January 10, 2007
For But a Moment
The sun had set some time ago and the smoky twilight was starting to give way to true night as Tom pulled into the drive and waited for the garage door to reach its zenith. Out around the car he maneuvered his briefcase above Sean’s Christmas bike with Katie’s pink hula-hoop draped creatively over the handlebars. The kids chatter reached him before he put his hand on the door handle. The sounds proclaimed dinner was already on the table.
Claire kissed his cheek carrying a striped glove holding a steaming pot as Tom traversed from the garage through the kitchen and into the bright dinning room. Sean glanced up with a screwed up look to his face in reaction to the creamed peas his mother was adding to the crowded table. Then from his seat opposite the window Sean looked out towards a young man ambling by on the street. For but a moment our worlds touched. Then I was off walking down the block as they continued into dinner.
(Inspired by The World's Last Night - C.S. Lewis)
Posted by paul at 01:52 PM | Comments (0)
November 15, 2005
Dear Diary,
Ah, the first real snow of the year. It reminds me of my childhood when I would sit hard at work (then at school, now at a job) and watch it slowly make it’s delicious descent only to melt away much to my dismay. But yet as if those early martyrs quest had not been in vain the ground cools enough for the onslaught not to have been futile and there remains a trace of wet white. As a child I longed for enough snow to make the first snowman, to sled the first hill and to win valor on the field of snow battles.
Has my child like devotion dimmed? Fervor and passion… their only recourse should be action.
(Quietly I stalk back into the world of real blog posts… will anyone notice?)
Posted by paul at 02:45 PM | Comments (2)
January 12, 2005
Writing from a farm
I sit on the piano stool my bare feet tucked underneath and crossed. I have always enjoyed lounging in bare feet; it makes me feel laid back and casual. My jeans stretched and spotted from days of repeat wearing, climb up my legs and curl slightly under my unfit belly. I have just added a light knitted shirt over my white undershirt which like the jeans has been an easy companion the last couple of days. Two days of stubble reaches around my chin barely browning my visage complete with fingerprinted black rimmed glasses and rather greasy tousled hair. I slouch over the keyboard pounding hesitantly on the basic keyboard. I wish I had my natural, ergonomic one.
Outside the sky is cast in ash and the snow is soft and soupy. The old farm house is quite except for the clack of the keys over the whir of the computer case fan. Even the normal sounds of an ancient house are quieted by subdued surroundings. I could write here for years…
Posted by paul at 11:31 AM | Comments (1)
December 03, 2004
Gave Everything
Blue spruce needles spin and twist in hands gnarled with arthritis as clouded watery brown eyes stare off at the horizon. The porch is dimly lit by the setting sun and the brilliant orange and purple sky. David’s once strong hands pull at the needles and then draw them close to his wizened face. Sucking in a large breath he sampled their scent and smiled knowingly. “That’s another thing that never gunna changes” he continued peacefully leaning heavily on the rail his tattered bible tucked under his arm.
David took a small sip from his nearby cup, his breath came slow and shallow as he gestured towards the sunset: “Have I done it?” he questioned taking a gentle step back inquisitively. He fingered his wedding ring anxiously. “Can’t I git you something… maybe someone else?” Spittle formed in the corner of his mouth as he spoke.
“No. Thanks though. You’ve helped. Just enough.” Came the response.
David’s eyes widened suddenly focused in the gathering darkness letting the fragrant needles fall unheeded to the porch floor. “I guess that’s it them” he said with a contented sigh as the sun’s orb flashed it’s last ray over the tangled landscape.
As David gathered his cup and prepared to head into the house he stood a little taller and then stopped suddenly and spun around his old work boots squeaking out their complaints.
“Ya know on second thought, you better take this too, jus to make sure you got it awl.” He said smiling broadly. He walked gingerly to the edge of the rail and leaning hard on his left arm he swung the cup out into the air. His arm was shook with age as it always did. But this time… was it excitement?
The simple cup was strung out in mid-air by his wiry arm for an eternity. “I’ll get to see her then?” he whispered.
“Of course” was the response.
