Tuesday, May 15, 2012


No, Melinda, not ZooDoo — though in both cases we are talking about dealing with shit, confronting it and shoveling it and getting it out of the way (mostly to make room for more shit, but let's not deal with that right now).

Today is a Private Pyle day. I didn't intend for it to be this way — the sun is out and at least it's not Monday — but it's the dreams, man. The fucking dreams are getting to me. Last night's science fiction double feature starred yours truly on a country road. Hot summer night. Crickets and frogs singing. No fucking cane, laughing and happy, arms swinging — big steps, galloping steps, and then I break into a run and I know I look like a young man, a teenager, a kid. Someone alive.

"Can you believe it?" I shout to my friend. "I can run!"

In the darkness I never see the wall until I slam into it.

I wake up to find I've fallen out of bed and hit the floor. It's 3:20 a.m. That's it for sleep.

It's time to put on shoes and go for a walk. Maybe there's voodoo out there.

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