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Artistic Vision

This is the reason for the title of my blog, and the reasons my art is what it is. I begin simply that I am a clown.  However, I do no...

Saturday, December 28, 2019

My Gift Here for You


So, here is my gift;
This box here for you.
It’s all wrapped up, all shiny, 
And brand spankin’ new.
Oh, wait, it could be just ancient -
Wow, I guess I never knew.

You see, it looked quite the mess 
When it sat on the table.
I tied it with ribbons and bows,
And even entangled it in cable.
But one corner poked out as I stretched out the paper,
So I feared that my best was simply incapable.

But then, it appeared, very quickly and slickly,
An idea hit me, smack in my head.
With paintbrush of light blue and sprinkled with gold,
I painted the thing...yet still it was dead.
But instead of just stopping, I added some green;
Then, without breath, I added some red.

So, here is my gift;
This box here for you.
It’s all wrapped up, and now sticky.
Please wear at least one glove;
For there is nothing finer than a still-drying symbol

Of promise, and dreams and hope...and some love.

Grateful and Thankful

I am grateful for the ability to take into my being life’s sweet exhale.
I am grateful for my ability to witness the dance of light and energy, to call it beauty.
I am grateful for my ability to feel all life’s texture and know I’m connected.
I am grateful for my ability to partake in life’s plenty so I can fuel my joy.
I am grateful for my ability to hear the music of the sphere so that I can know peace.
I am thankful for the spirits who walked this earth before me,
I am thankful for those who I stand along side, for they hold me up when I stumble.
I am thankful for those who come when I have need, call or duty.
I am thankful those who stand against me; for against their will, they still push me forward.
I am thankful for the sovereignty of the tapestry of life, even if the weft and warp fight the loom.
I am grateful for family without whom I would have no gifts and opportunities.
I am grateful for the folks who spent time with me, even if that time was fleeting.
I am grateful for those who have given so much, and by happenstance, gave to me.
I am grateful for the one who held my hand through my life’s path, and as yet, has not let go.
I am most grateful for all that pumps and surges through me, the electricity that fires our imperfect bodies.
Of all of this, I give thanks.
to all on this day, and all days, of giving thanks

Tuesday, February 19, 2019

The Angry Stop Arm Beast, an SBK episode.

So, the color of daylight had finally begun to creep into the sky at the beginning of my bus route.  The moon and stars no longer held domain.  Before my first stop, I noticed that the ground was finally covered in a full blanket of snow, and the skeletal deciduous trees which was full of sparkly frost, had taken on a cerulean blue tone against a slightly green blue sky.  I also noticed that the pines and spruces still remained stoic in their own dark silhouettes, and laid witness to the pink marked horizon which differentiated heaven from planet.  The day before, I saw the rising sun as it was being stretched into a lit taper while snowflakes danced about an ever-increasing clear sky in flashes of diamonds.  Today, I laid witness to the promenade of her majesty, the large super moon, across the early, pre-dawn firmament.

This was the serenity that occupied my pre-vernal world; however, before I got to inhale, a cry so rudely interceded upon the scene.  It was the screech of a boy.  He was trying to remind me that, in spite of my many years of experience, I still had a lot to learn about the various environs of a big, yellow school bus.  You see, these internal biomes hold “creatures” that I have never seen, let alone catalogued.  The reason is simple, you see.  A yellow school bus is very much like the deepest of oceans, uncharted due to conditions inhospitable to humans...or so I have been told.

“Make it stop!  Make it stop!” cried the boy who was sitting directly behind me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it is hurting me,” whimpered the boy.

“What?” I asked.

“The Stop Arm Beast!” yelled the boy, as if it was obvious that I had seen the creature, along with the rest of the bus.  

I had never heard of such a thing, let alone seen one.

“Um...okay.  What did it look like?” I posed.

With a sigh, the boy confided, “Well, it is red.  Has a flashing eye.  And then some white on it.”

“Um, that’s not much of a description,” I said.

“That’s because it was not attacking you!  It knocked my glasses off my face!” screamed the boy.

“Okay,” I cajoled.

Apparently, the Stop Arm Beast must have taken great exception to the placement of the boy.  You see, the boy sat directly behind me on the bus.  He had not sat in that seat until this morning.  Now, apparently, every time I stopped the bus and opened the door, the Beast would jump out of its hiding spot and promptly attack the student.  Then, just as quickly would disappear again.  It was puzzling.  I had assumed that all of the creatures to be found on a school bus would be harmless, even if there were monsters.  But here was the scene, a monster attacked a boy.  The proof was in the boy’s eyeglasses.  

