Thursday, June 30, 2016

sam and willow 5: dogwalk 2

Willow, shaking her head at how Spike has taken to Sam, watches them walk away from the motel toward the woods - they are in Flagstaff - and then goes back to her room, sticks her guitar in its case, strips down to her underwear, crawls into bed, pulling the covers over her, holding a pillow close. She closes her eyes and whispers thank you.

Sam and Spike in the woods. Sam taking it in, Spike squatting to do what the walk is intended for.

Breakfast. Willow again waxes gratitude for the hot bath the room affords, and for breakfast. Sam reminds her she has thanked him plenty, then talks about the day's logistics; namely, the day's drive to Amarillo, where they'll sleep. But there's something along the way that might be worth a detour. (Like probably Window Rock.)

He also assures her that while the beer and whiskey at the bar (W's karaoke) might've made him more conversational than usual - he confesses he feels he said too much - he is normally very quiet, to not take it personally. Willow nods. Sam orders more sausage, a treat for Spike.

Are you trying to steal my dog?

Sam smiles. Willow tells him his smile is beautiful. Sam hiccups a thank you.

On the road again. Spike in the front seat, Willow asleep in back. He turns on the radio, finds Merle Haggard. 

Yi 78: my agent 2

Yi 77: the aural/visual synchronicities

more aural/visual synchronicity

at Dub's.

my eyes land on my Wolf just as Derek says Wolfe (re: Peter, re: J. Geils Band). 

Wednesday, June 29, 2016


i utterly failed with Tish.
but there's not enough magic to wish
for a chance at re-do,
those dreams don't come true,
and so i wear this hook like a fish.

sam and willow 4: dogwalk 1

willow's room. she's asleep on the bed, guitar next to her, spike up against her other side. he's wide awake when the phone rings at six, per the display on the nightstand clock.

it takes her a few rings to finally stir, a couple more to locate the phone and answer, groggily.


cut to tom in his room, on the phone.

"it's your neighbor. i thought i might call instead of ringing the bell and maybe setting spike off. was a little worried the phone might."

willow, sitting up on the edge of the bed, spike at her feet, eyes on hers.

"no, i mean yeah, that's a good call. in fact he'll probly bark when he hears your footsteps so let me walk him outside first. he'll probly still talk a little but he'll remember you. (listens.) cool. i'll do that now."

sam. on the phone.

"okay, see ya soon."

tom stands, goes to the door, waits. we hear a muffled two barks, then willow's door open. sam steps out onto the exterior upstairs walkway, closes the door behind him.

willow with sam on his leash. he's quick with the tail wag and a woof.

W that's him saying yo.

S yo.

W sam's taking you on your shitwalk, mmkay? (she kisses his head.) let's walk over to sam now, so i can give him your leash.

spike goes right along with willow and has no problem with sam taking the leash.

W oh, one sec. i'll give you my keycard so you can just let him back in when you bet back.

she walks to her door, spike whimpers, wants to follow.

W b-r-b, baby.

the whimpering continues as she enters the room, stops when she comes back out and walks to sam to give him her keycard.

W okay, well. let's see how this goes.

sam and willow 3

willow has surprised sam their first nigh in flagstaff with karaoke at the bar sam is at. some personal history. sam tells willow to sleep in, he'll take spike for his "shit walk" early in the morning. if she thinks spike would be amenable. willow asks sam what amenable means. oh.

and spike is clearly cool with sam.

walks her to her room.

willow and spike in room. "you're being so good." she makeshifts a bowl for his water, fills her canteen and puts it in the mini-fridge. picks up her guitar and strums with a few chords, playing with a tune she hears and hums, while spike laps up his water.

she stops strumming. falling asleep.

sam in his room.

quiet, still, staring into a private thought.


