Slits to sting the healing of what could have been bled clean inside the wounds of the soul. Filling them to the brim without spilling over within. Tomorrow there was you. Illogical. A one legged prostitute. A brain without a drain.
"Change your number."
"Get new jokes."
"Have fun."
Quiet nights are easily sold out to fear of silence and noise. The dark room fills up with colorless fumes sneaking up on you.
That's when you remember how you got here. The street lights that tell you everything is fine and the tennis courts are empty.
"My new gym membership is canceled."
"My days off are restful. Sleep."
The glass blender was unused for over a year. colah lost track. The large glass mugs were somewhere else and unused as well. The back alley strides to get groceries days ended along with the apartment on Berteau St. Chicago, Il. Forgiving the only way she knew how, slowly, lightly, briefly, and in stride. The longing to see fresh vegetable gardens took her into a blissful state. Forgetting the time and events she tore up applications of work until the right time. The frost on the waffles melted in the toaster.
Er.
"Quit."
"Don't quit."
The tiniest breach in waiting and watching for the poorest heart to bleed out was part of the solution of acing Gods tests. A time where discoveries were adventurous and the pain was mysterious. From scan tron tests to job application processes one tiny wrong move had you replaced.
Shoved away were the old towels and blankets collecting dust. The jostle of the key in the ancient keyhole the deep creeks in the damp stairs with carpet have changed my life. The smooth railings and broken screens, cellars with dusty college books and bicycles gleamed hollow heartedly.
Wondering who lived there now was no wonder at all. The recession moved a risk to start over again. Doesn't everyone desire that fresh new start? So that start came and crashed hard rushing through the fields of roses. The cough over the mobile phone, and a trumpet sound at every nose blow rattled and shook eternitys core.
Leaving a fragrance potent, radically transforming the gaps of evolution and the whole world radiated with clashing tides of changes. The new job was new but wasn't new. It was old new making coffee for service workers and scooping ice cream.
In and out the lense of truth penetrated manifestations of minute words of gratitude as the sweet aroma of trampled roses paved its lingering intensity through wishy washy twists and turns of letting up by hanging on to all there was left waiting.
"How long will he be gone?" Asked Fran
"A while." Said dad
"You have to try." Said Rosey
"I know you tried " Said Gregg Lange.
"I stayed here and didn't go there to do that and go there." Exclaimed Fran.
"I didn't say that or do that to say that and not do this." Stated Tiny.
"Forgive me what's bothering ya?" Asked Fran.
"I cannot read minds and know everything." tiny said.
The nights felt short with a quick dinner then phones off by 8p. The dust pan was missing. The afternoons were cruel while they burned through the weeks, months, and clock.
The years were a clean slate of the heart feeding the soul with the mind on the confusion from vast arrays of helping
bends or folds through the witnesses manifold at work, church, and home.
Chapter 44 It is well with my Soul
This wasn't as easy as it may have been in the age of innocence. Being full of awkward devices and niches left me inches under the nose of the Shepard and His comforting rod. Old new. New old job and a head full of crushed majestic presumptions.
"You'll never be a manager." "Stupid".
"You are bionic, and a weapon of peace."
Staring at the seashells on the ledge of the windowsil brought me to a calm. Stillness swept away the reoccurring mistakes in the little sand particles inside the conche.
How could it be that I can do anything I want to do. Face fears, try new, and do what I want to do. The oatmeal tasted good without butter and milk. Yesterdays coffee black and cold too.
The choice to hold on to one job and start another was possible. Letting go of jobs which can be family and many good things can be the same as holding on to it. Choices take hold and let go.
Chapter 50 Pretty
The garbage and dishes piled high every hour and I had finally found a purpose in my hour to come. Mopping and sweeping were a few duties that changed my life around. Washing those glass windows machine moved my faith transformation into depths unfathomable to comprehend and deeper I went into the work of a derive worker.
California's rolling hills pushed there way through the oceans tides where slight met spite with a humble beginning. The ending stabbed its way through the heart and into the power of seven years of blind faith.
Frans trailer was near Lake Mead. Service work wasn't her choice it was as if she was called. The new Vegas job required painting. Steering out of positions jobs were a dime a dozen in a scarce market for bionic usage.
"You've told me no and I still said it!". Said Tiny.
"I'm changing my number." Said Gregory.
Singing the alphaphet to toddlers brought back memories of cheese from organic food marts. Then the little plastic rocking horse goes flying over the across the right room. What strength God gives! God is here. I'm the silence and the storm. Sea billows may roar or whimper yet I am the Lord.
"I cannot deny I am not what I was being remade I am new." Song sang over the radio. "Or who I thought I had to be..give it all up.". Tuned out after a car explosion on highway backed traffic for miles.