Disappointed, but determined, I waited in the driver’s seat for the monster to reappear.  The boy in the seat behind me did the same.  And there we sat while the countryside sped by our point of view.  And we waited.  Then, finally, after opening the door a number of times, I noticed a flash of red with a touch of white.  It moved so fast.  It could have only been the Stop Arm Beast.  Before it could attack the boy, I grabbed the top of the wee beastie.  It blinked a red eye at me in confusion and, probably, anger as well.  It decided to turn its “attention” on me, which was good for the boy, but not so much for me.  We fought for a second or two, and then I noticed it had decided to grab a hold of my sleeve.  It would not let go.  So, we fought for a second or two more.  Still, the Stop Arm Beast couldn’t or wouldn’t let go.  Then, it decided to go into hiding.  And bang!  Like that, end of the struggle.  


So, here I sit on my school bus, waiting.  The moon is gorgeous, and so are the stars.  I hope that I will be able to get some dinner...because I am sitting on my bus still waiting for that angry Stop Arm Beast to let go of my arm.  Eeeewww.  It has now rolled up my sleeve....and started to lick.

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Sparkles on the Bus: A SBK Moment

It had been a while since they had seen a bus, let alone ride one.  They were all giddy.  They were all happy.  They bounced as they all entered the bus.  I closed the doors and headed for homes and day cares that would take them all in.  Suddenly out of the blue, sparkles appeared.  They all “oohed” and “aahed.”  They started to call them stars.  The students watched as they moved about the bus.  

“There’s one on the seat,” replied one child with a sharp point of a finger.

“There’s one on the bus driver’s head,” pointed another.

They all giggled and shrieked in delight, for those stars were naughty.  Those stars would not sit still for anyone, no matter how loud the students were.  The stars did not listen to me either, no matter how stern I was when I pleaded.  So, the children began to pretend to hunt the naughty stars that appeared on the bus.  They were all having so much fun.

In the midst of that hunting moment, I asked the kids if any of them had hunted lightning bugs at night.  Everyone shook their heads.  So, I told them about the great lightning bug hunts I had as a kid.  I told them about how I would race about the entire yard with a glass canning jar in my hand.  I would try hard to catch just one green, blinking lightning bug in my jar.  I told them that once I was certain that I had one blinking bug in the jar, I would go to the porch of my house and show my father.  Once he my father confirmed that I had indeed captured a lightning bus, I would open the jar and let it go.  

One of my students asked, “why did you let it go?”

I said, “because lightning bugs have a job to do.  They must fly around and blink.  When the lightning bugs get into those jars, they start to slow down their blinking, and eventually stop.”

The same child asked, “they stop?”

I thought for a moment, then replied, “yes, they do.  It’s kinda like when you get grounded by your folks and sent to your room.”

All the student nodded.  

“Well, it is the same for our lightning bug friends.  Like I said, it is their job to fly about and blink.  It is how they attract their food or a friend.  When they are caught inside a jar, they can not do those sort of things.  It makes them very unhappy.”

The bus went quiet for a minute to consider what I had said, then one child piped up, “So, do you chase stars at night with the school bus?”

I said, “No, the stars are too high for me to reach with the school bus.”

“But how did the stars get into the bus?” asked one little boy.

Before I could answer the question, we made a turn with the bus, and the stars disappeared.  

“Are the stars unhappy?” asked a little girl, with a touch of honest concern for the stars in her voice.

I thought for a moment, and then I said, “we do not lock the doors of the school bus at night, in case a curious star gets caught.  And no, our stars right now are not happy, because they can not find a way out.  However, once they do, they will glow once again.”
We made another turn and stopped at our first stop.  Those naughty little stars reappeared, which made everyone cheer.  Then, one little girl stood up with her sparkly panda book bag.
With a smile, she walked off the bus, followed by the stars.  

We all said goodbye to our little friends.  I closed the school bus door.  We rode a village block when one of the boys announced in a fairly loud voice that we were being followed by a school bus tornado.  

“Hurry up, bus driver!”cried the boy.  


So, away down the road we went.