"what the hell are you doing?"

sam and willow 2



have you ever thought about suicide?


who hasn't?


about doing it.


yeah. (long pause) you?

yeah. (long pause) how would you do it?

carbon monoxide.

like, running a house from your tailpipe in through a window.

wouldn't have to do that. just run the engine in the garage.



i haven't decided. lately i've been thinking of going to the grand canyon and jumping. but i like your idea, too. maybe if i had a car i woulda thought about that.

that would make it a little hard to be successful in the music business, wouldn't it?

i'm talking about a fallback. like, you know, plan b.

they'll say about me 2

they'll say about me, he was a fool,
quixote on a donkey gone blind,
not exactly the sharpest tool,
and always lagging a little behind.

they'll say about me, he wandered
like a tumbleweed pushed by the wind,
every opportunity squandered,
a wrestler perpetually pinned.

they'll say about me, he might have meant well.
he might have had some sort of plan.
they'll say, just goes to show you never can tell
the truth by the looks of a man.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

they'll say about me 1

they'll say about me, he hung on long enough,
kept his heart in hand with his hope.
when the going got rough, he stayed tough
and didn't let go of the rope.

they'll say about me, he walked the high wire,
with the street far below his lone net.
and he'd lay down upon it when he would tire
of not seeing the other side yet.

they'll say about me, he kept his shit to himself,
just sat down everyday and got to it,
never asked favors of anyone else,
knowing he was the only one who could do it.

they'll say about me, he just kept going
like a madman with a dream and a plan,
quietly marching without always knowing
where his feet would finally land.


for he knows who he is:

he says he has this dream book,
tells him what his dreams mean.
i ask him, so you never have a clue?

he shoots me with that look,
young cassius all lean,
says no, maybe i should ask you.

I told him he could do that
anytime he wants to,
that I'd probly ask a lot of questions.

I said, there's no standard pat,
there are many shades of blue,
and I'd only be offering suggestions.

he sat back and rubbed his chin,
says, here's one doctor freud,
tells me about the one he had last night.

I leaned and listened in;
in the dream he had destroyed
every last butterfly in sight.

he finished and I sat back,
told him, that's a good one,
asked him, what's a butterfly to you?

he said, something orange and black
that has way too much fun
and ought to be kept in a zoo.

he sipped his coffee then he stood,
said, gotcha there ol' friend,
said, i know about this butterfly thing.

said, I'm afraid of something good
that requires something else to end,
I'm caterpillar afraid to take wing.

Yi 233: my adobe abode 2


now excuse me while I regress into silliness.

mere coincidence of course but worthy of adobe 3, later.

but one more for the road:

Monday, June 27, 2016

Yi 76: my producer 1: boots square dance final



CLOSE ON TOM, 70-something, Marlboro man in winter, classic western-style shirt with pearl snap buttons, silver and turquoise bollo tie, and a smile and glean in his eyes turned to WANDA, whose hand he holds, 70-something saloon beauty in a classic square dance dress, her colors a perfect complement to Tom's attire, her hair dolled-up, standing next to Tom, smiling back and same light in her eyes.

WIDE to reveal Tom and Wanda also holding the hands of two other members of their four-couple square dance square, forming one circle of four four-couple circles, somewhat fidgety and murmuring, all dancers 60- or 70-something, assembled on a dance floor laid out in a high school gymnasium featuring "Laramie Lions" painted, like the lion above it, on one wall above bleachers. Sports championship banners hang on the opposite wall.

Finally THE CALLER, 60-something male in black jeans, black boots, black and red western shirt, hustles in through the gym's open door - daylight outside - and goes to the folding table set up with a turntable, speakers, and and stack of 45's, one of which he pulls out and drops onto the turntable.

CALLER: Sorry for the interruption, folks, and thanks for your patience. Darn car alarm goes off just by lookin' at it.

Collective chuckle, indiscernible murmuring.

Alrighty. Let's dance.

He starts the record, the needle drops, two beats of slight scratch-static before the fiddle starts the tune.

And join your hands and circle left...

