There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes.
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more...

-Lord Byron

Definition of Walkabout :

a short period of wandering as an occasional interruption of regular work
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

02 July 2017

Pirate Tower

Could his long lost love be locked away in a tower, just like in the fairy tales of olde? With just a sprinkle of imagination and a childlike wonder for adventure, he goes on a quest to find out...
A tiny clearing is found in between the maddeningly small streets lined with homes of financial giants. He steps lightly, as he doesn't want to wake the sleeping beasts. Brightly colored flowers open their pistils and stamens, pointing him in the right direction.
He comes to the edge of the ocean, watching sea creatures scurry along the moss covered rocks, clinging tightly as the waves crash down upon them.

Some lose the battle and are swept back out into the Pacific. He crawls along the rocky precipice with stealth precision. In the breeze he hears the faint call for help from an angelic voice.

"I'm up here...."
The Tower looms before him, yet their are no stairs to climb, nor a door to enter. The voice calling to him is maddening, like the never ending waves crashing all around.

"How will I reach my long lost love?"
A tiny opening is found, large enough that only his hand can fit through. He bravely reaches inside. The softest caress brushes his callused and aged fingers, letting him know she is inside, waiting eternally for him....

to find the key.

08 June 2017

A Giant in a Child's Gnome Maze

The garden maze was laid out perfectly before the Giant's eyes.

Little gnome houses could be seen, the tricky parts not so tricky after all for the ugly and lumber some beast.

Yet he enters regardless....
The Giant pretends he is a Little, no higher than the garden walls, and wanders with such pretense. He finds little gnome houses full of tiny furniture and gnome families making evening food preparations.
Around and around the Giant goes, delighting in the intricacies of the garden maze. To pretend is to let his beastly mind wander in creativity, and to do that is to be free.
He lets out a loud, jovial laugh as he finds his way out of the maze. The gnomes scamper and hide at the sound of this intruder....

then return to their evening activities once the Giant is gone.

02 April 2017

my U-Turn to Superior

A thousand times have I passed by the U-Turn sign that would take one to the town of Superior.

It was on trip one thousand and one that I grabbed the steering wheel and took a hard right into creepy.
The clock was showing just past five o' clock, but the empty street had signs that the workday had ended years ago.

The Arizona sun had beat down particularly hard here, as not even the scorpions were present on the dusty and crumbling buildings along Main Street.

I walked on down the road....
I see the past frozen in a busted neon Bus sign, the faded artwork on the side of a hotel, the carcass of a picked over coyote lying in the gutter.

Motorcycles are circled like wagon wheels in front of what appears to be the only working establishment, the local bar. You can hear Mexican music crackling from a distant radio, and the clinking of beer bottles coming from inside.

Dark strangers look up from their drinks at me with harsh eyes.

I turn my attention to the sound of a car coming down the street. Two men with long, dirty hair whipping around their sunburned faces give me a look that stops my heart, then they disappear into the desert.
Superior is a place for lost souls to live out their retched and disturbed existence. That feels a little to comfortable for my liking.

I'm not yet ready to admit myself to this dark and haunting world, and hightail it out of Superior.

My soul is not yet ready to be confined in a prison of snake oil.

08 October 2015

Trumpocolypse

The radio crackled, but the message came through with undeniable reality.

"Dead. They are all dead. Run as far as you can before it gets you too....."

I figure to have only three minutes to gather what I can before it would be too late. Nuclear radiation will move quickly, and the undead corpses will follow soon after. The mountains may be the only safe place to hide.

President Trump, that bastard, went off his medication and destroyed the world.
"Tent. Sleeping bag...."

I kept repeating the items I had in my car over and over in my head, wondering how long I could survive with what I had. The answer, sadly, was not long.

Cars madly drove past me as I make my way high up the mountain. Eventually only a family of Rocky Mountain Sheep are my companions, no humans to be seen, alive or undead.

I set up camp, then go search for water. I strap on protective glasses, as it helps me see our new wasteland of a world.

A few hours pass and madness is already settling  in comfortably.
The water here seems good to drink, free of poisons. I can still easily catch a bug though, and die from the dreaded diarrhea.

Better than succumbing to radiation or becoming a zombie chew toy. I fill a couple of bottles, take a deep swig, and look for food.
Marmots aren't as skittish now that we humans are no longer at the top of the food chain. My hunger is driving all decisions now. I take a rock as my weapon and smash a marmot's head into soft butter.

"My first kill of the day."

I get a fire going and sharpen a stick to skewer my meal when strange sounds gurgle from within. I throw up blood and dirty water, and realize that I can not out run the destruction.

My world is coming to an end, just like the rest of mankind. I crawl into my tent, listen one last time to the sounds of the night,
and fall victim to the end of the world.



22 July 2012

Myself again

Fat thunderclouds roll across clouded visions of a breast I once held dear.
where are you now woman?
Old skin wrinkles my mind.

Sitting in the dirt of Mother Earth next to her serpent
I worship the almighty sun, giver of life.

Take the time for sunrises and sunsets
the peaceful wind gently whispering melancholy.
I see hope in the empty spaces.

The poetry of the dead screams to be heard
high above the blinking lights
of routine madness
chaos
The serpent bites, and I close my eyes to the bloody truth of Frank O'Hara.

17 October 2010

The Reflection Pool

In this world, there are no mirrors, glass windows, or shiny objects for one to see oneself. Here, what you are is reflected by who you are on the inside. Your inner self is the outward appearance others see. All that seems to be left in this world are hideous, evil creatures that want to destroy all that they see, except for him, the aimless traveler in a world without a Reflection.


The stories of the past state that this world was designed to destroy vanity. Idealistic in nature, but when a person's true heart is shown, those with ugliness and dark thoughts reigned supreme over the few with goodness in their soul.

The traveler is alone in this world. He has survived by wandering the empty spaces, looking for the reflecting pool. Only at the pool can he finally see his true self. He must know why he is still here, and what purpose his life serves in the desolate, desecrated haunted landscape. Whether he finds the same ugliness that he sees in the creatures that remain here, the pool will reveal the truth.


As he starts his climb up the mountainous terrain, he knows that whatever he finds, it will most likely be to his end. With no food or water, emaciated and alone, all he wants is to reach the pool, and see his true purpose. He can then rot back into the soil, or fall to a worse fate........



As the suns sets in the distance, he arrives. The water is a crystal clear blue and he falls to his knees to parch his dry mouth. As he bends down, it becomes clear. The reflection he has been dreaming of his whole life is before him.


But the reflection is not a dream, it is a nightmare. He closes his eyes, accepting his fate.