Saturday, October 13, 2018

From the Canvas and Color, It Called

They were both very happy, Cassie, age 5, and Billie, age 2.  Up to this point, they had eaten their favorite pancakes, blueberry banana, at Aurora’s Diner.  At Etherton’s Orchard, Cassie and Billie played tag amongst the rows of apple trees filled with giant red apples and the grabbing bendy sticks of red, blobby raspberries.  All the while, the adults collected early apples for some early baking.  Afterward the cousins found themselves thrust into their families’ fine heaps of conveyance, then lashed into seats that sat upon seats.  Cassie and Billie tried to launch a proper protest, but before that could happen the cars were already swooping down the river bluff road back into town.  The two cousins imagined themselves as big birds with bouncing arms as giant wings. They tried so hard to fill them with the air rushing past the open windows, but could not reach those poor wings out the windows of the car.

It was the twin brothers, both father and uncle, that would bring the family together.  It was almost every weekend.  Cassie and Billie enjoyed these gatherings.  They were never certain what adventures would be inspired, but there would always be one.  In this case, however, the cousins were very certain that going to Mildred’s Cafe in downtown River Town was totally Mother and Auntie inspired.  The cousins did not care, though.  They could watch the parade of townsfolk flow by the giant picture window in the front of the little cafe.  The parade of humanity flowed like a slow moving river down the sidewalk.

It seem that everyone in the village was out on that sidewalk.  They were all enjoying the last of the summer’s humidity and warmth made comfortable by the very first touch of cool fall breeze.  Everyone wore short sleeve shirts and shorts and pushed baby strollers while pulling dragging pets.  Cassie and Billie made a game out of pointing out and laughing at everyone’s summer footwear.  Once lunch was done and the family meandered down the sidewalk.  The cousins started to notice the clouds as they paraded along the early fall sky like giant puffy sculptures.  They started a game that would happily pronounce which animal genus each cloud would belong.  Cassie, seeing a large family of bunnies in the clouds, somehow convinced everyone in the family, including moms and aunts, uncles and dads, that they should hop down the sidewalk like bunnies.  Billie was disappointed.  He wanted baby monsters, drooling, snarling, toothy monsters.  But when one of the twins screamed that they saw a wolf in the clouds, the entire family went screaming down the sidewalk to avoid the clawed and toothed thing.  The townsfolk on the sidewalk promptly grabbed their own children close and scowled as the screaming cluster ran by.  With a brief chuckle at the crowd reaction, the game came to a halt as the family went back to walk at a leisurely pace.  Even though the game had ended, the cousins would keep an eye on those sculptures parading across the sky throughout the entire day, watching them change to a violet shade of purple later in the day.  

As the family turned the corner off Main Street onto Third Street, they headed down the small hill toward the park on the river’s edge.  Cassie and Billie noticed a small town of canvas and metal had popped up on the grass.  The tents must have been goats as there was no green to be seen at all.  On the river, you could see an abnormally large number of boats taking their final seasonal cruises for the year.  This made Cassie and Billie feel that they were about to enter a Medieval seaport.  In fact, if you examined the layout of all those white canvas houses and shops, you could make out streets.  Of course, the streets were filled to the curbs with townsfolk pushing baby carriages and dragging various sizes of dog, but with the addition of balloons, plastic bags and parcels, and...food.  You could also see alleyways, as well, but they were filled with the remnants of great commerce: the carcasses of cardboard traveling crates and other items to be hidden.

The canvas buildings were filled with color, wood, and clay.  Some tents had wax wonders, while others held wondrous, transparent animals and goblets.  Some had little shiny trinkets of metal, some wood.  Others contained a bevy of metal creatures the size of small children, while some creatures stood guard at tent entrances.  At the edge of this magical village, right at the “harbor,” there was one concrete structure which resembled a cave or some great stone beast.  Perhaps, it was the place for a throne where the king and queen would sit to watch their armada.  Currently, the throne stand was filled with traveling minstrels and performers.  Both Cassie and Billie felt as if the performers were dancing inside the mouth of some great beast, dancing upon a slimy tongue and dodging every solid and heavy tooth that lined the edge.  The gigantic creature seemed pleased as it let the minstrels give music and laughter to the surrounding crowds who would listen.  Cassie and Billie watched and danced their way to the entrance of the seaport as the notes of music danced by them, floating in the air as dandelion seeds rushing uphill to the streets of River Town’s downtown.

Once Cassie and Billie’s family gained entrance to the bustling canvas village, a crowd had formed outside one of the canvas shops and the twins stopped to join a clump of the traffic already gathered.  The rest of the family halted and then back tracked to meet up with the twins.  There, just on the fringe of the crowd but just on the outside of the canvas shop, a man stood holding over his head an orange cat with a funny gray arm or tail.  The orange cat was very unhappy as it buzzed and roared high in the air over the man’s head.  Perhaps the shop owner pulled on the creature’s tail.  Mean man.  