“Alright then, I’m ready” David said as he tipped the cup and poured every last drop onto the ground.
Posted by paul at 10:00 PM | Comments (0)
November 17, 2004
Real Live Preacher
I rarely if ever post other's material especially blogs, but since this is outside of my regular blog circut I figured I at least get it started. This is a story taken from Real Live Preacher.com. I found it to be very powerful. Go here to catch part two.
The two men in expensive robes looked very out of place in the darkest part of the back streets, but they were not afraid. Their robes and their attitude let everyone know who they were. No one would dare harm them, even at night.“Do we understand one another?”
“Yes, separate one. I understand perfectly.”
One of the robed men tossed a few coins into the shadows of a doorway. As they turned to walk away he called back over his shoulder.
“Don’t be late. And don’t disappoint me!”
They walked quickly through the alleys with the sleeves of their robes pressed over their noses and mouths. The man who had thrown the coins said to his companion, “A most distasteful business, I must say.”
_____________________________________________________________________
Jesus came early to the temple the next morning to continue his discussions with a small crowd of people made up mostly of tradesmen from the streets of Jerusalem. They were thrilled that this exciting, young rabbi seemed to enjoy teaching regular people. Soon they were knotted around Jesus and engaged in a passionate discussion of the Torah and its interpretation.
Their conversation was interrupted by the panicked and fearful shrieks of a woman. All heads turned at the same time to see a group of about ten men pushing their way through the crowd and up to the front where Jesus stood. These were important and very religious men, some of them scholars and officials of the Temple. Others were Pharisees, respected and wealthy men who took pride in keeping themselves away from sinners.
The townspeople around Jesus parted respectfully, allowing them to the front. Two were dragging a woman along with them. They thrust her violently toward Jesus, and the crowd drew back further when they saw her.
The woman stood with her head down and her hair covering most of her face. Her shoulders were hunched inward with shame, and she was desperately holding a tattered robe around her body. Her feet were bare and her hair was dirty. She was disheveled and confused, and she was not properly covered. A glimpse of her thigh was visible through a fold in the cloth. Under her chin the robe sagged, revealing her collar bone.
One of the Pharisees stepped boldly forward and spoke directly to Jesus. “Honored Rabbi, this woman was caught in the very act of adultery.”
He paused and looked around at the crowd for effect before repeating himself loudly.
“In the VERY ACT! Her guilt is beyond question. We bear witness to it. Now the law of Moses says that we should stone her here and now. But of course, with Jesus here at the temple today, we are fortunate to have an expert opinion on matters of the Law. We wouldn’t want to act hastily. After all, a woman’s life is at stake.”
He cocked his head slightly and stretched his arm out toward Jesus with his palm up.
“So I ask you, rabbi, what do YOU say we should do?”
He said the word “rabbi” with mock intensity, drawing it out until it almost sounded like an insult.
Jesus looked at the group of religious men before him. They met his gaze without looking the slightest bit uncomfortable or unsure of themselves. He turned his head and looked at the small crowd of people who moments before had been listening to him teach and asking questions. They were all looking at him now. Some of them were nodding to each other as if to say, “Yes, I’d like to know what Jesus says about a terrible thing like this.”
Then Jesus turned his eyes to the woman who stood trembling before them all. His eyes moved slowly over her, picking up details that told him something of her story.
She was a woman of the streets; that seemed obvious. She looked hard and desperate. The bottoms of her feet were calloused and thickened, as were the fingers clutching the edges of her cheap robe. She had known hard labor, and the life she now lived made her harder still. Her hair was dirty and there was straw in it. It looked as if someone had thrown her to the ground, tossed the robe at her, and given her a few seconds to make herself presentable.
But something was wrong here. Something was missing. Something nagged at the blurry edges of his awareness, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Jesus slowly lowered himself into a squatting position, eyes still on the woman. Then he looked at the ground before him and wrote with his finger in the dust as he thought and wondered. The crowd was quiet. They stared at him and wondered what he was going to do next.
And then he froze. His index finger stopped moving in the dirt. He understood. He knew what was missing. His eyes closed and he let the air out of his lungs with a groan. His shoulders sagged. He became intent on the ground before him, and he wrote in the dirt, “Where is the man?”