A bag of resumes were ruined by fast food grease and coffee stains. The fear of running out of gas along the desert highway was devastating for Tiny and she parked to sleep.
"Pleas e no more." Said Fran.
"What I thought you liked when I ate chicken in the bed."
"Job interview tomorrow." Said Fran.
"Ill be free in the afternoon to pick you up." Said Tiny.
"No I'm moving out."
The shift of the winds you can't tell. Mundane tasks accepted with courage while there's no telling of what the blind eye could see.
Then where do we go. Where do we run. Alone and broken. House full of sounds unspoken. Creeks and cracks. Where is it from the sounds in the back?
Head full of this and that. An angel shares her food with me. Its three in the morning without a lot to do. A cough and a cringe from a sore throat and fever binge.
I feel the day fades of sunshine and the night turning inward. Emphasizing this or that in a way to be able to do for the work a pattern of setting yourself free.
"Riddles again?"
"There us no short cuts in a maze, you just go in to get out."
Understanding the reality of rain or a instant to hang on is a spinning out of reliance on others. Waiting for your demands to be met hiding behind blue eyes is as dirty a game as self protection.
Knots of journey extract the abilities of selfish desires into your destiny of selfless service so that in the midst of it all reality arises and reigns forever. Wiping the windows and counter tops unfolded years of shackles as the tedious task erupted volcanoes of rust and dulled achievements.
You're gone yet here. The sweeping still needs to be done and polishing from head to toe. Snot picking girl from Highland now mindind heranners. The unfinished resumes thrownxaway and lost folders never recovered to set a dream. The vision stopped by choices in choice s. Lord is near. Have no fear. Coffee stains and cleaned up and angel music and food to pass the time until the rain pours. Chipmunks burrowed in the morning a hole on the side of the house. Eventually they'd be inside the house. Owls softly hooed and Red jacket birds chirped away at the callous flesh. Bloated with plans and knowledge from Jesus Calls devotionals, a little prayer here and there, and ancient scripture reading from the Word opened pores and scores of rust and dust. Certain smells, sounds, touches, words, or places after oiling the motor
Maybe this is called waiting. Waiting for the next gard end of memories to flourish or or the next cancellation of plans to leave town or set the bar higher. The trials of angels make waves keeping me out of reach f ROM retaliation. As I aim for the high road I stoop low in the toils and snares of long ago.
Maybe Tiny will show me another piece of reality. He sits all night in front of a television. I miss the days of blue cheese crumbles and dried cranberries in my salad for lunch living in Chicago.
I miss our fish taco with diced mango after serving the masses coffee from a cafe. Our fight s over leaving the car running or turning it off while pumping gas. The further in I go the further it is to come out while waiting for father to come ring the bell as usual since city time.
Waiting waiting waiting ....running running...running. Ecclesiastics ch3
When you center inner ward realities people places and things may be swollen and magnified. Such as buying impressive and required clothing. Blown off course into the blackest hole and I could only muster a mutter "Jesus" as the truck slid across the road.
It was my mind closing its eyes. Any move I made would or felt would cause the truck to unpredictably spin my fear. Hours later new impossibilities of the truck phenomenon blossomed. They say in Scriptures that wounds of a friend are better ...Proverbs and my friend is Jesus.
Maybe one wrong move and I would have died. A boy came out to see if I were OK. He was the image of the boy in my dream only three hours prior the icy miracle. How could it be that standing in from of me was the nail gun master overlooked in my dream.
He said his dad and him were having a cup a coffee when they saw the car going in their ditch. Our ditch. There was a metal bar I heard that I dodged in the road.
Advise: don't pass up old folk. Stay behind them ev end if they're driving too slow. Whose manifold mercies and witnesses I see thy hand hath provided. Little knats can fly quietly in my ears and face, over eating, sleeping, and cleaning have become intolerable.
"Too much to explain. All forgotten." Gregory said
"Water under the bridge. Imagining images from a multitude of media outlets of humor and horror from crutches of the past has numbed all I ever had. This isn't a mega man hero life. Some call it a the if in the night, others say life is faster than a blink of an eye.
Demandingness narrows your view and blaming others for the uncontrollable realties is a I'm nausiated by movies to many in a week. There is strain. My neck took turns and twists I'd never break. Greasy bitter on everything. Jealousy season.
PMS. I love you!
Reach out is what they taught in college 20 years ago. Today I find greatness in the youth behind the deli sedan wrapping my selaphane cups of Mac and cheese and asking me if I want a Scoop from the fresh batch.