Cassie and Billie were not happy with the sudden stop, and began to pull on pant legs.  They received pats on heads and back of hands.  The guy who held everyone entranced by holding a strange orange cat into the air.  Maybe he was about to perform some magic, but neither Cassie nor Billie could hear the words of the man.  They tried to get their family moving.  They wanted to explore, so the cousins tried another tug on pant legs.  They received another pat on the head.  The mumbling of the man with the orange cat kept on going.  With the heavy exhale, both Cassie and Billie pulled hard on pant legs.  This time, they both received, without a look, a firm holding hand.  Billie did not like his hand to be trapped in such a way, so he tried to pull away from the holding hand.  This only made the holding hand squeeze even tighter.  

Finally, something was happening.  Cassie and Billie, trying to free themselves, only noticed when the crowd leaned in.  Cassie and Billie felt immediately and prominently removed.  They were both annoyed by the crowd, and their parents.  Finally, in an effort to free themselves, Cassie wobbled side to side and Billie bounced up and down, hoping in freedom to also magically remove their obstacles.  The crowd only oohed and aahed, which made the two cousins more frantic to see through the blocking crowd.  Billie could handle it no more.  He reached out to lashed at the person in front of him.  Instead, Billie was instantly grabbed by two strong hands and lifted onto two solid shoulders.  It was his father.  Billie was grateful for the rescue, even if he needed to inflict harm.  Just like everyone else, Billie leaned into the scene of murderous, sawdust-inducing rage.  He grinned at the sight of the carnage that the  orange, boxy cat was causing.  He only looked away from the scene to check on his cousin, Cassie.  Sure enough, she had been rescued on top of her father’s shoulders.  She sat mesmerized by the sight of sawdust flying everywhere.  The longer she gazed at the scene, the wider her grin.  Finally, her smile stretched from ear to ear which gave her a homicidal look.  Forgetting his own disturbing delight, Billie felt a bit concerned for his older cousin...well, more for the folks surrounding his cousin.

After a very short moment, the orange rage cat had stopped roaring, stop ripping and tearing the tree chunk.  The sawdust quit flying, and all was silent, even the babies in the crowd.  The noises which would normally have been heard from the small downtown of River Town were silent.  Cassie and Billie were convinced that a witch had descended upon the scene and cast a spell, for everything seemed frozen, suspended.  Snow could have fallen in that moment, and no one would have noticed.  It was not clear to Billie, or even Cassie, if anyone noticed the bear which sat in place of the chunk of wood.  It was in that moment that the two cousins heard someone call their names.  They looked around, but found no one who wasn’t frozen in time.  They looked at each other, and realized that they were the only ones not affected by the spell.  Cassie shrugged her shoulders, which somehow broke the spell as the shop keep moved to place the orange cat down.  Everyone began to move again.  Cassie and Billie very quickly forgot the moment, as they became distracted by the lifting of a hand-held propane torch over the head of the tent owner.  If there was something that the two cousins enjoyed more than some carnage, it would have to be a good fire.  Both applauded, kicked, squealed with delight, which brought restraining arms across their kicking legs.  

It only took a couple of swipes for the man to turn the light brown bear into a black bear.  There was no visible flame, no dancing warm, no total consumption.  It was so incredibly quick and anticlimactic that both Cassie and Billie abruptly stopped applauding and started to frown, even pout.  However, when the owner of the orange, boxy cat stopped waving his small torch, the assembled crowd applauded and cheered none-the-less.  Cassie and Billie abruptly wanted down.  They wanted to explore.  

“Enough with the distractions, already!” Billie’s inside voice exploded.  He needed to touch, and there was so much to touch.  

“Let’s get this adventure going!” Cassie head screamed.  She needed to wonder to every corner and nook of this cloth town.  There had to be other hidden wonders to discover in the assembled canvas town.  So, once they were released, their feet firmly on the ground, they took off to the chorus of “stay close, you two!”  But they did not hear.  Their escorts tried their very best to keep them contained and close by, but Cassie and Billie opened up their arms and wove they way through the crowd like two airplanes in a dogfight.  Their laughter giggled behind them as they ran down the open streets, weaving around pictures, sculptures and spectators alike.  

Cassie and Billie did not make it very far at all, when they were stopped by something smooth and glossy.  Their fingers slid across the object like water across a rock in the stream.  Both Cassie and Billie smiled as they enjoyed the sensation.  But it was only a fleeting moment of glee, as a restraining hand finally grabbed hold.  If they just made it to the next tent, they could have touched some soft, furry creations, but that would have to wait.  The woman sitting at a table under the white canvas, only smiled at the two children.  No harm done.  However, the restraining hand kept them close, just to make certain.  Soon, the restraining hand became a pair, and Cassie, age 5, and Billie, age 2, were stuck to travel at the pace of the winding, family caravan.