He stood quickly and stepped across what he had written and toward the Pharisee who seemed to be the ringleader. He spoke directly to him, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Where is the man?”
“What man?”
“You know what man. It does take two to commit adultery. Why have you not brought him here to face justice alongside her?”
Like I said earlier go here for the rest of the story!
Posted by paul at 07:22 PM | Comments (1)
October 25, 2004
Hints and Tips for Parts 1, 2 and 3
Obviously the last three posts are about three characters and how they react to a similar time period and base environment in an effort to showcase their differences.
Each of the three personalities has a distinguishing statement at the end of every second paragraph.
But you already knew that.
How can I lead you through this “building” of thought I have constructed without turning on all the lights and revealing one, er I mean all?
I cannot recommend the movie that Mike alluded to but his connection was, though unexpected and unintended, brilliant.
Give it a little thought and I hope that it will come to you. Oh and Pat was thinking about it a little to deeply or spiritually or something like that.
Have fun!
Figure it out yet? Sorry the answer isn't here... yet.
NEW:
Here is the hint that I put up on PlanetRockisu:
"Always remember, if you count backwards from three you'll find the man behind the curtain."
Posted by paul at 07:01 PM | Comments (10)
October 22, 2004
Part 3 of 3 – The Passionate
A dominant picture of a mountain range under a thunderstorm spreads powerfully over the apartments’ main wall. The furniture is meant not to be noticed and the mood evokes the ability to change. In one corner is the nearest an apartment can get to a real fireplace. Above all visual access to the 17th floor windows is paramount to the organization of furnishings. The dwelling is situated such that the suns’ rising in the morning coats the interior with a blinding golden light while the sunset is reflected in similar glory from the tall glass-covered office building across the street. Equal access of the apartment is given to the suns’ recurrent changing of the guard.
He leans forward in his chair frantically scripting his latest thoughts. Brushing the hair from his forehead carelessly, he bites the skin on his first finger. Compelling surging music envelopes the room in a wall of sound. He passionately pens his ideals in a leather bound journal. His dreams are the stuff that reality is made of.
A knock on the door brings in a close friend. Hunkering down over a tasty meal talk quickly turns from banal small talk to that of swimming against the tide and revolution. Enthusiasm rises almost concurrently with the light from the setting sun. Matters of the heart explode on the scene with fire and incredible strength of will. Both parties exhort each other to more action and bigger dreams. His worn t-shirt tightens as a massive hand gesture solidifies his final point. The phone rings unheeded the four times required for the answering machine to switch on recording the callers’ request.
Striking hands in a pledge the benevolent conspirators part company long after the reflected horizon has forgotten the sun. In reluctance to let another day finish but grateful for the hope of an inconceivable tomorrow he traces a few closing memoirs in his journal. He faithfully winds his antique clock and shuts off the fireplace the walls reflecting the surplus light of its glowing metal. Sleep comes quickly with adventurous dreams of saving the world.
Posted by paul at 07:45 PM | Comments (4)
October 21, 2004
Part 2 of 3 – The Jester
The first floor apartment is active and moving. Sound and light leak out of the windows and through the almost always-open door. The furniture and ambiance calm and say "stay just awhile longer". Air is always moving blowing delicious scents from the kitchen making everything feel vibrant and animated. Bright colors and splashes of light dominate the comfortable setting. It is alive.
The center of attention is also the creator of the joyous melee and the apartment owner; who dashes back and forth before his guests entertaining all with brash humor, sincere interest and compelling tales. His sombrero flops up and down as he laughs while the little red balls hanging from the brim quiver with amusing animation. Everyone feels at ease.
Pizzas are rushed from the oven to waiting mouths. The whole group in succession cries in pain as hot cheese, meat and vegetables sear the roof of their mouths. All rush to their cups to cool their smoldering palettes. The phone rings frantically several times before the host appears and answers, plunging a finger into the opposite ear. “Just come over, we can talk about it here”; is the ready answer. He then jumps back to the music, his loud Hawaiian shirt billowing with his glancing movements.
