You came out of the blue...


John sat up in the double bed, he was panting. What a dream he’d had. He looked to his left, his girlfriend Casey still slept soundly and undisturbed by his awakening. With care he climbed from the sheets and walked from the room. Once the door to his and Casey’s room was closed securely, John started down the hallway to the common room. John, his two friends Henry and Chris, along with Casey and Henry’s steady girlfriend Nana; had all rented out a multi-apartment on the beach for their summer vacation. The spacious three beds, two baths, with kitchen and common room condo was a life saver for the vacationing students. It was on the cheap side and had an amazing view of the Atlantic Ocean from their own personal balcony. At first he thought his dreams were from the lore one of the natives had told them to scare them off, to stay at another hotel more inward off the shore, lore of the Water Woman. But they were modern college students nothing would happen to them.


It was the balcony that John retreated to when he woke, grabbing beer before he opened the slider; he took care not to make too much noise, then closed the door behind him and walked into the night. He closed his eyes as he felt the simple breezes brush against his skin. It was strangely refreshing to the apartment’s heat and he took a seat on one of the balcony chairs. The sound of the waves seemed to echo through this soft wind, calling him closer to the edge of the balcony. John reclined back in the chair, placed his beer on the side table and closed his eyes once again, trying to imagine exactly what woke him.

He remembered blurs, blues, and a beautiful girl with blonde hair.

This is what confused him, Casey, his girlfriend of three years, had dark chocolate hair cut in a cute super short style that was no more than an inch off her head, with her bangs dangling over her eyes. But this girl in his dream, she had vibrant blonde hair, long down to her waist, wavy, free. John’s eyes shot open. He had no idea what was going through his mind. He looked at the beer to his side and sighed. “I’ve had one to many,” He’d also had this same dream for weeks now, and he couldn’t put his finger on it, it was like the visions were haunting him.

It was then he heard the high pitch tone. What should have been annoying and painful ended up intriguing him, he sat up, somehow sobered. The tone turned to a multi toned melody. John turned toward the ocean, where the music seemed to be coming from; that’s when he saw her.

The mystery girl was walking with her feet just touching the water. She wore a simple white dress that fell freely around her body. The moon was full and bright that night and John stood, leaning over the edge of the balcony and looked down at the girl. She stopped and gazed up at the sky. John looked closer, realizing he was holding his breath, only to watch as she turned and looked up at him. He was on the fourth floor of the building, and she seemed to be looking right at him. His heart pounded. John had no idea what was running through him, but from what he could see in her eyes, she looked like she was crying. In seconds he rushed through the sliding door, pulled on a pair of denim jeans and a belt and his flip flops, grabbed his keys and ran out the door.

John skipped the elevator, it would take too long, and by the time he reached the first floor the girl would be gone, and he darted down the steps. When he reached the lobby nothing in his way stopped him from making it out to the beach in the back. Once his feet hit the sand he stopped, looked out over the beach to find her. He was panting, his lungs hurt from the running, but he didn’t care, he had to find her. He started out closer to the water, she was nowhere to be seen. “Where the hell?” he choked as he felt the water lick at his feet. It was cool, chilly in the light wind. How could she be gone? This beach ran for miles, clear and open with the moonlight…he’d see her if she continued either way, even if she ran. He turned looking out to the ocean, she wasn’t there either.

He was about to give up, turned to return to his room, when just as he turned to head back to the building, she stood right behind him. John had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. She looked to be around her early twenties, her blonde hair cascading down her body, a form which now closer and defined by the moonlight was even more intoxicating then before. Her white dress wasn’t thick at all, practically a shift or slip in material. He could see more than he bargained for. But her eyes, those almond green jems, they took his breath away more so then her appearance. Her lips were moving, he didn’t hear words, he heard notes, music, a melody similar to the one from the balcony. She moved closer to him, her eyes so sad as she reached for his face. Her fingers on his cheek made his spine tingle.

“Miss,” he forced, his voice waivering. “What are you doing out here? It’s not safe for a woman like you,”

“Why did you come?” she asked sadly. John didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you come? You shouldn’t have come.” John melted at her voice, it was almost as beautiful as her singing.

“You looked like you were lonely.” He said finally.

“I am,” her eyes seemed to seep sadness. He couldn’t understand why. What he would give to see her smile.

“Miss are you alright? Do you need me to walk you back to your place?” he asked absently. The thoughts of his girlfriend Casey back in the room four floors up seemed to vanish. He watched as her lips slowly smiled, her eyes sadder still.

“Do you want to go for a swim?” she asked. He watched as her fingers laced around the thin straps of her shift, she seemed to be taking the gown off. He flinched, she paused, her smile still overpowering her horribly sad eyes. She let her white teeth shine as she slowly stepped back into the water. “Come swim with me,” her voice was like a song alone, no instrumental, no notes needed. She let her shift fall to the water, it floated there before she stepped out of it stepping back into the waves. John was trapped in her gaze, unable to look away, absently following.

He was chest deep by the time she was neck deep in the water. “Follow me,” she cooed. He only saw her eyes, barely paying attention the waves grew angrier.

By the time he noticed the horrible weather, the rain, the lightning, the raging waves, it was to late. The woman had embraced him, pressed her lips against his, pulling him deeper in the raging waters. And though he wanted to get out of the cold water, he swam deeper. He followed the beautiful woman of his dreams.


