You think it must be a family thing,
He calls you Marcopolis, just as you called her Santa Anna, or Annapolis,
Or, the one you didn’t think of until it was too late, Anna Arbor.
October 29, 2010 1:23:39 PM CDT
I wonder if you’re having a romantic South American adventure. Or drinking red wine alone on a heap of sentimental artifacts. Or rapping in fourth degree tongues with a shaman in Katmandu.
I wish I knew these things as I swab the decks for spending money. As I agonize over the [REDACTED] in the arb who now [**REDACTED TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT**]. That could have been me had I decided to finish my degree instead of exploring nightmares—bringing them to life—showing them off. Had I decided to live instead of looking for easy ways to die.
These are the things I think about when it takes me an hour to change a blow out—with inadequate tools—deep in the heart of enemy territory. When I mow down fire-ant mounds hidden in the tall grass that only reveal themselves when my limbs burn in disbelief. When my sister is on the lamb, hiding from the authorities who would lock her away for being unable to cope with the same pain that I’m familiar with.
Happy Halloween, Kiddo
Saga
My HD crashed. I lost a lot of work. I lost my motivation.
I’m beginning to write again. In the meantime I’ll post email, journal entries, and whatever else I think may be fun.
1975
When Staubach first opened his eyes from the coma he is rumored to have said “oh, the humanity!”
The year is 1975, my forces are assembled on the gridiron. We’re down and demotivated, but we’re not dead yet.
With 24 seconds left Staubach takes the snap, hauls back, closes his eyes and, hoping for a miracle, flings that evil ball.
The bloody Vikings devastate Staubach’s line, it falls like dominoes in an earthquake. The Blue Menace pounds the weary quarterback to the ground. The world spins into darkness around him, later he would describe it as “being chased by a hurricane while on a roller-coaster to hell.”
Pearson speeds past Wright, fakes left, right…Wright stumbles but somehow manages to maintains balance. As Pearson reaches for the ball the Viking roars, calling on the power of his warrior clan. He vaults into Pearson whose body snaps and collapses. The ball lands near his twitching hand. As he’s being pounded and kicked by the relentless enemy he murmurs “can’t we all just get along?”