The evening ages and one by one guests must regrettably take their leave. Much too late the last socialite waves their goodbye and closes the door. With a contented sigh music is turned off and lights are dimmed while the remains of the gathering are left in their places to be washed and picked up only before the next time they will be needed. The day has completely expired and the comical clock proclaims the next to have started when he lands on a couch. Caffeine and sugar riddled, it takes him over an hour to finally enter a light sleep filled with airy dreams.
Posted by paul at 07:23 PM | Comments (6)
October 20, 2004
Part 1 of 3 – The Driven
He sits alone is his apartment high up on the twenty-third floor. The dwelling is small and spartan emphasizing functionality, economy, and above all focus. The temperature is exactly sixty-seven degrees all year around. All of the surfaces from the counters and bookshelves, to the sparse sitting chairs and bed are almost completely un-textured, ergonomically designed and neutral in color. It is immaculate.
He sits motionless under a glaring white floor lamp buried in a large technical volume. Small glasses clamp onto his face. With a cultured practiced move he smoothes his military haircut. He knows what he wants.
He stands over the stove at attention concisely chewing his healthy nightly portion. The phone rings so he strategically empties his mouth of food and answers it giving the caller his full name. The conversation is quick, pointed and all business. He emotionlessly takes notes with a black ballpoint pen on a white legal pad only to transfer them after the call ends to his laptop filing it under the day and time in the appropriate folder. He moves back to the counter almost noiselessly with his white shirt and grey pants moving seamlessly along with all of his refined movements.
Dinner is finished as the digital clock is checked with satisfaction. His body is finely tuned through daily physical exercise. His third assignment of the night is emailing reminders to his subordinates their weekly tasks. When the hour hits the lights on timer dim and he descends into bed almost immediately dropping into a dreamless sleep.
Posted by paul at 07:44 PM | Comments (6)
September 15, 2004
My Latest Triumph
I stood there immobilized and amazed by the choices arrayed before my eyes. This mission of gargantuan proportions had been entrusted to me as my fateful task and there was not time for disport. Coming from a distant land to find this auspicious local had been an Iliadian undertaking. I had to be indefatigable in my quest overcoming great obstacles and multiple terrors. This goal, this desire held aloft and at great price was the prize that I had been destined to win. Christie had sent me here. Trusting all into my care. To the place of the red circles to purchase an item so dear to her that all else grew ashen and cold in the brilliant glare of… shave gel. Please note that no specific gel was outlined, so the choice was solely up to me. The only element defined was to restrict myself from anything and all choices malodorous. So, not one to be deterred by options and as always considering myself to be a decisive person I plunged on. But wait! There was another wayfarer approaching my isolated isle. What was I to do! Ever so casually and imperceptibly I darted my eyes onto a more epicene product. Which I might add was not so easy in such a feminine isle such as I found myself. I let my head drift towards where my eyes had landed. “My these Gillette Extra Manly Shavers were oh so interesting with there 47 blades and sonic skin defibrillator ©” I almost exclaimed aloud. This interloper stalled while I languish over which cutting tool was indispensable for my ever so mannish chin and finally they were gone. I made a quick move and suddenly there in my basket lay the quarry. My feet moved unbidden hastening me towards the checkout lanes. Casting a sidelong glance at my prize reveal it as “soothing lavender”. “Ah a most ideal choice”, I thought to myself, “For her favorite color is purple”. The checkouts loomed nearer through the veritable barricade of advertising bricolage. Now my fate was in the sure hands of the checkout attendant. Would she price check my ever so perilous product? Or would I slip through unscathed by my hazardous charge. I picked a lane with a competent looking middle-aged woman with anything but the customer’s barrage of items on her mind. True to form the crucial gel careened down the belt and landed in a bag with the resounding bleep of the scanner and the flint face of my Target© savior never once implicated me in this crime of gender precarious qualities. My quest was over and my manly pride remained unshaken.
And now some vocabulary present in our story:
disport \dis-PORT\, intransitive verb:
To amuse oneself in light or lively manner; to frolic.