He leads the 32 dancers through do-si-dos, allemandes, promenades and stars and swings, the works. The floor is a whirl of dresses, lights glinting off spectacles, big belt buckles, blush and lipstick, smiles flashing dentures, until finally Tom and Wanda dance toward camera, filling it with their happy faces before releasing their hand-hold and turning to opposite sides of frame.




she thanks the lord when she wakes up
every single day.
she forms her hands into a cup,
then together and she'll pray.

she'll get out of bed and kneel toward
the window and she'll whisper
and lean just a little forward
when she says please help my sister.

she gives her thanks for a lot of things,
the girl's got quit a list
starting with the chance each new day brings,
then she comes back to bed with a kiss.

don't know what I'd do without her.
guess I'd have to figure it out.
but she makes me better for damn sure,
that's one thing I don't ever doubt.  

so thank you lord for everything,
the hard, the sad, the ugly and wrong.
I know you're trying to teach me to sing
the words that make the story a song.

boots 186: tom backstory

Chloe will express to Tom her interest in genealogy, and Tom's "story."

Tom and Ruth were orphaned when their mother died of a heart attack when Tom was four and Ruth was two. Their father had died in an oilfield accident the previous year.

No family to go to as their parents, Wayne and Ruby, were orphans; they met at the Methodist Children's Home in Waco, where Tom and Ruth went after their mother's death.

They moved into foster care with Ted and Alice in San Angelo, where Tom found horses, then rodeo, and Ruth began to sketch and paint.

At the age of 20 Tom drove to Los Angeles with a friend, Billy Evans, who knew a wrangler in the movies who could get them work as stuntmen. Tom did a lot of riding horses in posse chase scenes and such, then had a bad fall and was hospitalized. That's where he discovered pain medication.

Meanwhile, Ruth had married almost right out of high school, to an older man, Rodrigo, a sculptor, whom she'd met on a trip with a friend to Dallas. Shortly thereafter she was with him in Spain.

Tom, unable to do do stunt work, became a wrangler for one of the studios; this is how he met Carson's mother, who was working in wardrobe for the TV show, Death Valley Days. 

Briefly dating. First date a double-date - name names - to Santa Monica.

Later, a long weekend in Reno and a night in Carson City.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

boots: chloe and tom convo sketch 1

They've returned from Ruidoso and Jackie has gone home. Tom has taken a walk, called Wanda, while Carson and Chloe recap the day and turn of events. Tom returns. Some discussion of going to breakfast in the morning and seeing Tom off from there.

Carson gets a call he has to take and excuses himself.

An awkward silence between Chloe and Tom until Chloe asks about Ruth, which gets into some history, which greatly intrigues Chloe, who's considering a genealogy project for school.

T Where to start?

C How about your parents?

And so we learn more about Tom and Ruth and Texas orphanages and Ruth getting married young and going to Europe and Tom, who had a mentor who introduced horses into kids lives, found rodeo.

How that led to coming to California with Billy Browner, who knew a Hollywood wrangler, "back when they made a lot more westerns than they do nowdays," and work as a stuntman. 

More on his fall from a horse and moving into wrangling.

And how he met Chloe's grandmother on the set of Death Valley Days.

Chloe asks if it's "weird" for Tom that she looks like Betty (Chloe's grandmother.) Tom says yeah. He asks what Chloe remembers about her.   

Carson, his call done, eavesdrops out of sight before entering on discussion of Betty's (and Bill's, Carson's step-father) death in a car accident.


my girl and I got drunk last night
had a fight and make-up sex
today she says it gave her a song
she wrote and calls shipwrecks

she played me a little on the guitar
she picked up in portland last year
tried like hell to keep it from rollin'
but down my cheek went the tear

'shipwrecks, she sang, sad like a bonfire
alone in the desert at night
shipwrecks go bang then they expire
to the bottom of the sea out of sight
shipwrecks, she sang, like she was gettin' tired
and the light on the dark was gettin' bright

my girl and I need to get away
take a trip down the coast for a week
night in sausalito down to mendocino  
rent a cozy cabin on a creek

goddamn shipwrecks got my attention
been down this uphill before
don't need a weather vane to tell the direction
of the wind beatin' down your door 


sam and willow 2

Willow, 20-something, surprises Sam, 60-ish, at the bar on karaoke night. (Willow's belongings when Sam picked her up were her dog Spike, backpack and suitcase, and guitar (in case.)