The next morning Casey woke to find John missing. Chris, Nana and Henry all went searching for him, no note, his key’s missing, his flip flops gone. Casey had a horrible feeling that he was gone for good. She didn’t fully trust this gut feeling until the police found one of his flip flops farther down the beach washed up on the shore.

The students left the place, unable to find their friends. What they didn’t know was that he was looking up at them, in each wave that encased Casey’s feet, he looked up sadly drowning in his tears invisible to the eyes of his friends, pained that he’d never see this girl ever again, and he was swept away once again by the tide.
All because he didn’t hear of the lore of the Water Woman.

There was no joy in Mudville,
The air was cold that night.
For the hockey team was losing
And shorthanded, following a fight.

With 5 minutes on the penalty clock
And 1 minute left in regulation
It seemed as though the season was over
And the team would be heading to the unemployment line by the train station.

The next face off was won by Mudville,
And they dumped the puck down the ice
Wilson raced down after that 3 pound puck, and out of nowhere came Johnson, a pass to score as he fell down the ice!

Tied with about 30 seconds to go,  the crowd gave an almighty roar
Because they tied the game shorthanded,
Johnson, a defenseman had scored.

The teams headed into overtime, and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife,
For in hockey overtime is sudden death, the next goal would win the night.
And after a 10 minute intermission, the teams returned to the ice

The referee skated out to center,  and dropped the puck between two anxious Sticks.
The duel was on,  and both goalies were tested
But neither one would fall for the forwards tricks

With overtime ended, we went to a shootout,
This seemed to be the only way to decide the game.
And after Wilson stepped back onto the ice, he scored giving Mudville a chance to win the game.

But Jeralds would tie the shootout in the second round, and Johnson, following him would do the same. So after a miraculous stop by Mudville's goalie,  it would fall onto Casey to win the game.

A hush fell over the crowd, as Casey stepped onto the ice, he took a deep breath and started on his way,
He skated wide left stick handling down, his head up at the goalie trying to get him out of play.

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey was shutout.

Where are you casey where are you? Suddenly you're gone.
Have you ever been there .
Where are you casey?
Where are you casey where are you? Suddenly you're gone.  
Have you ever been there !
Where are you casey?
Casey!

Pad and pen,
here are Casey’s thoughts again...

Driving down the highway, Jason is strapped in because Casey’s in denial again. She doesn’t want to lose her little one.

Wake up Casey, you’re dreaming. He’s gone.
You drove under the influence.
What’s wrong with you?  
This is what you get. He’s never coming back.

Driving silent like a mime with its mouth sewn shut.
You’re just like a mime, living in a black and white world.
You’re gray matter Case.
You’re a nut-case.
Where’d you put your straight jacket?

You hit your brakes to assure Jason will be safe.
Convinced that at every intersection there’s a conspiracy against you,
sure to get hit.

But Casey, it’s too late. This is what you get.
He’s never coming back.

Why’d you have to reach for more?



Lock her up.
Strap her in.

Casey's off the deep end... again.

I.

Up the stairs Suzann without an E went.
8" X 10" bright white rectangles dotted
the yellowing and dusty walls,
clean reminders of bad family photos.
Her parents, Bob and Theresa,
had picked out wallpaper. Lilacs
and vines and oranges. Why? She
didn't know.

She tossed her backpack on the floor
at the foot of her bed. Her senior book
was still on the night stand. Charity and
Faith, her sometimes friends, had spent
the last two weeks filling out every page
of theirs, printing hazy images on cheap
photo paper at their homes and sliding them
into the plastic holders or taping them to
the pages without.

They coerced boys they
had liked or still liked or would like if to
fill out pages. When the boys simply signed
their names or names and football numbers,
they guilted them into writing more. Give
me something to remember you by.

Suzann liked to look at only one boy,
Casey Stephen Fuchs, pronounced "Fox,"
though you know that's just what the family
said. She didn't want him to write in her
senior book. She enjoyed the space between
them. She knew what her peers didn't:
she was seventeen.
She knew she didn't know
the right words yet. She knew the heart-bursting
flutters she felt were temporary--enjoy them, she thought,
shut up and enjoy them.

Her parents set her curfew at 10:30. So
this Friday, like most Fridays, she stays
home.

She opens ****** in the City of Mystics,
a novel she's burned through. Fifty pages
or so left. She likes detectives. The methodical
stalking, the idiosyncratic theories and philosophies
that allow them to connect dot after dot.

She shuts her eyes and sends herself walking down
the streets of New York, where hot dog vendors
whistle and say, "Nice legs." She flags down a cab.
She sees Casey across the street. What are you doing
here, stranger? She waves the cab on.
The driver, a brown-skinned man from some vague
country, throws his arms up. "C'mon."

She cuts across the traffic, dodging a white stretch limo,
a black Hummer, a hearse.

Casey's straight hair hangs over his left eye. It's both
melodramatic and troubled. There's a small shift
at the corners of his lips, the corners of lips, this
is a detail she writes of often in her journal--why?

She can almost hear Casey ask her, "What brings you here?"

"Business."

"What kind?"

"None of yours."

He takes this as an entry for a kiss. Not yet, handsome. No no.