Iliadian \ill-lee-ADD-ien\, adjective:
A type of quest; mission of great import.
indefatigable \in-dih-FAT-ih-guh-bul\, adjective:
Incapable of being fatigued; not yielding to fatigue; not
readily exhausted; untiring; unwearying.
malodorous \mal-OH-duhr-uhs\, adjective:
Having a bad odor.
epicene \EP-uh-seen\, adjective:
1. Having the characteristics of both sexes.
2. Effeminate; unmasculine.
3. Sexless; neuter.
4. (Linguistics) Having but one form of the noun for both the
male and the female.
bricolage \bree-koh-LAHZH; brih-\, noun:
Construction or something constructed by using whatever
materials happen to be available.
~~~Thanks to http://www.dictionary.com for word descriptions.~~~
Posted by paul at 06:31 PM | Comments (12)
September 01, 2004
Approaching Marriage’s Single Singularity – Becoming One
Here I am just over my three-month monthiversary of marriage to my dear Christie. But our amicable relationship has grown towards an approaching moment for the past three months. We have watched ever so cautiously as the days have passed. Gingerly awaiting the inevitable. For others this may seem a trite and meaningless issue but for us it is paramount to disaster. For tied within the very fiber of this concern is the protoplasmic element in our blood, it is the stream of consciousness with which we operate our daily lives, and it is the finality in which we stamp out our very existence on this meager planet. I am running out of toothpaste. THAT’S RIGHT! No longer can I claim toothpastial independence from my beautiful caring wife. In a few short days my tube, the symbol of my independence, my singleness, and my very bachelorhood will be gone forever and resolutely I must start using the same tube as my wife. Now you may ask, “Is there some peculiarity in the paste that you choose that would cause strife between you and your beloved?” Nay, amazingly we choose a similar rather basic paste. But wait, I must take you back to those first days of independence, living as one separated from my parents I purchased my first tube of toothpaste. Claiming it as my own I squeezed it the way that I thought it should be squeezed, I kept the cap clean of dried nasty paste, and I stored it carefully in dark dry space. It was a triumph of my young life. I was eager for the thrills and excitement of it all. So now do I weep, do I wring my hands in agony? Nay, not so, I set my face like flint prepared for the future. I have made my peace with the paste and now will set my brush into the unknown with joy.
Thank you.
Posted by paul at 06:28 PM | Comments (10)
July 11, 2004
And So...?
He walks away from me with an awkward jumpy gate. His faded black pants tighten in their usual places as he slides his gaunt frame into an ample booth to my left. His eyes scan the room furtively and alight with some annoyance on a fly orbiting the lamp hanging over his stall. He rests his arms commandingly on the table and waits.
After five minutes or so he has lost the comfortable air in which he first sat down and now fidgets with anything that is within reach of his white slender hands. The salt and pepper shakers, the flatware tied in a paper napkin, even the tri-folded “specials” menu falls prey to his wandering grasp. He crosses and uncrosses his legs further agitating his taunt pants and exposing dirty white crew socks in his unsightly black athletic shoes
He then absentmindedly spends the next ten minutes designing it so that a bit of the napkin holds pepper unseen just inside the salt shaker and vice versa within the pepper shaker thereby making sure that the next poor patron to be assigned to that booth will receive pepper when he expects salt and salt when he expects pepper.
Our figure angrily dusts salt off of his green tee shirt and mutters something under his breath as he checks his black plastic digital watch. His mouth forms and angry grimace as he folds his hands behind his shaggy dark hair. Abruptly his expression changes to one of intense realization as he turns towards me…
Posted by paul at 11:02 PM | Comments (4)
May 06, 2004
Store #1
The newspaper was wrapped in good news. Carl stooped over it trying to smooth it from the breeze coming through the cracked window. “Ah His Excellency the Counselor is at it again, making the world a safer, better place I see. And in only his first 71 months since the uprising…” He mumbled under his thick brown and gray mustache. He squinted in the dim light from the window. “Wish he could fix the weather though, it’s been gray-brown and drizzle for near on 19 months. No summer and no winter. Just brown rain.” He thought.