We have learned through their conversation, liberated with liberal doses of beer and whiskey shots, a litte of Willow's clearly challenging roots, as they are, and Sam's present "coping" method re: his wife's death - cancer - 13 months ago.

Willow is, she says, on her way to Nashville to "turn that town over." Her karaoke makes it clear she can sing and find her own phrasing in a standard. Much of her motel time is spent with her guitar, "working on a new song."

She smokes - less around Sam and wishes she had some weed - but it's "better'n the shit I used to do." Sam's experience with marijuana relates to its utility to his wife in dealing with pain. He tried it once - quite cigarette smoking years ago - and recalls his experience sitting on the back porch swing one August afternoon watching the wind blow the treetops back and forth. 

Sam, who drives a big twin-cab diesel pickup, has picked up the hitch-hiking Willow outside Casa Grande, thumb out (with Spike) alongside the interstate.

(S) What's the smell you're bringin' in with ya?

(W) patchouli.

He nods.

Come on then.

Thank you so much, sir.

Your dog can get in back.

You're so kind.

You don't know that, young lady.

She stops, gives him a good look. He stares straight back.

Yerright, mister. I don't. But I have a pretty good feelin'.

Based on what?

Based on the fact my dog hasn't bitten off your face for staring at me like that. And that you'd say young lady. But mostly the former. You'd think you just gave him a piece of sausage. This is not the usual

Sam shifts his attention to Spike, a thick pit bull on a leash, staring straight back at him, tail wagging.

Doesn't seem so vicious.

Raise your voice or reach at me.


What's your dog's name?


Tell Spike to get in so we can get rollin' and get some A-C flowing through.

Yessir. Thank you.

You're welcome, and you already said thank you. Isn't like I have to be somewhere else. But it's damn hot so come on in already. (beat) In, Spike.

Spike looks at Willow, who nods, then at Sam, who nods.

(S) Come on.

Spike in, assumes his position on one side of the bench back seat. Willow throws her suitcase in next to him.

That's my boy.

She puts her hand in his paws and leans in to kiss him, Tom watching in the rearview mirror.

(W) You don't mind him on your seat?

Long as he doesn't piss or shit on it. You think you might have some idea of when we need to pull over for him.

Willow(beat, touched) Yessir. He'll let me know.

It's Sam.

Sam extends his hand.


They shake.

Where ya headed?


(beat) Now isn't that a helluva coincidence?

Willow, befuddled, shocked,stares at Sam.

What's in Nashville for you, Sam?

The Grand Ol' Opry, what else?

She nods, trying to size him up.

(S) That's probably a couple-thousand miles.
She nods. Spike sits up as if to listen in.

(S) So what I'm thinking is we head up to Flagstaff for the night, get something to eat, get a couple rooms, up for breakfast, then a clear shot on the forty all the way through.

Sam. I don't have a whole lotta money for things like rooms and meals and such.

I got it. Do me a favor, please, and don't even bring it up again. Okay. You just...just sit back, rest. Are you hungry?

She stares at him, eyes misting.

No crying. First thing. Second thing, are you hungry?

She stares at Sam, nods.

(S) Bet ol' Spike could use a meal too.

Spike barks, tail wagging.

(S) Alright then. Drive-through in Phoenix okay?

She nods.

Can you drive if I need you to?

She nods.

Sam starts the engine, checks the side mirror, lets the car that fills it pass in a whoosh, then pulls onto the road. Silence in the truck but for the diesel.

(S) Feel free to fiddle with the A-C.

We're alright. Thanks.

Where and when did you start?

This trip?

He nods.

In Chula Vista, two weeks ago. Sixteen days.

