... ..jaded glass eyes ....June 22, 2004   Twenty-three times I have moved from one home to another.  Perhaps I've moved more often, but I remember twenty-three.  That's an average of one move every two years.  And change.  Moving isn't.  Unless, of course, one is moved by broken promises, shattered hopes, interrupted services, hidden defects, unexpected costs, and dick-shriveling surprises.  Disappointment, inconvenience, betrayal, and chaos.  How I despise moving. Still I move.  I have moved for many reasons: to follow my father, pursue an education, avoid responsibilty, chase pussy, find employment, make a home.  I've grazed on bushels of greener grass only to find it was Astroturf.  Now I have moved from the Alhambra to Greenmullet and, somewhere in the shuffle, I have lost my writing jones.  While I await its return, I'll write anyway. Try simple narrative.  Lighten up. Greenmullet sits upon the banks of a bayou.  In truth, the house slouches like a teenager watching television.  With jaded glass eyes, Greenmullet watches and waits for something to happen.  The house is more bored than boring.  It's summer and there's nothing to do. There are the long-legged wading birds, however.  Great Egrets, Great Blue Herons, Yellow-Crowned Night Herons, Gil-Scott Herons.  And reptiles.  One of the house painters disappeared while scraping a mullion.  I myself have seen an alligator swimming behind the house.  It swam to within four feet of my dock, twenty-nine feet from my perch in the closest available tree.  This alligator infestation will take some getting used to. Meantime, I watch and I wait.  I am more boring than bored. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..2d quarter index..|..next

©  2004 by the beastmaster