"Make whatever you want for dinner," her mom shouts up the stairs.
"There's stuff for nachos if you want nachos. Some luncheon meat too.
Only one piece of bread though."

"Okay."

"Alright. Just whenever. Dad and I are going to go ahead."

"Okay."

"Alright."

Get me out of here. Suzann's whole life is small: small town,
small family, small church, all packed with small brained, short-sighted people. She wants New York or Chicago. She wants a badge--no not a badge. She'll be a vigilante. "You're not a cop," they'll tell her.

"Thank God," she'll say. "If I were a cop then there'd be nobody protecting these streets."

II.

She's read mysteries set in the middle of nowhere, small towns like her own Kiev, Missouri. They always feel phony. Not enough churches.
Not enough bored dads hitting on cheerleaders.
No curses. Every small town has a curse. Kiev's?
Every year someone in the senior class dies.

As far back as anyone she knew could remember
anyways. Drunk driving, falling asleep at the wheel,
texting while driving, all that crap is what was usually
blamed.

This smelly boy named Todd Louden moved out of Kiev
in the fall semester of his senior year a couple years ago.
Suzann was a freshman.

A few months after he was gone, people started saying
he'd killed himself with a shotgun. First United Methodist
added his family to the prayer list. They had a little service out
by this free-standing wall by the library where he used
to play wall ball during lunch. People cried. Suzann didn't know
anyone that hung out with him. Maybe that's why
they cried, unreconcilable guilt--that's what her dad
said.

Then in the spring Todd moved back. The cross planted
by the wall with his name confused him.
He'd just been staying with his grandma. Nothing crazy.
The churches never said anything about that. He was
just the smelly kid again. Well until late-April when
he got ran over by a drunk or texting driver.
They hadn't even pulled up the cross by the wall ball site
yet.

III.

You call it the middle of nowhere, a place where the roads didn't have proper names until a couple years back, roads now marked with green signs and white numbers like 3500 and 1250, numbers the state mandated so the ambulances can find your dying ***--well if the signs haven't been rendered unreadable by .22 rounds.

The roads used to be known only to locals. They'd give them names like the Jogline or Wilzetta or Lake Road, reserved knowledge for the sake of identifying outsiders. But that day is fading.

What makes nowhere somewhere? What grants space a name?

The dangerous element. The drifter that hops a fence, carrying a shotgun in a tote bag. Violence gave us O.K. Corral. Violence gave us Waco. Historians get nostalgic for those last breaths of innocence. The quiet. The storm. The dead quiet.

IV.

It's March and not a single senior has died.
So when she hears the front door open
around 2 a.m., Suzann isn't surprised.
She doesn't think it's ego that's made
her believe it'd be her to die--but it is.

She hears the fridge door open.
Cabinets open.
Cabinets close.
She hears ice drop into
the glass. Liquid poured.

She clicks her tongue in
her dry mouth. She puts
a hand to her chest. Her
heart beats slow.
She rests her head on
the pillow. It's heavy
yet empty, yet full--
not of thoughts.

She can't remember the name
of any shooting victims.
She remembers the shooters.
Jared Lee Loughner, Seung-Hui Cho,
James Eagan Holmes, Adam Lanza.
No victims.

She hears the intruder set the glass on the counter.
He doesn't walk into the living room.
He starts up the stairs. His steps are
soft, deliberate. What does he want?
Her death. She knows this. He is only a vehicle.
Nameless until. Has he done this before?
Fast or slow?

He's just outside her room, and she doesn't
remember a single victim's name. She hears
a bag unzip. She hears a click.

If he shoots her, Suzann Dunken, there's
no way the newspaper will get her name
right. Her name may or may not scroll
across CNN's marquee for a day or two.
If it does, it won't be spelled correctly.
This makes her move. Wrapping
her comforter around her body, she
tip-toes to the wall next to her door.

She hears a doorknob turn.
It's not hers.

He's going into her parents' bedroom.
They're both heavy sleepers.
She opens her own door slowly.
She steps into the hall. She sees the man.
The man does not see her.
She see the man and grabs a family
portrait. The man does not see her,
and he creeps closer to her parents.
She sees the man standing then she
sees the man falling after she strikes him
with the corner of the family portrait.
The man sees her as he scrambles to get
his bearing. She strikes him, again with
the corner. This time she connects with his eye.
A light comes on. "Suzann," her mother says.
He tries to aim the gun. Again she strikes.
He screams. He reaches for his eyes with
his left hand. Now with the broad side she
swings. She connects. She connects again.
The man shoves her off, stumbles to his feet.
By this time, her dad reaches her side.
One strong push and the man crashes into
the wall outside the room, putting a hole
in the drywall.

He recovers and retreats down the stairs
and out the door into blackness.

Her mother phones the police.
She pants more than speaks
into the receiver.

"Suzann," her dad says. "Sweetheart."

Suzann looks at the portrait, taken at JC Penny when
she was in the sixth grade. The glass is cracked.
She removes the back. She pulls out the photo.

"Did you get a good look at him?"

This photo. Her mother let her do anything
she wanted to her hair before they took it.
So she, of course, dyed it purple.

"That's right," her mother says.
"It's about half a mile east of the
3500 and 1250 intersection. Uh-huh."

Her dad sits down next to her.

"How long do you think it'll take them
to find us?"