Then the same neatness done with the boneless BBQ chicken wings a nostalgic comfort from 2012. Tempted to tear them open and eat them right away I paid first and by tradition of 2011-12 devoured them in the car.
The musty theatre and fans turned on high were a sweet surrender to the cold a/c already summer was shaping up the Earth in the region. The aroma of isolation manifests the room in between the silent sounds anew. Memories of soap making on a budget, and the potent aroma of hospital papers catch my fall into the hell of "what ifs".
"No resume then no interview sometimes."
"Grief." said Tiny.
"Grieving shattered friendships was the new born baby bump I couldn't hide."
"Books, journals, and isolation remedies to ya." Said Fran.
Chapter 19 Ticking silence
The sweet chocolate bits and shavings were my new hobby to pass the time of Tinys death. Frozen in a cup of ice cream were sweet chocolate wax bits and shavings to dig up and nibble slowly.
Job interviews filled the Earth. Clean nails check. Perhaps passion. While sunken hearts fled and fought for habits of once where basics became foreign. The desperate clawed for relief and the humble grew stronger. Gods mercy filled our blood streams.
What was the past routines of fading out tasks dread? Maybe the dread and startled smile came from Gods grace. He would not overwhelm us in our social misfits.
" Get to work." Said Sam
Was that me ? I can't tell anymore. Who was that sweet girl at the front desk? The impact of dads fried chicken order was basic bliss over and over again
Waiting with dad at Popeye's for fish?! Prayer over a truck that won't start for the reassembly of the hearts doors that are still open. Or not.
There are no scores only opened doors.it was all Fran could muster in a swollen world of unfinished business. Just to say the name Jesus Fran could feel the world quiver and shrivel into a fight illogical.
It was Saturday not Sunday and all the Monday through Friday worries of going back in to work fizzled in and out of thought; swing ing him in and out of consciousness.
The longings to leave felt right. It boasted all he was away from all he thought he had to be. The buzzing of flies and the far off voice outside blended and he couldn't tell the difference. Cool tears bubbled around his dreary eyes as he thought of Frans last words and with hope smiled at pictures of what he had left of their past together.
Chapter 51 Stubbles
The mindless chatter with Fran resorted to the restoration of rundown plans of ancient hopes and dreams to end her rebellion against independent strongholds.
"His soft glare at the computer screen under a bill of a baseball cap etched in her memory blew up in storms of determined and failed actions ".
"Each time she aimed at her target her arrow surrendered. And Frans diligence went astray.".
"Fresh memories filled the brim of her surrender to the rebellion. And then she was back in time dabbling to change her future with him as her anchor."
" He wouldn't let her drown. He pulled up to shore it must a been a thousand times."
"All she had to do, it was all she had to do."
" What."
"She didn't do it."
"What?!"
"Balance."
Chapter 45 Orange Soda
The Grand Canyon in Arizona was closed the summer of 2013. It was a time the government for an odd amount of days were off. Off from work or off from being on.
Who could sleep with the moons bright light and the world plugged in constantly. The stars flickering reflected light. Rocks in orbit as balls of gases misunderstood by others beliefs and long engrained habits.
Years of unconscious responses the fading in and out of consciousness made the move from the bed to the bath a world of hope. There wasn't a breathe for air. There wasn't a break anywhere. Plans didn't work as they used to. Prayer here or there smothered me with dreams and ancient scripture reading with more schemes. Coffee every day. Sorrowful echoes in eternity to more I've men. Three hour job training's, denialism of of takings out of our sad earnings here today gone and yearnings for kings.
Chapter 12 Overlap
Minutes on the highway, toilet seat and jugs. splinter in my eyes somewhere above my left eyelid and the wind takes everything I say at face value. Concert from beautiful voice playing on Friday tomorrow. Or is Friday today.?today was no procrastination day two days late.I dread thinking about others waiting on the plans of men because they are usual and rarely complish.
"Part of me is ready to run."
"His Name Sake in Psalms 23 is for me."
The sun closed in over white clouds. Saying thanks is merciful in lines over ever skin pore a whore can not ignore. Visions for you never to floor. Red eyes burning of hot tears from yearning. Reynolds never called. Didn't make it home from work yet.
Pizza and pain for a town to tame every weekend over the game. "What did she say? What is today? Hold it steady Reynolds that break isn't pretty. .
"Jose can you see?"
"See what?"
"My heart?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What does it show?
"What does what show?"
"Nevermind."
Nothing filled the Earth as the drive turned into stars at night and red or yellow leaves. There wasn't a car in sight and the stars grew brighter. There wasn't a car in sight.
The narrow roads swallowed the worries for a million seconds. Ebola covered the radio
The woosh of the train
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