Summer Heat [part one]
Summer afternoon's relief; my soul, my heart, my mind. My forest office cabin, deep in the upstate of South Carolina, flashesbright and blinds me for a moment. I am between two creeks midst a fieldof old hot trees; storm cells, lightning bolts, and wind pelt me when Iopen the door. I really like it. Pretty nice of the old man to know I'd need a break from the relentless sleepiness, andsend some hail and sheets of water to cool us off, in the bath of blisteringrays and stifling humidity.
The attendants hovering over me as I close my eyes and slipback into the dream for just a moment. "Can you tell us your name?" "Do you know where you are?" "What do you remember of the accident?"The room is white and sterile, and the machines beep andwhir and make otherworldly demonic noises. Hooked up and kept dead inthis place. But I found a door. The demons hover waiting for me to give up,but I don't. I open my eyes escapingagain, and a lightning bolt flashes close and before I can think, the explosionrocks my world. It must have struck near because it even shook my office. I love thunderstorms, and the lightning veryrarely strikes me and kills me. I can'tremember the last time that actually happened it's been so long. Every time I blink, I see for that millisecond, the reapersas they hover waiting for me to fuck this up and fall asleep. I close my eyes for more than a second andthey startled, reach for my soul, but I open my eyes, and dart out the dooragain. They tell me I have to undergosome kind of surgery, the bastards. Whodo they think they are dealing with, I know better. I hear the gun shots again, and I realise I had closed my eyes for a second. I duck and cover, and my eyes slam open shielding me as the bullets pass right through me, a close call.I shake off the afternoon and walk outside my office into the random cloud draped sunlight. The blanket being drawn across the sky, for the day's burst is approaching;nice. I sit down on my deck and sip myfresh cup of hot Sumatra, which according to me, is a great way to deal with theheat, and most argue I'm nuts. I am, but not about coffee. A light breeze, and I can tell the rain willstart soon. I smell it. Flash, bang, a blessingagain, seventy or so yards away in the forest a tree has a new black scar.At that moment I understand I must not close my eyes, but will I remember? I'm so tired, I fight the afternoon sleeiness again, but my eyes close without my permission and this time I am transported to the battle.

The attendants hovering over me as I close my eyes and slipback into the dream for just a moment. "Can you tell us your name?" "Do you know where you are?" "What do you remember of the accident?"The room is white and sterile, and the machines beep andwhir and make otherworldly demonic noises. Hooked up and kept dead inthis place. But I found a door. The demons hover waiting for me to give up,but I don't. I open my eyes escapingagain, and a lightning bolt flashes close and before I can think, the explosionrocks my world. It must have struck near because it even shook my office. I love thunderstorms, and the lightning veryrarely strikes me and kills me. I can'tremember the last time that actually happened it's been so long. Every time I blink, I see for that millisecond, the reapersas they hover waiting for me to fuck this up and fall asleep. I close my eyes for more than a second andthey startled, reach for my soul, but I open my eyes, and dart out the dooragain. They tell me I have to undergosome kind of surgery, the bastards. Whodo they think they are dealing with, I know better. I hear the gun shots again, and I realise I had closed my eyes for a second. I duck and cover, and my eyes slam open shielding me as the bullets pass right through me, a close call.I shake off the afternoon and walk outside my office into the random cloud draped sunlight. The blanket being drawn across the sky, for the day's burst is approaching;nice. I sit down on my deck and sip myfresh cup of hot Sumatra, which according to me, is a great way to deal with theheat, and most argue I'm nuts. I am, but not about coffee. A light breeze, and I can tell the rain willstart soon. I smell it. Flash, bang, a blessingagain, seventy or so yards away in the forest a tree has a new black scar.At that moment I understand I must not close my eyes, but will I remember? I'm so tired, I fight the afternoon sleeiness again, but my eyes close without my permission and this time I am transported to the battle.
Published on July 08, 2011 07:53
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From a Krabbe Desk
A thought, now and then, this "blog," and it is more a matter of filtering than writing. It is that scavenging through the thoughts to find one or two that transcend from an inner reality to a deciphe
A thought, now and then, this "blog," and it is more a matter of filtering than writing. It is that scavenging through the thoughts to find one or two that transcend from an inner reality to a decipherable external one, takes a special kind of energy. An energy I am some days out of.
Writing, for me, is always just that. At the outset of each day, I spend a certain amount of time firing up the head, and sorting through what comes. In this process I have kept journal pages since I was seven years old. Hundreds of thousands of pages, and most of them, written before the word blog was anything more than a misspelling. So here I will do my meandering and here I will keep my journal from this day forward (until I stop). ...more
Writing, for me, is always just that. At the outset of each day, I spend a certain amount of time firing up the head, and sorting through what comes. In this process I have kept journal pages since I was seven years old. Hundreds of thousands of pages, and most of them, written before the word blog was anything more than a misspelling. So here I will do my meandering and here I will keep my journal from this day forward (until I stop). ...more
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