April 13th, 2022
Nature Is Within And Without. . .Change My Mind
A strange tapestry of light hangs over the western horizon. The sun a white circle of light cauterized through the veiling. Black clouds sweep in from the south that brood with brief flashes of light. Electrical veins streak and then recede back into the darkening sky.
Not more than half a day ago it was cold and grey and raining and a cold tempest blew across eastern Nebraska before the upwelling in warmer weather. Even now the wind howls through the trees and streets and kicks up a debris of leaves and dust and plastic things. Only it isn’t the same wind. And soon the storm will be upon us, a fierce reckoning of the natural order and the revelation of these forces converging.
I go outside and stand out in the grass along Chicago and stare at the sky. Feel it surging. A couple scurry down 50th. Worry on their faces. Fear. Though there is a calm pervading. It is silent. Still. Waiting. Neighbors across the street stand around and wait too. What else is there to do.
I come back inside and sit at this desk. The warm light against the wall before me the only witness to my own judgements. Pieces of paper hung by masking tape remind me of this sentencing.
One day you will die and no longer be able to do the things you have not.
Manage your emotions. Be patient. Remember to love.
Do what is meaningful NOT what is expedient!
If only these notes knew the half of it. These stagnant reminders of my impermanence only reflect back some minor dents in my being. And I’ve been meaning to shake hands with my demons. Befriend them. As I’ve so eloquently penned them against thin sheets of yellowed paper as a reminder to do so. But out there, in it, I am only myself a dogged master of my own keep and all that it contains (which is a brooding of emotions, of instances, of memories burning).
I had been driving around for a few hours. Circling the greater Omaha area. From North O to Council Bluffs across Bellevue to Papillion and La Vista. A thin misting of rain coming down. It took more than twenty minutes to get through it and when I arrived at the Wal Mart parking lot a young woman came running out, the wind whipping her hair about. I opened the door. Leaned out.
You have to come inside, she said.
Which was contrary to what the app directed. I told her and she shook her head. Repeated herself.
You have to come inside if you want to pick up your order.
I cussed and shut the door.
Inside I took a piss. And as I zipped up I received notification my order had been cancelled. At first I thought it must’ve been a mistake and when I told them this the girl spoke up, disgruntled, upset.
I cancelled it.
Why? I asked.
You were rude and slammed the door in my face.
What. No. I was frustrated with the app. I wasn’t mad at you.
She persisted with her incriminations and the more I tried to explain the more muddled my truth became.
See you next Tuesday, I told her and turned and walked off.
We don’t need your help anymore! She screamed at my back.
I drove off in a fit and felt the heat churning in me. My fingers gripped the wheel. Wringing it. I swore even more for the time and the gas and the wear on the car all wasted for nothing on account of an interpretation. And as I drove on the more ashamed I was for losing my cool, my composure.
Outside a grim howling has started. A harrowing siren, like the song of dead souls crying out. It wails and then fades out. Again and again. A warning that something wicked this way comes and then it does. The storm growling. Rain coming down in sheets of sound that slash across the asphalt. Forms rivers on Dodge and Saddle Creek. Along 50th.
As the anger receded there was clarity about the whole thing. I felt bad for what I’d said. For being affected by the immediate. My own child throwing a tantrum. Symptoms of existence. Though I was no different than her in my own way. Only I know better. Know myself better, anyway.
I called the store. They wanted to put me on speaker. Thought I’d harass the poor creature. I didn’t mind. Then a manager came on the line and I told it to her straight.
Listen, I want to apologize to her.
She’s still upset.
I explained my side. Told her why I thought there was a misunderstanding. How it was a mistake. That it wasn’t her fault. I understood what had happened.
The manager thanked me. Hung up.
Work Money Death plays in perfect cadence with the natural soundscrapes beyond the walls that shelter me like One Stormy Night by Mystic Mood Orchestra. It has its own textures as I keep playing that moment over and over again like a movie reel skipping. Trying to rewrite the script.
But the truth is there’s nothing I can do but let my embarrassment drift now with the water, my own private Missouri.
The gods are at war and my ramen is getting cold. Goodbye.
April 27th, 2022
Absence Makes The Missing More Meaningful
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A Madman Has Been Loosed Upon the World of Literature
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April 13th, 2022
Holy Moments Found In Everyday Life In Omaha
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