There's a shift at the corners of her mouth,
and she nods, just nods.

it's visual anthropology, I swear.
it's everything can't you see!?
I'm on my bed.

I had a great dream about you,
I'll even say it, you said you'd make love to me,
so I anxiously listened to Pull My Daisy by Allen Ginsberg afterwards, he certainly was mad but was genius but I do care about my health, though.

So, I ordered the speeches of Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King. Lincoln said a lot, he advanced a conversation but appeared to lord over the common man, the man who works in the field, the man who goes to war to fight. Martin Luther King didn't say much, although Common says freedom is free.

I smoked a cigar and poured some orange juice, too. I can now smell the cigar and enjoy orange juice. I saw a white bug outside and felt deep. The specific kind, unknowable. I'm nervous tho' about today. I have to be up at five AM. I could sleep more but I won't, instead I'll write a clear and coherent prose-poem about the circus because I do care about my health. I will love myself and maybe take a shower because I do care about my health. Molly Casey, who knows, I forgive you if you forgive me, and if whoever said "ugh" apologizes, I'll be happy. But first, or later, we'll have to  accept that life is unfair, and that you have to be professional to make it through.

Here, look it, I'll tell you everything and more, and all the time, if you tell me I'm sane and beautiful.

How badly do you want bad? I want bad, sometimes. I want good more often that's why I do this dear Molly Casey. And when you said you'd sleep with me, did you think? No, I don't think you thought and I don't think you mean it. No, when you said you'd make love to me, in my dream, did you think? No, I don't think you did. But know, you inspired me. As a conciliation for my inability to be profound, or for being too profound, or too much of a thinker, or for being overly cautious, I want you to know that biology is interesting and that when I write several words down in my poem book and in my phone to use later, I think I'm working.

Here are those words:

1. faced
2. changed
3. is
4. cognitive
5. multiple
6. vision
6. droplet
7. positive everyday experience
8. I lie
9. ought to listen to that song
9. cause
10. zeal
11. prudence
12. in the dust
13. self-criticism
14. work
15. chill Castro
16. not SA - SF although SA isn't bad
17. me
18. my friends
19. All encompass dropper
20. Only human
21. All too human

2:38 AM December 12th 2018

My old name is dead to me.
That's why they call it a deadname.
The person who had that name breathes no more.
She was killed by my own hands.

She was named for both of her grandmothers,
some sort of sentiment to come from a careless mistake.
Maybe this is what made it so easy for me to **** her
because her name was a throw-away.

Her middle name came from the title of a movie
that her parents had once liked.
But the movie is old and bland, and the plot has no meaning.
So her names are futile attempts at trying to right a wrong,
trying to make up for something that can never be fixed.

I killed her.
I wanted her dead so badly,
so I killed her.

My name is Casey.

I am not heartless, though.
She wanted me to be Casey.
Although I killed her, she still means something to me.

I had to **** her in order to move on.
She knew that.
So I am Casey for her.

Casey.

It means spear.
A weapon.

Fitting for a murderer.

A Saturday, slow and sleepy
Unfolds like old attic linens
And drifts along
Like pipe smoke through the reeds

On a Saturday, bleak and weary
We just can’t get our act together
With hollow talk of book nooks
High seas back road voyages
And pints of Casey’s best bitter

On a Saturday, slow and sleepy
Taking action is hard to do
So slip into a daydream
And meet me out on the fringes
Where the sun and the moon fade from sight
And time is no longer real

the long thin fingers of a girl of twenty-four
wrapped tight around the handrail of the L-train
bright-blue-eyed but for the temple bruise

                   he loves me
                   and the mess I made

everything tattooed (everything everything)
invisible on her cheeks and in the hollow of her shoulderblade
her lower lip and wristbone
but for the temple bruise
darker by two shades

          a four-in-the-morning-night cottoning her tongue
          not-the-first of many and her long thin fingers
          white-knuckled

          little joys to light on the handrail
          not his warm-hot-ice-hard chest
          or his loud voice (woulda been real handsome
          if his eyes weren't so cold)

but for the temple bruise

                                                         ­   i
                                                           ­ fell
                                                            in
 ­                                                           love so many times that day
                                                            t­he first sunday of its kind--not drenched
                                                        ­    in imperceptible airdrops

                                                       ­     the red-brown beard of the business suit
                                                            ­and the freckles undermining the punk-rock
                                                       ­     vibe of the dark-eyed fox-girl

                                                       ­     but the thin white knuckles
                                                        ­    and the temple bruise

                                                         ­   --none more than her

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be
Neither am I
Bewildered I am at how it turned out this way
Dreams and reality have to coexist
So they say
Unfortunately
That's the truth today

You see me and Casey had a good thing going
We were more than compatible
This was a love incomparable
We held hands, kissed on the street
We were happy, it was neat

This is the part where I get hurt
One day it was over, all in a blur
Something about us not being right
She moved out of the house and into the night

I'm not big on introspection
Now, I've no choice
I'm at the intersection
Of dreams and reality
With love somewhere in the middle
In search of a compass
Pointing to where I need to be

Casey and I look out over water
Clear and black as oil

The beach is narrow and flooded
On one side by high- tide
On the other with happy people

The sky is alive with a swollen, blood-orange- for- a- moon
Ready to burst over the ocean
There are fireworks anywhere you turn
To the South, over the water, rogue firecrackers on beach
and bursts of them above Atlantic City
Which meld with the casinos to form a near- solid pulse of light

"How can things be any better than this?"  Casey asks

My memory wanders out onto the sable, rolling  surf



I Think of the taste of salt on your skin


The wave your hair would get
When dried in the sun after you swam



How you woke in a sweat, rambling about collecting sea shells
That night you came to care for me a year ago




A cherry bomb nearly explodes at my feet
A few snickers from some small kids wearing stars and stripes
I look at Casey's face
Contorted and animated
By the flashes of the fireworks

"It couldn't get better. You're right."

