autumn in vermont.
hey Shoebox - my we haven't chatted in some time. How are you fella? I've become a full time storyteller - can you believe it?
A full time story teller? That sounds very interesting. I got some stories. I just went to the Supreme Court today. I'm doing swell in Maryland. You? I want you to tell me a story.
Long ago in the thick woods between two smoky mountains was a small house. There was a young man who lived there who would sit for hours on his front porch asking himself, "How did I get here?" The coal beings deep below him would call out, but their tongue was foreign to him and all he could hear was the wind and sometimes, there were explosions. In time he left this place but the coal beings still call him. What do they want? Why do they call him? Only at night, late at night can he hear them, but now they sound like teeth grinding and horns honking. Soon, soon they will be clear and he will know what question they have held for so long.
The young man had more questions.
What does a flower say when it flows through the doors? I'm happy that I'm naked and blue? I'm dancing in the rain? I'm sad and pleading in the sun? I've got a lot of things to do? I have to give away my inner soul so that many others can live? I must regret my existence because it marks my end, I am a purple blue yellow round long narrow wide bursting soft thing that is fraught with meaning. Red is the end, the smack down the cards and go for the gold and bare the soul. White is the purity and the reflection and the beginning of a new experience.
I took a breath of air in front of the Supreme Court this morning. Laughed to myself at the reporters' silly questions. "There was a lot of legalese in there. What's the crux of your argument, in your own words?" a lovely blonde lady asked my friend, who was looking professorial. We used to ride bikes, drink beer, play pool and listen to bands. Back then, I didn't know anything about coffee. I bought a bag of Kenya coffee at the tiny whole foods market on lamar. 20 years ago. I was hungover. Thinking in front of the coffee. "Should I get ground or whole bean? I don't think they put whole beans in the coffee maker." I opted for ground. I was so nervous. I told my friend, and boss, about my dilemma later that evening over a pint of Shiner. He laughed at me. "You really know nothing about coffee. But you made the right choice."
But you made the right choice Shoebox. Isn't that the thing?
actually, i think the thing is the analysis. and therefore the right choice. so yes. both are important.
what is colliding do you suppose?
tiny dancers. maybe little pieces of dust. egos and skin? sentimentality and the need to refresh? cowboys and indians? bullets and bones? movement and the gravitational force?