Smack in the middle of that canvas city, the family passed from tent to white plastic canvas while the cousins kept touching colors and creatures, feeling textures and pain. 

“Don’t touch,” said the twin uncle and dad.

“You will get the art all greasy,” insisted the auntie and mom.

Still, the cousins kept touching, feeling the colors in their fingertips and music in their chest.  They kept listening to demonstrations of greatness, while watching the created stalwart creatures rolling their eyes at the noise.  It wasn’t until they got to the middle of that canvas city, that Medieval maze when the cousins noticed the smell of grass and mini-donuts.  They were uncertain why they smelled the earth when they smelled the donuts, but also did not care.

“Hungry!” called the cousins.

“We could use a bite,” responded the twins.

And so, to the food trucks and carts, they all went.

There was a box of various, food carts and trucks.  The family all waved at the “All Things Maple” truck; they recognized Mr. and Mrs. Cattleman in the window.  Mr. and Mrs. Cattleman waved back.  In the center of the cart and truck box was a series of tables that were laid out under a green awning.  As they sat and waited for a nibble or two, the cousins look around them.  It was dizzying just how busy it all was on the outside of the green tent.  Cassie remembered the visit her family made to an orchard.  In that orchard, they had a beehive which was kept in a glass box.  She would have stayed there forever, watching the bees as they worked their honeycomb and planted their eggs.  That was this Medieval seaport, all work, all bustle; it was a beehive.

Cassie, who had escaped to the orchard with the beehive, absently grabbed for a bag or a bin of some “evil and greasy mess,” but she found nothing at hand.  She shook herself back to the table.  She was definitely sitting next to her dad, but he had released her, no more restraining hand.  Yet somehow, she felt trapped in place like she herself was in honey, and it had hardened.  She smelled the aroma of grass and moist dirt.  The only thing she could do was to move her head, and so she did.  She noticed that the food carts and trucks had been placed next to the cement beast where she saw minstrels and performers at play.  But something else was on stage.  It stayed in the shadows, so Cassie could not see any color or shape.  She only could see the movement.  It moved side to side, as she did at the orange cat owner’s tent.  It also bobbed up and down, just as Billie had done.

“Cassie,” it whispered.

It didn’t seem menacing, she did not fear.  She simply locked on to the movement in the shadows in the corner behind the band.

“You can follow if you want,” whispered Cassie to the thing.  “Come, we’ll play.  We’re just stopping for a bite.”

When she did not receive an answer, she figured the thing was too shy.  So, instead, Cassie tried to find Billie, and realized she could not.  She tried to move her head, but found that it was stuck.  She could no longer see her dad who sat right next to her.  She began to nervous and trapped.  She closed her eyes and held her breath.  And then she counted to three.  

When Cassie opened her eyes, all was back to normal.  She moved freely.  She saw her family members were sitting around the table with her.  Then, she noticed her cousin Billie.  He had picked up a red plastic flag with a white plastic stick.  As he twirled the flag in a big circle in front of him, Billie danced a stomping dance to the music being played.  Cassie got up and joined him.  They danced for a couple of minutes, only to be interrupted by the snacks.

After snacks, it was decided that the family troupe would divide and conquer.  First, the women would shop, and then, the men.  Those not shopping would watch the kids at the playground nearby.  And so they divided, two were shopping, while two brought our restless explorers to a wondrous and magically place with a colorful castle.  As all castles “had to have a dragon,” Billie and Cassie went about to find the beast, perhaps learn its name.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with great adventures.  Cassie and Billie chased each other around trees who spoke to them of great sugary treasurers that could be found at some witch’s camp.  They found a great chorus of birds who sang a great rehearsal concert to them, because they stopped to listen.  And then, because a great magician had warned them, the two cousins found themselves throwing a great feast of bread crumbs, carried from home, for some mighty sea beasts with long necks and honking, biting beaks.  They did this to keep from being eaten by the black and brown beasts.  While they played in and around the colorful castle, they watched the clouds and again called out animal families.  After a time, they began to notice a growing number of fellow travelers to the colorful castle.  Fearing the nearby canvas seaport’s annex of the magical place where they were, two cousins tried even harder to discover the name of the dragon.  Without this knowledge, they might not be able control the beast and defend the castle from the seaport invaders.  They had to protect the princess of the castle, after all.

