Tom Week – Storage Time

Storage Time

Yes, sadly, it is once again storage time for the RV. We are weeks away from completing the new deal with the new buyer. In the morning I will dump the tanks, shut off the fridge and drive 2.7 miles to the new storage yard.

No family trip this year

With everything going on around here I'm not going to make it to the family get together. Sorry folks, too many hassles, not enough time.

Many Random Thoughts

I used to tell jokes about a heavy metal band called Titanium, but nobody ever laughed. If I'm the cheery one, society is in trouble. The myth of the rhyme. The glory of the song. The strings weep. The metronome bleeds. Do you ever fear that the paranoids are out to get you? If you recognize a bumper sticker as geeky, you're a geek. Alcohol does not cure the disease of writing, but it does relieve some of the symptoms. This place, where I am sitting right now, is where some very good writing will happen. Never end a sentence with Preparation H. Some jokes about Detroit are only funny in Detroit.

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100 Words – The Cleaner

All hail the cleaner, for he is good. I can't imagine the mess we'd be in without him. I've seen him toss around a carcass bigger than me like it weighed nothing. I told him once that I wanted to be the cleaner when I grow up. He laughed but didn't sound like he was kidding when he told me he'd kill me if I tried to take his job. He knows, and I know, that I'll never be the cleaner. I'm too small and too dirty. A cleaner's gotta clean. That's what my mother always said. She was right. Photo by JD Hancock

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100 Words – Broken Sun

Beware the broken sun. It lies cold in the sky. You will never touch it. Please do not try. Obey your father. He knows things you don't. Probably never will. Your uncles broke it. Your father warned them but they wouldn't listen. They were so small and the sun so big. What harm could they do? Huh, what harm? Now the sun is broken and you think you can fix it? Ask your uncles. Oh, you can't. They were destroyed. God punished them for their pride. Enjoy your life while you can. Wine, women and song. There is no tomorrow. Photo by slollo

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100 words – My Weapon

Ah words, the things I wield. The things I fear. Longing to forge the perfect weapon. A weapon of my own thought and blood. Never strong enough to beat back the darkness that welcomes me so easily. Creatures most fierce chase me there. Arms reach out to welcome me to a place I wish not to go. They promise me comfort but at the price of my words. They demand that I lay down my weapon and accept them as my masters. I lash out but my weapon is weak. My thoughts and deeds unworthy. Restless sleep punishes my failure.

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100 Words – electricity

The electricity ran through my body at regular intervals. One second of shock. Six seconds waiting. Shock. Six seconds. Shock. Six seconds. For over an hour this continued. I couldn't see or hear but I could smell three people. One sweaty, one drunk and one perfumed. Then the interval broke. Six seconds. Six more seconds. Then the shock for not just a second but thirty. I screamed but couldn't hear it. Then a long wait. Someone left the room. Before I could figure out who the electricity hit again. Stronger and unstopping. My bowels voided. My heart stopped. I won. Photo by Britt Selvitelle

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100 Words – Furry Wires

The Furry Wires played music that never saw the light of day. Dark basement bars. Dogwood bootleg shacks out on the dunes. Warehouses full of nothing. They would play when all the other music had worn out its welcome. Their music could only exist at the end of the show. Hanging on to the last spark of the excitement of the night. Songs of fear, longing and sea monkeys. A lyrical puzzle missing half its pieces. They would play till the first hint of dawn then pack up and leave. Legend says they broke up when the van broke down.

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100 Words – Angry Ocean

It was one of those days when the ocean reminds you who's the boss. Two miles away the air is already full of salty spray. The breezy morning is now a blustery afternoon. The clouds are threatening to punish me for my sins. My bike's chain is squealing and jumping. The blowing sand has conquered what was left of a long over-due lubing. Finally I reach the parking lot. The ocean is angry. The wind is fierce. I abandon the bike on the wet sand. Standing at the end of the continent I wonder once again what I'm looking for.

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