The Seventh Day

The Will

I see all around me, people drifting by, unconcerned that their feet are no longer touching the ground.
Slowly, their heads fill with hot air and they begin to rise a little higher.
They will soon float passed the clouds and into the actual stratosphere where the absence of ozone permits the sun to burn out their retinas. They weren't using them anyway.
Some of them,awakened to reality by the pain, fall back to Earth and die.
The rest of them will never know what happened, they made no shadows at all.
And I wish I had the will to save them.

Recyclist 2

the Recyclist

Candy Mary's

Dear Happy People,
I loathe you.
I loathe you because you don't even know what you represent nor what it is you really do. You cover each other with syrup and wine then lick each other clean. Fantastic swine.
The twirling of the globe is slowed by the density and immensity of your skulls. We lose hours waiting for you to catch up; days waiting for you to make a decision and a week will go by before your children even see the line. Piglets.
Oceans could be drained. Mountains could be withered. The land could crack in two, and you would still be sucking on those Candy Mary's. I wish I had the will to save you.

wow. That felt gooooood. This is the closest that I ever come to prayer.

Less Depressing Story

Sunday, this past, was the anniversary of my re-employment at LNT. I was free and chose to come back and I am so happy about that decision, I could stick forks in both eyes.
This July also marks my 20th anniversary in retail. Babies have grown up and I've hired them, trained them and fired them and now, they're near retirement. Meanwhile, I'm slowly decaying at this job. I have dreams that all my teeth are falling out in gobs of blood and all I can do is catch them in my hands as I look at the frantic face in the mirror.
The job wouldn't be so bad if only there were no people, no trucks, no employees with problems and no stupid bosses. Is that too much to ask? Well then I, remain damned.
Sunday, we had an ad in the paper and on the front page, was a gynormous gas bbq grill that was marked down from $299 to $199. Droves of people looking for this thing and everyone who came in actually got one. So far so good. Then church let out and god+damn+christmas...they must have left the brain in the parking lot getting lickt by cats. The box that this bbq grill came in weighed in at 167lbs. It measured approx. 4'x4'x3'. HUGE box. Why would you come buy a bbq grill in a civic? And why would you ask ME to carry it out for you and say something like "well, can we just TRY and get it in the back seat?"
"NO LADY, we can't try and get it in...I've already tried this with the last two dumb bitches that came in to buy this gigantic appliance in VW's!!!" "get the fuck outta my store and please send your husband down so I can kick him in the balls for letting you roam freely!"
See, I think I need a new career.

The Brown Dog

Someone said "bring on the freaky shit" and this story came immediately to mind, though it really lends itself more to the really sad and depressing shit, however, there was a lesson gleened from this incident.

When I was young, like 10 or 12, my family owned a short brown, cross-breed dog we called 'Brownie' because he was brown. He was a lab/dachshund mix with maybe even a bit of bassett in him. Brownie was the best dog ever. Loyal and protective of the house and all of us. He was allowed to roam the property freely as he would not chase children of passers by. He did however, love chasing cars and that would prove to be his undoing.
One Sunday morning, the family had prepared to go out to eat for lunch. We were all ready to go and my little sister was first to exit the front door. She exclaimed "Daddy, something's wrong with Brownie!" My father came out to survey the scene and then quickly motioned to me and my brother with one finger and maybe 3 words "Move the dog to the back yard and try not to upset your little sister when you do. Put him in the shade and cover him with something, we'll bury him later." Yes, he'd said all that with one finger and three mumbled words in spanish.
I noted that our dog had a tire track across his hind quarters. I also noted that there was a trail of blood and drag marks from the street to the spot where he had come to his final rest. I believe he had dragged himself there. He never made a sound for someone in the house would have heard him.
I don't know what dogs feel or if they feel pain as we do but this mere animal had surely suffered. I also wondered how he'd gotten under a tire like that, it must have been deliberate. People suck.
We arrived back at home after a somber lunch and my brother and I ran to the back of the house to bury the animal. We carried him the the area directly behind our fence adjacent to the alley. We dug a hole we thought was deep enough. It wasn't.
The very next day, we arrived home from school via that same alley way and were horrified to see 2 stray alley dogs digging up the fresh grave and devouring Brownie's leg and haunch. We threw rocks and chased them off then dug a deeper hole, perhaps 3 feet down. We placed the dog there and covered him up then gathered bricks and large discarded pieces of wood and I seem to recall part of an old tree stump to cover the new grave site. We were 10 or 12.
The lesson: trust no one, not even your own kind.