Chase A Squirrel

He was afraid to touch her because he said his hands were rough. He rubbed them together like he was testing them to see for sure or to use them like sandpaper on each other. “They might feel like bricks,” he claimed.
She said, “They don’t feel rough to me.” He hadn’t touched her yet but he always said that and they never felt any rougher than a loofah might, if that. Mostly they just felt strong and sure and like they loved her. Good, working hands that often reached back to find one of hers whenever they were walking somewhere where he might worry about a crowd separating them or just to keep her closer to him.
He had been out on their tractor and doing lots of manual work that day as most all days he did the same. For some reason that made the rough hands more attractive and not hard to take at all — more like a pleasing scratch when they found their way around the surface of her naked body or even just her face.
He took her face in his hands and asked her if they felt too rough to her. “No, not rough at all,” she assured him.
He gave her a little tap and said, “We’ll pick this up later.” He had just come in to get a drink of water and to put his hands around her face to hold it and kiss it once before he went back out.
She kept sweeping the floor and looked out the kitchen window to see him back out on the tractor moving dirt around — the dog following beside or running off to chase a squirrel. He was getting their land shaped right for planting and channeling the rain — just the earthworks not plowing.
They were making this life together — way out in the boonies where the distant train sounds were far enough away to sound like music — romantic lullabies to help them fall asleep once a hard day’s work was done and his rough hands could come to lie in bed with her again.

Can’t Be Fixed

I would like to eat a big bag of Cheetos and not worry about cows or plastic pollution or opening death’s door — but that is wishful thinking and not envy except for slightly envying those who can eat Cheetos without worrying about plastic or cows — although I don’t envy not being able to think. It would just be nice if Cheetos were something good.
I found a copy of Entourage, the movie, on DVD lately for one dollar and watched it. I watched it again. It is fun to watch people having it all. The music made the Cadillac seem even better but it really couldn’t get much better than it was — but what for? Why have gold rims and fancy things and giant SUVs that can haul down the highway guzzling? All for show. Who’s to know? Who is it looking and how long will that looking last and while they’re looking what is the effect? Is it adrenaline that gets pumped at thinking you are better somehow than the one who’s watching while they’re watching?
All those bikini bodies started looking the same before long and the men had not one iota of respect for any of them and only thought about any of them at all insomuch as for what they could imagine doing with one of them in a room somewhere naked. What’s the value of having a bikini body for that kind of treatment?
What’s the gig? What’s the point? Is it that we’re all looking to stay in the honeymoon phase of wonderment while living?
Laws of attraction say that when two things attract and spin together in that oh-so-wonderful equilibrium, they can also separate and then go flying off dependent for another such attraction. The better would be to have the spinning equilibrium singularly and without a need for any external combining — all inside, well contained, nothing needing in and nothing needing out — spinning in complete equilibrium on one’s own. Not needing is the key to staying in a honeymoon state — it is just a matter of aligning the things that are already inside spinning to all be going in a honeymoon spinning direction. After that has been accomplished, attraction can be for attraction sake and making that found perfection shareable.
As I was watching, and watching it again, (the Entourage movie), all I could think of — after getting past the envy — was how many resources were needed just to make the movie let alone each of the elaborate lives, (in real life), of all the myriad stars who showed up, at least, in cameos. Mega homes and mega cars and clothes that are mostly only worn once. Doesn’t anybody care? Or do they only care about getting that Caddie with the gold rims so they can think that they are making other people envy that they got it.
Why do I keep wanting to go back and watch that movie again?
It’s the same trouble as what makes me think I want to eat those Cheetos — the honeymoon equilibrium inside isn’t spinning right and that can’t be fixed with anything that is outside.
So, I went out and purchased all the flannel shirts in all the colors.

 

Just Say Yes

we praise & protest.
We document & we
drama. We demand

—Ellen Hagan

and I say
WE BEHAVE
those things above are not enough
if all of the ones doing
them
are not
not flying
not eating animals or using them for any kind of purpose
not driving anymore than they absoposolutely have to
and
absoposolutely can easily be used as an excuse for anyone who
really doesn’t want to
do the hard work
Any excuse will do
“I have to work”
no you don’t
unless you want more than you ought to
We all know it’s all a vicious circle
Of course some do
have to
work
but almost everyone works
harder than they have to
if they would instead
accept
less stuff
or care less if they’re in fashion
Blah, blah, blah
raise your fist
raise your arm
march and yell in protest
or walk right by in silence
It might be more effective if everyone went marching
in their birthday suits
naked
or dressed down
in their skivvies
as a way to
Just say yes to saying no
“I don’t need nothin’ but my skin
so quit making me think we have to grow”
“I don’t need to grow more skin
I probably need to lose some”
There is no other way
to flip the profit driven system
Supply
Demand
We get just what we ask for.

Blasting Boom Boxes

Brittany’s blue blouse blew back before being blown beyond bread baking beside bulbous beach baskets brown-buckled by blasting boom boxes.

blasting boom boxes

Brittany tried desperately to keep her blue blouse from being blown completely off by the wind, all the while anticipating eating a piece of that wonderful, nearby baking bread. The bulbous brown-buckled baskets sitting beside the beach would be perfect to put a loaf in and then onto her bike so that she could speed off back home — away from the blasting boom boxes.

It’s a shame more people don’t realize that it isn’t fair before it causes strife. What a better world it would be. It’s beyond comprehension.

As Brittany’s horn blew, she was hoping that people wouldn’t notice that she was naked now.