TWO PEOPLE, SITTING AROUND
TWO PEOPLE, SITTING AROUND
by joseph goosey
They thought of Spain, the West Coast, the Green Mountains. They knew
for a fact that all these things and more existed, yet couldn’t grasp
the concept of how to access these worlds. There were rocks to climb,
paths to hike, birds to watch, all types of wonders that lived on the
other side of a glass wall that taunted them while all they did was
sit around in fold out beach chairs. One asked the other if he
remembered that one Fourth of July where they rode bikes along the
strip of bars shouting to people on balconies. He did indeed remember
that Fourth of July and he replayed it in his head as he hosed the
dirt/sand/mud off of his feet and his ankles and his ass. It was a
decent Fourth of July. Fireworks, yes. Barbecue, yes. But he realized
it was the same as: Memorial Day, St.Patricks Day, New Years Eve, The
Diversity Festival, Pride Day, The Blues Festival, The Jazz Festival,
every Saturday and most every Sunday. But options didn’t present
themselves at the doorstep, one had to go out and hunt them down.
Anyhow, the Fireworks were amusing and the Barbecue tasted
all right.
Hmm. This speaks to me in a very loud way telling me about my life and its missed opportunities…and that slunk feeling when you’re tied down unable to adventure. …Not so much a question of ‘hunting them down’, but unhooking the ball-n-chain. So find the key, eh? Same dilemma overcoming.
Love it. I’m depressed now, but redeemed. I’m gonna go wash the sand out of my ass. Goosey is the man.
Yeah, don’t make the mistake of lighting a firecracker in your ass either…the consequences are dire. But if you do, do it with barbecue. (and Fat Tire Beer). How’s that novel coming along?
It’s coming along ike triangle tires in a molassas (sp?) swamp
Yeah, yeah, i know the feeling. It helps to just have someone beat the living shit out of you UFC style and whiz on ya when you try to tap out. You know, the whole life flashed before your eyes thing. Another thing you might try is finding that light at the end of the tunnel…and when you figure out it’s an oncoming train, run like fucking hell. Have fun with it and don’t worry about audience. Start a tradition…half a glass of O’baileys Irish Cream, 5 minutes of dancing in your boxers to Motley Crue, baby carrots, and voila…at least 30 min. of writing time. Carry a palm sized notebook in your pants and classy work pen for thoughts that come during the day (and also so ladies think you’re happy to see them). This is partly my style, with variations on dancing music and snack foods and muse juice.