I strip down piece by piece to my shorts
I ask Alex to hold my valuables (gold watch, cellular matrix, gum)
                 Run in the water and think about the concept of value
                                                And about mistakes

party zone with sue longways



hi everyone, my name is sue longways and what a night we have for you

you see i will start with a great song, here it goes

one look in your eyes makes me feel oh continental

diamonds are a girls best friend

parties are fun for girls and also guys yeah

we have diamonds which is a girls best friend

me, sue longways is partying every day and night oh yeah

diamonds oh diamonds are a girl’s best friend

and now here is sue about to interview kendoll from scullin

sue’   hi everyone welcome back to party zone and as you might be aware

the GWS footy team beat hawthorn and sydney beat melbourne

a win for sydney against melbourne and what a walloping win for the canberra raiders

and ken doll how did you feel about those victories

kendoll’  well, it was great to see the swans and GWS, and the mighty raiders, well, that is a shock result

for them, and i was glancing the internet, and i saw belconnen magpies first grade side

nearly got a 200 game

sue’  yeah you were telling me back stage

kendoll’    and another thing, as i was watching the swans, the warriors beat the sharks and the cowboys beat

thje bulldogs and

sue’   yeah talking about rugby league, you promised us, you will sing the green machine song in a tu tu if they beat the titans

so why not try it

kendoll’  ok i will just get my tu tu

ken doll puts his tu tu on with a bit of a laugh

kendoll’   we’re the bad and mean green machine,

fearsome men from the ACT

don’t try and stop these men in green

or we will hit ys hit ya hit ya, till you see green

sue’  how do you feel mr kendoll

kendoll’   i feel great, UP THE RAIDERS, SWANS AND DOCKERS AND GWS, what a great performance these teams

played for us tonight

sue’  thanks kendoll and now we will go to tina dermott from casey, tina, how are you feeling tonight

tina’   i feel like singing

not a dime i cannot pay my rent

i can barely make it through the week

saturday night is party night i want to meet a girl

but right now i cannot make my ends meet

i am always working slaving every day

gotta get a break from that same old same old

i need a chance just to get away

this is what i say

i need nothing but a good time

how can i resist, i saw belconnen magpies

almost get 200, i feel really really pumped, oh yeah

sue’  yeah it was great to see the magpies get 196 points today, and it was also great to see the raiders get 56

tina’   yeah, and i just came from the sports bar, and fremantle dockers beat essendon, i feel like singing

freo, oh free heavho

free way to go, we beat the bombers easily so

free way to go, we’re the mighty fremantle dockers

free way to go, we’re the best team oh yeah we are so

free way to go, we are the free dockers

sue’  yeah go the mighty dockers and thanks tina, go the  dockers and now we have larry king jar with us

larry’  yeah sue, i feel like old 80s trash so i will sing old 80s trash

last night i was dreaming

i was locked in a prison cell

when i woke up i was screaming

calling out your name

and the judge and the the jury, put the blame on me

they won’t go for my story, they will lock me away

only you can set me free, cause i am guilty, guilty

guilty as a guy can be

dreaming yeah makes me feel so ALIVE, oh yeah

of love in the first degree

sue’  yeah, that is a wonderful song, thank you larry and now here is marcus from higgins

marcus hi sue, and i am singing my song, we’re not going to take it, the lines to get in civic nightclubs

you see we have the right to get in there

ya know party on saturday night party night yeah

i can’t understand why this line is taking so **** long

and there is some weird odour, smells like a combination of dirt and snot yeah

yeah it is the person next to me, boy does he really pong

i said i am not going to take it, i really am into breaking point

i can’t take these nightclub lines no more

my mates call me a little girlie others said i was an oldie

i can’t take these nightclub lines anymore

sue’  way to go marcus, the nightclub owners should allow heaps of people in, but then your packed in like sardines, what can we do

and our last guest is fred from gar ran

fred’  yeah, i will sing hallueiah

i hear the swans and the giants did win

and the raiders and the cowboys won

we don’t really care for losing do, us

go the mighty free ,man, and adfelaide, who are the pride of SA

yeah, this is the big moment we sing halleiah

sue’   ok dudes, i hope you enjoyed party zone tonight. if ya want to meet these people, pop round to the city club before 2 am ok

ands PARTY HARDY won’t stardy

"I always make a living so, that I can make movies. I never make movies to try to make a living. I think that's a big mistake that new comers do. They always focus on how can my passion, pay me. And I think that's a terrible place to start. If the reason why you're doing anything creative is to make a living then I think you're doing it wrong. You get into it because it's a true passion , it's something you really believe in  or don't get into it at all."

Take my advice,
always think twice
before you let in the devil
and give in to vice.