However, in the middle of the quest for a good dragon’s name, a flock of pelicans descended upon the river near the castle.  Billie stopped what he was doing to watch the might, white birds wobble their way in for a landing on the river.

“Look, white dinosaurs are coming!  They are going to take over!” Billie said in a panic.  “We must protect the castle!  Dragon, where are you?!” 

And without so much as a warning, Billie grabbed a plastic, bendy stick with a red plastic flag off the ground near the castle where he had dropped it.  He once again twirled the plastic flag in front of him and danced his stomping dance designed to scare mortal beasts to running away.

“Look, there are coming in to the dock!” Billie cried as he saw them paddle toward the floating platform.

Cassie was not as impressed, but decided that Billie was correct in trying to protect the Princess.  She too joined in the dance.  Somehow, in spite of the dragon’s absence, the “white dinosaurs” did not come any closer to the castle.  The princess was saved...until Cassie and Billie smelled grass and mini-donuts once again.  And everything around them frozen in place, even the cool breeze had stopped.  Cassie could swear her parents had place a DVD on pause, except it was the play area and not the family’s television.  Besides, both Billie and Cassie were still dancing.  Cassie was the first to stop dancing.  She tapped on Billie’s shoulder.  They both look around.  The sun was so warm.  

“What now?” asked Cassie.

Without thinking, Billie held both of his arms straight out from his shoulders and directly into the air.  Then, he closed their eyes and stuck out his tongue as if he was trying to catch a snowflake.  Then, he faced the sun.  Cassie did not know what to do, so she followed Billie’s brave example.  And there they both stood in the middle of the colorful castle.  Finally, the cool breeze began to gently their burning arms.  And then, they heard their names.  It was as if they were being called by the wind.  Both Cassie and Billie abruptly opened their eyes.  They frantically looked around in all directions, but saw nothing.    

“Was it the dragon?” Billie asked.

“I don’t know,” responded Cassie.

Billie smashed his eyelids closed, and Cassie did the same.  They stood there until their arms burned from muscle fatigue.  When they dared open their eyes, it was notably later in the day.  The sun, still warm, had moved across the sky and positioned itself directly above the river bluffs on the opposite side of the river.  When the clouds covered the sun, the wind no longer balanced the heat, but slightly chilled the skin.  Most of the boats had disappeared from the waves, most of the pelicans as well.  The shadows of trees, even the two cousins, appeared stretched out like rubber bands on the ground.  They were also a deep purple.  There was a noticeable crowd of geese and ducks, slowly paddling toward sleeping places.  As the cousins looked upon the Medieval seaport, they noticed a large line of cars and trucks.  And then they noticed the bench near the colorful castle, all adults were present and accounted for.  

Burdened by bags of treasures, the family caravanned back to their four-door conveyances.  The treasures were stuffed into the trunks.  Goodbyes were said.  Then, the cousins were stuffed into seats that rested upon seats.  With the click of closing doors, latching seatbelts, the cousins waved to one another.  And then, both cars pulled away from their parking spots to head home, and eventually a warm bed with heavy protecting covers.  The cousins never spoke of this adventure ever again, but Billie kept his magical flag weapon just in case.

The Blinking of Jolly Polligog

She looked at me with tears mixed with anger and pity in her eyes, and then she grabbed off my desk and thrust under my nose the pad of paper and pen.

She growled, “for you friend!”   

Reluctantly I began to write:

Jolly Polligog was my friend...

“God!” I cried, “What a load of crap!  Sorry.  Let me try again... Here we go.”

Jolly Polligog was someone I knew....

“Ugh!  Why is this so hard?  It always comes out false.”  I stalled.  

“Sounds like your guilt,” she cut.  I could see it in her eyes, I was not convincing her.  

“Okay,” I said, as I tried to bring pen to paper again.

Jolly and I worked together at Flatline Medical Supply, third party billing.  Jolly seemed to be    the type who climbed out of bed and right into a ray of sun shine, even on rainy days.  I never talked to Jolly, asked how the day was going.  I never asked about a favorite color, or the folks.  I never reached across the aisle to make form out of mist.

“There.” I said, meekly.  “Is that enough?” I asked her, as I placed the pen on the pad and slid them both across my desk toward her hand.

----

I was running late, no caffeine, no breakfast.  Just one of those days, I guess.  Before I could even sit down, wake up for the day, a face appeared just outside my cubicle.  In my eye contact, the face floated directly into my face.  Actually, all I remember seeing was two piercing eyes nested under one continuous caterpillar of an eyebrow and the white picket fence of a forced smile.  In my ears I remembered hearing a tap of pen upon pad of paper, which together, made a rapping sound on my desktop.