Suddenly the door scrapped open and a blast of hot breeze frightened the papers into a confused mess in Carl’s hands. He looked of the top of his glasses, annoyed and arching his eyebrows at the stranger entering his lonely store. He hadn’t had a customer all day and it was almost 2. He let the papers fall to his feet.
The tall thin man browsed the shelves for a half a minute and picked out some essentials: a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a gallon of bottled water. He swung his large pack to the floor placing the items on the counter for Carl to scan which he did in turn. The tall man rubbed the thick brown stocking hat but did not remove it. After the water had been scanned he opened it and drank as though he had not tasted any as pure in a month.
“That’ll be 15.85” Carl challenged. The tall man stopped and looked rather taken aback at the steep price, shook his head and reached a fingerless glove into his heavy coat pulling out a large wad of dirty bills.
Carl jumped in “Don’t take cash no more, not in 13 months. Don’t know what I would do with it after the bank closed. I’ll take your credit though.”
The man’s eyes glowed angrily and his voice cracked: “There good dollars.”
“Sorry, only credit.”
The man pushed the bills towards him. “Here’s double. Take it.” Then he started packing the food up into the dusty pack.
When Carl tried to protest the man just glared at him.
Then he understood, staring at the gloved hands and thick hat. In a small voice he stuttered: “I see… you don’t have any credit…. I’m not supposed to sell to you.”
The man ignored Carl and turned to walk out as his voice pinched to a whine: “Come back here or… or I’ll report you…. at least don’t tell anyone that it was me. I could be arrested!”
The blast of air rustled the papers as the man vanished into the dim midday sun. The door banged closed behind him.
Posted by paul at 12:00 AM | Comments (4)
April 01, 2004
The Journey
I stretch and shake the water out of my eyes. My faithful dog watches my left hand expectantly as I clutch the gnawed gray tennis ball. I rear back and with all my 12-year-old strength throw the tennis ball at the sun high above.
Neither the dog nor I wait for it to hit the water. She is off with the scramble of her toenails on the red crooked dock and I am close on her heels, my bare feet slapping the wood, and my fists clenched and pumping. This summer day is perfect without a wisp of cloud in the sky. The smell of great pines mixed with earth, grass, and wood smoke complete my universe. My eyes are on the horizon and I know no other noise then the rush of wind in my ears and the whistle of my breath as the end of the dock rapidly draws near. My dog launches off the dock crazed with the race for the ball. My right foot thunders against the final plank and I enter space.
Time pauses as I mount higher and higher into the deep blue sky. It is just me and the sun that warms me. I spread my arms wide and push a savage yell from my exhausted lungs. I am alone on my flight towards infinite. Suddenly forever meets the present and I tighten my wiry frame into a coarse ball and smack the water. My journey is over.
The dog and I meet back at the end of the dock. We're going to try it again.
Posted by paul at 11:09 AM | Comments (1)
March 22, 2004
He had no Chin
He was tall and walked with an awkward loping gait. Striding about with his head moving back and forth with his steps almost giraffe like. His long, blond, flat hair tucked in behind his ears and draped down the back of his neck. He was articulate but soft spoken. And he had no chin.
The probably existed some sort of bone like structure that functioned as a jaw because he could open his mouth, it just seemed that between the base of his neck and the bottom of his nose was a slightly curving path. His mouth opened in an oval near the middle of the nose-neck gap and simply seemed to appear out of blank flesh. Words coming out and food going in, it was amazing.
Posted by paul at 11:18 AM | Comments (3)
March 16, 2004
The Girl with the Grubby Fingers
She was a normal, laughing, fun loving girl. It was her fingers, though, that set her apart. They were grubby fingers. You know the kind that seemed to be more at home digging through the dirt than with fingernail polish on. I still am not completely sure why her fingers struck me as grubby. They were wide but not overly fat and seemed to come abruptly to their end with almost triangular shaped nails. They moved rather clumsily and fumbled with almost everything that they touched, roving and climbing, never resting, blunted confusion.
Posted by paul at 11:11 AM | Comments (1)