I feel an emptiness, you see
It caresses and surrounds me
All I feel is that you’re gone
The memory of you dawns
I see your face, I see your lips
I see your walk, I see your hips
I see your figure shining through
And now you’ve gotten me so glued
You dance around in my mind
While the reality lies

Let me sleep
I want you to be near me
Let me dream
That’s where I want to be
Because if in my dreams is where you are
Then let me sleep forever
Let me sleep
Let me sleep

When I sleep you’re in my mind
The memory of you locked in time
Please don’t leave me here alone.
Why’d you go? Babe, why’d you go?
I’m running so fast to catch you
But your hand is slipping thru
I turn around and there I see
Nothing but the air and me
Return to me just as soon
And listen as I sing this tune

Let me sleep
I want you to be near me
Let me dream
That’s where I want to be
Because if in my dreams is where you are
Then let me sleep forever
Let me sleep
Let me sleep

Run to me, I’ll catch you
Sing to me, I’ll let you
Be who you are with me
We’re bigger than the sea
You’re the best **** thing
Take that ball of string
Wrap me close and wrap me tight
Break away, you know you might

Let me sleep
I want you to be near me
Let me dream
That’s where I want to be
Because if in my dreams is where you are
Then let me sleep forever
Let me sleep
Let me sleep

I.

The last thing? It wadn't nothing special. Pa and me, well, we never had what I guess you'd call a real easy exchange. He kept to hisself. I kept to myself. We worked hard, and we appreciated each other. But we--and this may be sad to you, but it ain't sad to me--we didn't get touchy-feely. Didn't say "I love you" or things like that. We traded off fetching the water. Traded off nabbing clothes off the line for Ma. He taught me how to be, to live, you know? How to work the cotton. How to work the mules. He gave me three bullets--just three--every time I took the .22 out to get a squirrel. "Make it count," he'd say. "Don't bring home less than four." Making it count--that means more than that other stuff.

So, what I'm saying is, in the end it wadn't no big to-do. Before he handed Ma the shotgun and told us to get, he stuck his head out the kitchen window, the one just over the sink. He said, "It's gonna rain. Them's the kind of clouds that ain't fickle."

I said I reckoned he was right. He said yep. Handed Ma the shotgun. And that was that.


II.

Robert never wanted to live in Tennessee. He was a Kentucky boy, and if it hadn't been for my selfishness, I believe he would have died a Kentucky boy--or man, rather--at a much later date. See my mother, Faye, she got dreadful sick back in '31, and I says to him, I says, Robert, you know my sister can't take care of her--this being on account of her being touched in the head and all. He didn't say nothing, which was usual, but he didn't grumble neither and that, that right there, is the mark of a good man.

We started with just 80 acres. He built the house hisself. Did you know that? It wasn't nothing fancy, no, but we didn't need nothing fancy. It was made pretty much entirely of--oh what do they call it. It ain't just cedar. That uh uh uh--red cedar. Can't believe I forgot that.

Anyway, our place was sprawling with red cedar. Not the prettiest trees you ever saw, but they were ours, and they provided what we needed of them.

Because of us doing alright with the logging, we was able to pick up the Whitmore place. That was another 160 acres.  Robert hated Tennessee, not a doubt in my mind about that. It was his home, though, you see. It was his land. He wanted to make something of it to give to our son, Henry.


III.

Come all you people if you want to hear
The story about a brave engineer;
He's Franklin D. Roosevelt, in Washington D.C.
He's running the train they call 'prosperity.'

Now he straightened up the banks with a big holiday;
He circulated money with the T.V.A.
With the C.C.C. and the C.W.A.
He's brought back smiles and kept hunger away.
      -"Casey Roosevelt" [Excerpts]
          Folk song recorded by Buck Fulton for E.C. and M.N. Kirkland, July, 1937


IV.

Before they even started on the reservoir, the Tennessee Valley Authority started digging up the dead. I'm serious. Most frightful thing you ever saw. Hickory Road--and I swear, I swear on the country, the good Lord, anything from a ****** to a mountain--the road was full-up with buggies carting coffins. Three days straight they were carting dead folks down to Clinton. Most of the coffins were barely holding up, too. Made out that crude pine. Seeing them yellow-but-not-yellow heads poking out was enough to make a feller sick.

If I remember right, they had to relocate something like 5,000 before they dammed up the Clinch, but they made a lot more living, breathing folks than that move along. Lot more.


V.

A week before the T.V.A went and flooded the valley the sounds stopped. The duhh-duhh. The errgh-errgh. You know? The sounds of work. When you don't got all that noise going on--that routine, I guess you could say--what can you do but think?

And because of that, I believe, that last week Pa acted different. He was trying not to, trying to act just the same. But he was trying to be the same too hard. Ma would take coffee off the stove, pour it for him and he'd say: "Thank you, sweetheart." He always said thank you. That much was the same. It's that sweetheart bit that didn't fit in his mouth right. She left the kitchen. Couldn't take it.

Tom Scott hung himself, too. Clyde Johnson, his brother Jacob. There was one more. Big fella that lived down by Hershel's store. Can't remember his name. Pa's was the only body that didn't wash up on the bank.

I never did see them after they washed up. Mrs. Scott said it was appalling. She said her husband's body was all puffed up, swollen with the water. Sheriff cut the rope off her husband's neck. She said that neck was black leading into purple leading into black. Raw. Mrs. Scott didn't live too long after that. A year or so. The shame got to her I suppose.

