out. It’s been a long ass week. No hard feelings. Later fools.”

Danny resumes pushing at his broken face as he heads back home across the street. The remaining members of his broken pack disband and head off into different directions. Shorty limping. TJ spitting blood and walking White Rob to the corner. Somewhere out on a curb there’s a black Impala parked on blocks missing a set of rims. Nothing out of the ordinary?

Jacked. And no one believes you. That’s a shame. This one goes out to my lil sis and I give her most of the credit for the idea. A lot of lunchtime convo’s brought this one about. Also a close friend has me watching Battlestar Galactica and I'm very intrigued by cylons and aliens. It needs a little more. For now, it’s sci-fi, a little fun and definitely a different pace. Enjoy? m.