"Can I help you, Jolly?"

"Please, the darkness comes,” said a quiet, but earnest voice.  “It's coming to collect me.  Please, before it is too late."

"Wow, Jolly.  Did the sun go dark in your world?"

"Yes.  Umm, at least, I think it did.  Please."

I felt trapped, the stupid rabbit falling for the cartoon box trap.  I tried to deflect the situation away from me. "I don't know what you are asking, Jolly."

“Please!” said the urgent voice. 

I said nothing; for I really did not know what to say.  I saw Jolly melted a little in the pause.  In his melting, I eyed an escape route.

"Look, I sense that you're not quite yourself.  Let's grab some coffee, and everything will be okay."

“Please.”

I slid past Jolly as he pushed closer with the pad and pen.  I made a beeline straight into the break room where the hot mud called coffee waited.  Of course, in that office where we worked, the coffee was more like hot tar.  Jolly remained at my desk, frozen like a deer in the headlights.  He did not come into the break room with me.  I poured a cup of Le Brea Tarpits, inhaled a couple of sinus fulls of acrid steam.  And then I counted to three, after which, I went back to my work box.  Jolly had taken his pad and pen and left; so, I collapsed in my chair to disappear into my daily routine.  I dug under a pile of paperwork to find an ocean of daydreams.

It was the end of the day before I saw Jolly again.  Jolly and all of my co-workers were leaving for home, fleeing the scene of an awful crime.  Jolly passed my space.  As he did, I could have sworn that he blinked like a fluorescent light with a bad ballast.  Out of the corner of my eye, a human being vanished and reappeared in the tick of the second hand of an analog watch.  I thought for a second.  This could not have been, for I had basically been asleep for the day.  One of my daydreams playing a trick on me.  It was not possible that Jolly Polligog could “blink” in and out of existence.  So, I went home, locked the door, popped something into the microwave, and messed with Facebook, all before crashing on the couch.  This was pretty much the routine for one week: go home, lock apartment door, nuke something, Facebook, crash.  And then get up, throw yourself into work, Jolly.

That week mushed into the next with the routine pretty well set.  However, I kept crashing on the couch, and by week two, my neck started to whine.  It’s funny how the droning of late night television can cause a person’s body to stay in an upright position while their head tries to nest in the space on the cushion next to their lap.  A couple of times, I lost my eyeglasses in a tangle of blankets that would end up between the couch cushion.  I had to see my optician a couple of times, as the glasses seemed more pretzel than eyepiece.  I suppose it was the fact that he knew me too well that he never ask what happened.

Of course, with such a week, the trustworthy car decided to repay my marked apathy to its well being with its own apathy to start and get me where I needed to go.  So, I chose to enjoy the city’s finest of public transportation.  That was where an old man of loose fitting clothes used my shoulder as a pillow and snored into my ear.  It was a great beat box to the person yelling into their cell phone about what an asshole their parents were.  I hope that one can see how I became a shaken soda pop can ready to spray upon everyone in the office at a moments notice on this one particular day.  It just so happened that Jolly “opened” me with his unibrow and stilted smile.  Jolly stuck to the side of my cubicle like Spider-Man on this morning.

"Just a sentence...a word.  Please.  The darkness—"

"For the love of God!  What is wrong with you!  This is weird, even for you!  Go away!  I am very busy, right now.  Things to do!" I shouted at the beleaguered little guy.

The entire office stopped working and was out of their cubicle chairs, staring.

“Don’t you folks have crap to do!” I snarled at them all.

Jolly grabbed the writing utensils, face aimed low, looking slightly erased, and disappeared.  Everyone else slowly sank back into their chairs.  You could tell everyone was talking, but it eventually the office went back to working.  I placed earbuds into my ears, turned on my MP3 player, and disappeared into the background music of my zombie state.  

Five o'clock came like a snail, but once it came, everyone bolted, catapulted out the front door.  Jolly was unlucky enough to trickle past my office enclosure.  Like I would swear had happened before, Jolly blinked like that bad fluorescent light.  It jolted me back into the present.  I shut off my MP3 player.  I felt compelled to catch up with Jolly, so I gathered my things with great haste.

By the time I caught up with Jolly, Jolly was in the lobby of the building.  I reached out to touch Jolly on the shoulder and got a jolt and pop of static.  As I blinked, I realized that I was sitting on the floor.  Jolly stopped as the last of the great stampede escaped, leaving just Jolly and I alone in the building.  Jolly simply sighed as he faced the front door, never turning back to look at me sitting on the tile.