When folks called my pa a coward, I never argued with them. Didn't see the point. What's a coward? Somebody hang hisself? Somebody that leave his wife and boy to fend for themselves? That a coward? Call him what you want. I ain't gonna argue. All he is--is dead to me.

VI.

My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places. And it will hail when the forest falls down, and the city will be utterly laid low. Happy are you who sow beside all waters, who let the feet of the ox and the donkey range free.
         - Isaiah 32:18-20

VII.**

Robert had brown, wavy hair. He had big hands with scarred knuckles. He was missing a tooth on the right side. Three or four down from the front. You could only tell when he laughed. Every day in the field he wore the same cap, a Miller's Co-op cap, with overlapping sweat stains. He never wanted to track dirt in the house so he'd knock on the side of the house anytime he needed something from inside, like a box of matches or a knife or something. The first two knocks would be to get my attention. They'd sound urgent. The third was soft, as if to say please. When we went to bed, he always waited for me to fall asleep before he even tried. He knew his snoring kept me up.

On the last day, Robert handed me his shotgun. Says, "I love you, Mary." He was so choked up, I didn't know if he was going to kiss me. So I kissed him. Says, "I love you Robert." And that was pretty much all. We got in the buggy and headed off to my mother's.

I wanted to bury the shotgun. I knew I'd need a place to visit, a place to talk to Robert. And it had to be a piece of him. I dug the hole out behind my mother's place. Henry, he must've thought I was crazy, digging that hole the very next day. He asked me what I was going to put in there. I says the shotgun. He says, "No, ma'am, you isn't." I says, "Yes, son, I is." He says we need that gun. Get squirrels. Get rabbits. Make it count, he says.

I was pretty sore about it, but I ended up throwing my wedding ring in that hole. It being the only other thing that was him. We put the shotgun over the door frame in the kitchen.

I miss him every day. I feel it in my body. Feel it down to my bones. I imagine it wouldn't feel no different if I had lost a hand. But what makes me sadder than anything, sadder than not seeing Robert every morning, sadder than knowing he don't get to see what Henry makes of hisself, is that Robert didn't get nobody's attention.

He never said that's why he had to do it. I just figured as much. He wouldn't die for nothing. That wasn't him. The paper wouldn't say nothing about him other than he was dead. I wrote the T.V.A. Never heard nothing back. It's like the world mumbled, "I'm sorry," and just spun on. That's what they give the good men: a mumble. Killers make the front page. They're in the pictures. The good men? For the good men, the world has to keep asking for their names. The world says, "Oh, Robert, right," and "I'm sorry." But the world don't mean it. The world's got dams to build, valleys to flood. Graves to move. People to uproot. Why? Do you know? Course you don't. God hisself would shrug his shoulders and tell me that's just the way it is.

If I was single, I'd be there in a wink.
You mean a whole lot more to me than you think.
We're just talking, this isn't so bad.
Cheer up, you're the best friend that I've ever had.

She broke up with me, I gotta go.
No, I can't talk, just thought you'd wanna know.
Please wake up now, I just need a friend.
You're better to me than the whole world has been.

How do you manage to do it?
You're a better friend than I deserve, and I know it.
I want to return that to you.
I hope you know that I'll always be there for you, too.

When I'm ready, we'll go on a date.
I wanna be with you, too, but I need you to wait.
I'm so glad that we're talking again.
I wanna be with you, sunshine, and not as your friend.

When school's over, I'm buying a bus.
We'll fix it up into a home just for us.
We'll live up there in Canada's wild.
We'll just go 'til there aren't any people for miles.

Meet me outside, I'll be there in ten.
No, I don't have permission, we'll talk it through then.
I like everything about you.
I don't want to, no, but I'll do it for you.

Why are you so mad, what did you hear?
I only want you now, I thought that was clear.
I've got class, I'll talk to you after.
Yeah, I like her, but it's just a crush, does it matter?

I want to spend more time with you.
I'm always at work, what am I supposed to do?
What do you mean, "Over," why?
Okay. Uh huh. Sure. Yeah, whatever, goodbye.

