Thursday’s Bumper Sticker
Death Grip
She got that death grip on the wheel
she’s not letting go
not slowing down
no, not taking it slow
doesn’t matter where she’s going
long as she gets there fast
doesn’t care about the journey
that’s for others to make it last
she’s pouring through gaps
riding hard and leaving free
swerving around obstacles with abandon
like buildings, pedestrians, and trees
Don’t know where she’s going
that’s for others to find out
she’s moving ahead
forging past fear and doubt
we all glimpse her
wanting to see
who’s that girl with that death grip
we’re all wishing that it could be me
Word
The word is given
we gotta go
through that door
either quick or slow
We think we know what’s up
think we know it’s time
though we’ve been wrong before
we keep swallowing the same lines
so on we go, on our way
not understanding
it’s the same game
by another name
The Cookies
“The cookies are easy to make,” she told Cindy after sharing the recipe with her. “You should make them when your grandchildren come up. They came up. It’d be fun.”
“Good idea. I will.”
A few days later, Barb ran into Cindy. “We made the cookies,” Cindy said.
“And…?”
“They burned.”
“What?”
“Tell me the recipe again.”
“You start with tortillas and cut them out with cookie cutters.”
“I did that.”
“Then you put them on the baking sheet and brush them with butter.”
“Butter! You didn’t mention butter.”
“I think I did…but, after you brush them with butter, you dust them with cinnamon and sugar.”
“Sugar! You didn’t say anything about sugar.”
“Do you want me to send you an email with the recipe?”
“No, I’ll have my son-in-law find them for me.”
Secrets
He lived a private life, a reclusive millionaire by day, porn addict at night.
His car was polished to a gleam that blinded others. The carpets, rugs, and hardwood floors in his house seemed like they were never used. White teeth in a bright smile, hair groomed and cultivated (almost like a model), he wore fashionable clothes with casual ease, hiding the deformities of his soul. Nothing was out on the counters where others might start learning the truth. These were hidden in drawers and cupboards, tucked away behind other materials, not found without a lengthy search…unless you knew where to look.
Yes, he had his secrets, nothing that he would share with others. He had secrets that he never spoke of even to himself, afraid that if he did, he might give himself away.
Just in Passing
That time is gone
the energy spent
the road left behind
resentments left unsaid
All that remains
is peering ahead
crossing new bridges
dodging monsters in your head
Think about yesterday
dream about tomorrow
Go on through life
deal with the frustration and sorrow
Then get up and out
get gone and back
live one more day
and do it again
Future Past
The worst thing was when the wall between time cracked. Seeing the future, he began remembering it, and then started living his life for it, scaring everyone else, because they remembered nothing of the future.
Hell, they barely recalled the past.
That left him alone. Terrible ideas teased him. If no one remembered the future or the past, did now really matter?
Lee Scoresby
We’ve been watching His Dark Materials (HBO), and mostly enjoying it, although the story feels like it’s rushed more than the books. But then, that’s why I prefer reading (and writing) books. I can indulge in my imagination more, and let matters (and story) expand and flow with fewer constraints.
Lin Manuel Miranda is playing Lee Scoresby, aeronaut, friend of Irok (the armored bear) and protector of Lyra (one of many). Sam Elliot played Lee in the first movie, The Golden Compass. Sam aligned more with how I saw Lee in the novel, so I thought he was casting perfection. Nevertheless, Lin does a damn fine job (not surprising for someone as talented as Lin).
Here’s the kicker and the point to this whole post: a man who looks like Lin Manuel Miranda as Lee Scoresby just walked into the coffee shop. After I stared at him, watching his passage across the coffee shop (which he noticed) (it seemed to disconcert him), I had to go outside and check – balloon? Large white bear in armor? Gyptians? Flying witches?
No; just Lee, sneaking in for a cuppa…and perhaps here for a secret assignation.
Who the hell knows?
(The weirdest thing: after he came in…he disappeared…)
Impressions
Impressions crept in on her, darkening her mood. His cell-like room felt dryer and hotter than she remembered the Sahara being. Negativity spiked from him like blackberry bramble thorns. When he spoke, words lurched out like they were freight cars in a train that didn’t have the engine for its load.
Michael Seidel, writer 