I come from a place with endless blue skies and the kind of weather people are willing to pay millions to live in and am consistently impressed with the skies here in Texas.
There is something different about them here, something that gives them more of a 3-D feel that always reminds me of the opening scene of The Simpsons.
I love these skies and the feel of the sun upon my back so very much that I never can quite understand why people would want to live in places that have a real winter.
My phone buzzes and I see a message asking where I come up with the ideas for my stories. Someone wants to know if I’ll answer questions about this story but I ignore the message.
Some stories just come to me and the best explanation I have is I know things and I see things. It is like breathing, I don’t have to think about it.
A Big Black Purse & John Lennon’s Lung
A few hours ago I sat on a soccer field and watched my daughter’s team practice and let my mind wander.
I thought about writing a story on Nuke Korea and decided to hold off on that and not just because I wanted Nuke Korea to be understood as a play on North Korea but because it just didn’t feel right.
And then I thought about writing about the stalker’s big black purse and how he carries animal parts in there, including a dried husk he refers to as John Lennon’s Lung.
It has real potential and could be pretty funny but I don’t feel like painting that sick clown in terms that make him endearing or human.
At the moment he strikes me as being a pathetic narcissist who is need of a colonoscopy without the benefit of the good drugs.
Not to mention a lobotomy, a boot to the head and Tabasco sauce eye drops.
I suppose you could say chunky has irritated me a little bit, but probably not as much as you might think.
But maybe more than he should, anyhoo, here is hoping he walks into a pole while checking his phone messages and or burns off his eyebrows while grilling a steak.
Even better he should lose all of his teeth except for one and he should have a toothache in that one.
Dumb oaf.
A Broken Faucet
The kitchen faucet entered what my pal D would have described as “The Failure Mode” tonight and in spite of my best efforts to Macgyver it into performing correctly it just didn’t happen.
I took it apart and put it back together and for a brief moment I thought I had found a way to stop the leak but all I was able to do was make it leak less than it had prior to my working with it.
There was something gratifying about that but also some minor frustration at coming so damn close to making it work.
For a while I stared at it and thought about ways I could make it work and wondered what I would have done if I didn’t have tools to work upon it with.
Eventually I concluded that my time was too valuable to be focused upon a broken faucet that couldn’t be repaired by me.
Didn’t matter whether it was because I didn’t have the proper tools/parts or if it had just reached the end of it is faucet life span.
There was only so much time to be dedicated to it and after that it was smarter to move on.
And now we break for music, one of my favorite songs, Killing The Blues with Robert Plant & Allison Krauss.
Somebody said they saw me, swinging the world by the tail
Bouncing over a white cloud, killing the blues.
Followed by Please Read The Letter
Please read the letter, I
Wrote it in my sleep
With help and consultation from
The angels of the deep
and finally Krauss’ cover of Can’t Find My Way Home
And I’ve done nothing wrong
But I can’t find my way home
Her voice is awesome, ethereal.
That could be part of my personal soundtrack…maybe.