"I'm not sure if I will be in tomorrow.  The darkness knocks on my door.  All I wanted: just one word."

"Look, I’m sorry,” I tried to apologize.  “I was—“

“Being a prick?” finished Jolly.

“Um...okay.  You got me.  A prick, but I didn’t mean—“ I tried to explain away the growing guilt.

"One whole week.  I tried," Jolly intoned.

"I know.  You know how life is--"

"Too late.  I tried to get anyone, but..."

With renewed vigor, I cajoled, “Hey, it’s not too late.  Where's your pad?  I got a pen."

As I sat on the floor of the lobby, padding my suit jacket pockets for a pen, there was a zap and a pop.  When I looked up, Jolly was gone.  Only a pulling, stretching, disappearing wisp of smoke faded where Jolly once stood.  Nothing more.  I sat in that position on the floor, staring into the space where Jolly stood, until an evening janitor entered the scene, banging and sloshing his mop bucket and jangling his keys.  He stopped whistling when he noticed me on the floor.

“Just admiring the door over there.  Don’t mind me.”

The janitor looked as if he was going to call the police about the crazy guy on the floor.  Fortunately, he let me leave the building in peace, if that is what it was.  I did not take public transportation; I walked the entire restless distance by myself, not minding the menacing shadows along the way.  I absently locked the door to my apartment, and left everything that I carried from work next to the front door.  I buried myself deep under a blanket layer that occupied the couch.  There was no food, no Facebook on that night.  I simply fed myself dark dreams of angry electrical storms, of pen and pad.  And then I kept reliving that very moment when I touched Jolly and got zapped on to my ass on the floor.  Over and over, nanosecond after nanosecond in painful slow-motion: a living, sentient, roiling, black, and ominous cumulonimbus, then Jolly facing away from me.  And with a touch of his shoulder - Bang!  Bolt of Lightning! - Jolly was gone, up in a fading wisp of smoke.

The next morning was hard to face; the sunlight hurt the eyes.  There had been no sleep, not really.  There would also be no caffeine as the cardboard was bare.  I moved slowly, body stiff and sore from tossing and turning, though I did find my bed somewhere in that horrible night.  My shoulders were tight, eyes gummed up.  And when I got to work, there was no pen or paper on my desk, no eyebrows, no toothy, forced smile.  There was no Jolly.  I exhaled a sigh which would have offered some small bit of relief, but —

"Please!  The darkness comes.  It's coming to collect me.  Please, before it is too late.  Just a sentence...a word."

kept repeating in my head.  It was as if Jolly’s voice reached out and squeezed my chest as it grew hard to breathe.  I sat hard in my chair, and there I stayed, trying to concentrate on work, no caffeine, no daydreams with relief, just words buzzing, clouds roiling.  

A slam of paper, pen, and fist onto my desk brought me back to my cubicle.  I blinked for a second before I noticed her standing at the opening of my work box.  She had dark hair and deep hazel eyes that cut right through you.  She stood there, contemptuous.  I noticed the pen and paper sitting on my desk.

“My brother called and told me everything.  Now, you have no choice.  Write,” she scowled.

I jumped as she picked up the paper and pen and slapped it down in front of me again, as if to jar a word directly out of my head onto the page like an apple from a tree.

“Don’t worry.  You will not be the only one,” she added with contempt.

She looked at me with tears mixed with anger and pity in her eyes, and then she grabbed off my desk and thrust under my nose the pad of paper and pen a third time.

She growled, “for you friend!”   

Reluctantly I began to write:

Jolly Polligog was my friend...

“God!” I cried, “What a load of crap!  Sorry.  Let me try again... Here we go.”

Jolly Polligog was someone I knew....

“Ugh!  Why is this so hard?  It always comes out false.”  I stalled.  

“Sounds like your guilt,” she cut.  I could see it in her eyes, I was not convincing her.  

“Okay,” I said, as I tried to bring pen to paper again.

Jolly and I worked together at Flatline Medical Supply, third party billing.  Jolly seemed to be        the type who climbed out of bed and right into a ray of sun shine, even on rainy days.  I never talked to Jolly, asked how the day was going.  I never asked about a favorite color, or the folks.  I never reached across the aisle to make form out of mist.


“There.” I said, meekly.  “Is that enough?” I asked her, as I placed the pen on the pad and slid them both across my desk toward her hand.