Why’d it happen?
Why’d it happen so suddenly?
Why’d it seem like everything was fine?
Why’d it seem like you were gonna be okay?
Why’d it change so quickly?
Why’d it decide your time had come?
Why’d it decide it was time for you to go?
Why’d it not let you say goodbye to me?
Why’d it think you were supposed to leave?
Why’d it think you couldn’t write anymore?
Why’d it think you couldn’t cut paper hearts?
Why’d it think you couldn’t leave that room?
Why’d it make them think you had pneumonia?
Why’d it make you leave this world last week?
Why’d it decide you had to go so far away?
Why’d it make you leave without another word?
Why’d it make me excited for a letter I won’t get?
Why’d it make me think I would hear from you?
Why’d it make me think that you were okay?
Why’d it make me feel like you could get better?
Why’d it make me hope you would come back?
Why’d it make me wish you would be cured?
Why’d it make me see only the good in this?
Why’d it make me think you wouldn’t like this?
Why’d it give me this pressure in my chest bone?
Why’d it make me have to write all this out?
Why’d it think a poem would help me heal?
Why’d it think that grieving had to be like this?
Why’d it make me unable to shed a tear for you?
Why’d it make me have to ask these questions?
Why’d it take you away from me like this?
Why?
Why will I never have answers to my questions?
Why can I never see you in person again?
Why do I have to watch a video to hear you talk?
Why do I need pictures now to see your face?
Why do I feel sad when I hear Cher songs?
Why did we share that kind of connection?
Why couldn’t you just stay a while longer?
Why couldn’t you leave to get help sooner?
Why did you think nothing was wrong?
Why did you have to be forced to move away?
Why did you always see the good in everything?
Why did you always let me mess up your hair?
Why were you so patient and understanding?
Why did you watch YouTube videos with me?
Why did you agree to be in a video with me?
Why did you think everything I did was fun?
Why did I think everything we did was fun?
Why did I think messing with your hair was fun?
Why am I acting like I don’t know anything?
Why am I questioning why you did those things?
I know you loved watching videos with me.
I know you loved hearing me laugh all the time.
I know that you had gel that made your hair fun.
I know you enjoyed spending time with me.
I know you loved bringing a tote full of gifts.
I know you didn’t want to retire when you did.
I know you enjoyed your job and wanted to stay.
I know that life was very hard for you.
I know that you always put everyone before you.
I know you moved away because you had to.
I know you enjoyed writing letters with me.
I know you loved making those paper hearts.
I know you loved being my Grammie.
I know I loved having you be my Grammie.
I know I only had you in my life for 22 years.
I know my Dad & Uncle now have no parents.
I know you missed Grampie and Casey a lot.
I know Casey was an amazing & sweet dog.
I know Grampie was funny and your love.
I know you missed Casey, then lost Grampie.
I know you’ve missed other people for a while.
I know you fought for those last moments.
I know you thought you would be okay.
I know that you accepted it when it was time.
I know you weren’t in any pain when you left.
I just wish you didn’t have to die to feel at peace.
I just wish you didn’t have to disappear forever.
I just wish I had known that last letter was it.
I wish I had been able to say a real goodbye.
I don’t know what to do with all the letters now.
I don’t know how to move on with you leaving.
I don’t know why I don’t feel like crying.
I don’t know if it’s because emotions are hard.
I don’t know if it’s because Autism is hard.
I just know that I’m happy you’re happy now.
I’m happy you don’t need that tub anymore.
I’m happy you don’t need to worry anymore.
I’m happy I don’t need to worry anymore.
I’m happy that you’re with the people you love.
I’m happy that you are definitely up in the sky.
I’m happy that you’re an angel looking down.
I’m not be religious or like angels, but I love you.
I know that there is more to life than this one.
I know that this isn’t the only life we have.
I know that people are reborn all the time.
I know that we either do it quick, or wait.
I hope you don’t decide to wait for us.
I hope you go right to your new life.
I hope you get to come back however you want.
I hope you’re happy wherever you are now.
I hope I can someday listen to Cher happily.
I can listen now, but she reminds me of you.
I always said that she kinda looks like you.
I can’t thank you enough for making me a fan.
I can’t thank you enough for being here for me.
I hope you know that your love was felt by me.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t write to you more.
I’m just happy you still kept writing to me.
I want you to know that I read every letter.
I kept every single heart that you made for me.
I love how you started to make the envelopes.
I will keep you with me for the rest of my life.
I will never forget you.
I will love you forever and ever.
I will always be your “Sweetie”.
I love you, Grammie.
Goodbye.

As Captain Jack kisses of the last roach
Lavender's in the boathouse window shouting that she's grown wings that she's gonna fly
over Old Casey's boat above the painted lake past where the music surrounds
permeates with the pulse of noise
Green Hat pulls me over says my name is Corey
or Kelsey
Kelly's a **** name I tell him back home people call me Blow
Enter Tennessee the cinnamon sipping reds smoking sonofagun
Are you Kevin?
I ask the fingers that familiar flight of touch leading me
down and
down and
down towards our game
"Never have I ever" howls the young Indian chief, scarf draped in madness
the fearless warrior Peepeeohpee
Someone has trapped the moon behind the window the house on the hill someone has fed the fire with its secret light
This stranger this enigma this Laura I am her cousin
and everyone I touch is Kevin
Then with the sun Tittas steps off the boat as Jesus
sacred palms slashed from last night's ritual
Bums a cig from Drew or Not Drew with the thousands out west and the lotus flower arms
Floats on her back French exhales
As I look at our feet stained red with ink all slow spirals soft wind ***** flowers
then to the shore the fireflies still dancing through the dawn
Flying high
Secretly praying to each outshine the fade

You complicate me.
And not in the complicated,
Messed up, confusion of the mind,
Let’s not go there kind of complication,
But you make me more unique.
You add quality to my life.

There’s just something about you.
It’s not an event. It’s not a trait.
It’s not even your words.
It’s a feeling like love, that just
Overpowers and assures me.
This dominating feature you possess,
Possesses me.

It possesses me and confirms my thoughts
About where I am and where I want to be.
With you alone, my thoughts rest.
With you alone, my heart is sure.
With you alone is where I want to be.

Let’s shock the masses.
Let’s perfectly master the art of perfection.
Let’s love to live and love to love.
Love each other because it feels right.
Because together, that’s what we want.
Together we’ll explore.
This life, this love. Together.