Son of the South

Jacob was doing dishes. He had one yellow rubber glove on and his sleeves pulled up and the sun would drop through the window and shine off of the watery wine glasses. The dishes that had piled up were all his. A couple of pots and bowls drifted half submerged in soapy off-color water. They bobbed with the motion of his scrubbing.

The stillness of his mind was nearly meditative. No thoughts. No chaos and no bills to pay. The phone rang twice while he cleaned and he couldn’t hear it like we could. He heard it from a place far from here. Like his senses where bottled up and shipped far away. He was talking to himself. He couldn’t hear that either.

“You’re hardly the man you thought you’d be. Dad always said that using ladders for work will never get you very high.”

But Jacob was closer to Heaven that he knew. When he worked atop those rooftops and above the skeletal framework of future buildings, someone may have been looking out for him. Maybe sleep that pulled his exhaustion away was orchestrated by beings he could not comprehend.

“You’ll be tarring roofs until the sun burns you alive.” He may not have been as alone as he thought. Maybe God was on his side. Someone was.

“Jacob, dear Jacob, you needn’t fear much now. Your labors here are beautiful and they may pull us through a dark you’ve never seen. But, son of the South, who will bleed for you?”

“Who will bleed for me?”

“Who will carry you to paradise, dear friend? When your feet are gone and your life is faded? Picture this before you, behind your eyes, picture a path that you could take.”

And the path was starlit. It was a silver road through a forest of short grasses. Storms danced at its edges. It was almost directly south of him. And he turned and looked there, looked right there through his home’s walls and miles away. He saw a mirror road reflecting an impossibly starry sky.

“Who will drive you there? And you are so tired, my weary friend. What keeps you upright? What keeps you rooted in this gravity.”

“Jesus, I miss my little girl.”

The room darkened softly as a thunderhead floated by. Jacob’s heart slowed. His eyelids drooped.

“Yes, well, we all miss someone. That’s why we stay in one piece. We want you in one piece.”

Chemistry.  I don’t know much about it.  I forget which are compounds and which are elements.  I don’t know how things work on the molecular level because I’m not sure of the difference between a molecule and an atom.  Helium goes in balloons, oxygen is in the air.  After that, I’m lost.

Why not.

Sugarmill "Nothing good ever happens at a sugarmill." -Kinslayer

On our beach trip, Dith, Darren and I found this quaint little sugarmill. It was worked by slaves in 1831 for fours years, until it was burned to the ground by Seminoles. Who sez Florida's got no history. Next up: the scale model of this place...

Test Poster1 Pretending you know nothing about this film, what is your first thought of this poster?

Abe White. The charisma of a living saint. A piece of the love we need, he would dispense every weekday from noon to four. Tailored for our rage. He was provocative at his worst, wicked at his best. Abe White was the love under our skin for the pure and righteous, a love that scabs over when it surfaces. It hardens and we may protect our home from invisible enemies with a great handgun with a real good feel. We may vote high and tax low. We may employ people of similar skin tone. We may talk to a Jesus in a higher tax bracket. We keep the conversations light and we skim a little off the top. We are Abe White in part, in miniature. Like stock footage disciples. Like official apologies and gift certificate Christmas's.

In his pocket, the left front breast pocket, unbuttoned and tattered from the transfer of keys and change and breath mints, in that pocket was a photograph.  You could ask me what it was a picture of, and I could answer a number of different ways.  In some ways it was a snapshot of a sprawling family, generations lined up in rows, or a graduation photo.  The reality was much harsher.  I’ll let you in on a secret, it was a picture of Jesus.  Jesus holding a rifle, standing tall off of an abandoned interstate cloverleaf.  And Lord save us.  Deep in every wedding shot and birthday party print there is hidden a four-color trigger.  Spinning through spiral bound photo albums trips it.  Reminiscing trips it. 

Several blues singers sang it, changing it slightly like any blues song. The part that defines a few moments ago is thus:
“I'm gonna lay my head on some lonesome railroad line
And let that old 2-20 pacify my mind”

A senior gentleman had parked his walker/chair on the railroad tracks behind my office. He watched the air idly, calm and thoughtful. A lady was just driving by as I approached to steer him away, and she paused for a moment, surveyed the situation and turned into nearby parking lot.

By the time I walked up to him with a wave and ‘good afternoon’, the lady across the street yelled something. Probably something about the fact that there was an old man parked in the path of one of the hourly trains that rumbles by. Got it, but I’m not the hysterical type. No train coming, no hurry.

I made small talk. He said it was a fine day. I let him ask me. “Where is Lee?” I drew a blank. Lee Road, of course, is quite out of walker range, but at the time I thought it was somewhere downtown, by South Street. I told him this, but said I wasn’t sure. He nodded and said, “It’s on the other side of the railroad tracks.” I got a chill.

He began rolling away and I said I was sorry that I wasn’t much help. He replied, “No, I’m sure you’re right. You’re alright.” I asked if he would be okay, and he answered with two joyous yes’s.

As he made his way down Orange, a fire truck pulled around. It seems the lady in the car called for emergency assistance. Several blocks away, I saw firemen help him cross a street and drive away.

So... this looks a lot better in the PDF. But with no hosting, you'll have to settle. I give you the Counter Earth character sheet. Dorks, start your dice...engines.

More music, you ask? Sure. Try out this freebee by Akron Family and Angels of Light.

Dylan Pt.2 mp3 (opens in new window, you can also right click and download)

I have written many a page based on this song. It’s energy and melancholy greases the wheels that keep the Counter Earth spinning. Sing along.