Sam looks at her. She stares out the passenger side window. Sam checks the rear view: Spike staring back.

(S) Look for some music on the radio if ya like.

Maybe later. Thanks.


Got water?

Canteen in my backpack.


She silently mouths thank you and stares straight ahead.

(S) Phone?

She shakes her head.

Sam nods. 

Saturday, June 25, 2016

sam and willow 1

sam at the railroad tracks to open. the train filling frame on the other side of the guard bar. sam's left hand at noon on the wheel.

the passed train. the raised guard. the staright open road into nowhere desert beyond, asphalt shimmering where it turns into the puddle that isn't there.

sam driving on but not before stopping and idling on the tracks, watching the caboose of the train go away.

we meet his routine. drive. sleep at motel. find bar.

willow hitch-hiking. guitar and dog spike who, for some reason, doesn't mind sam.

getting to know you and willow surprising sam when she comes into the motel bar. it's karaoke night. she kills louise.

sam and willow, shots and beer. a little more info.

sam, no place to go, is going to give willow a lift to nashville. two days of driving away.


boots 185: tom dream chloe sketch

"we" are paddling a surfboard - old, long, wood - toward a beach on which tom's truck is parked.

go-pro POV. "our" man's hands and forearms, showing age, and the front end of the board as we paddle in, the deeper blue beneath us - the flash of a dolphin torpedoing - lighter as we near the white sand and lush green foliage beyond the beach.

the lush green foliage from which a young woman emerges in a lifeguard-red one-piece, toting a pink surfboard, run to the water, pushing her board ahead of her and paddling out, toward us.

when ahe is near enough, we recognize her; the girl on carson's screensaver and in the photograph on his desk. her hair is long, though, rasta-roped and tied off in back.

she paddles near us, to our left, we pan and follow. she smiles, paddles on.

as we turn to follow we see the huge waves that make the horizon line, swelling and crashing, breaking into cavernous barrels - tubes, dude - of blue and jade, dangerous beauty.

it's a good paddle to get there but the girl progresses steadily.

when we return our view to the beach we are suddenly upon it, pulling our board from the water, heading toward the truck - there's the dirt road invisible from the beach winding out of view into the foliage.

in stowing our board in the bed of the truck, we look up in time to see our surfergirl paddle to catch a dreamwave, stand on her board, slide down the huge and steep face, make the cut ahead of the crashing, then be lost in the barrel before emerging just in time, spit out like a bullet to ride to the lip and disappear over and onto the backside of the wave.

cut to driver's side mirror showing tom standing at the bed of the truck, end of surfboard in view. tom  is smiling toward the beach. lifeguard-red trunks. hair mopped back.

then his expression changing to an almost surprised stare as he takes himself in, dripping trunks and sunburnt skin.

close on tom's closed eyes, head on pillow. sound of sizzling, like bacon. tom's eyes wide open.

cut to carson in kitchen, breakfast on.

Friday, June 24, 2016

Yi 75: clayton's dream: my BOOTS

said I was sportin' fancy cowboy BOOTS. 

hopin' 14'd be in there.

joined the aspca yesterday

Having been walking through and past them in front of the building the past couple weeks. Avoiding, I guess. Anyway, stopped on the way home yesterday, having decided, then let Wes talk about it, then joined. 'Bout time, really.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

armadilla: tommy and colleen, lunch at the oasis 1: talkinamyself

They've driven from the racquet club, Tommy following Colleen, who drives a vintage convertible euro-coupe (rather sportily); Tommy drives a new cadillac.

Tommy was at the club to meet a client; he's a trust/estate attorney, today in khaki slacks, polo shirt, brown leather shoes and belt. Gold watch, amber sunglasses on his head when not over his eyes.

Weathered brown briefcase.

phone in clip on his belt.

Mid-August in the Austin area.

Colleen has been playing tennis, showered and changed when she literally bumps into Tommy in the parking lot. As her gardening garb when we met her in the first scene would make Martha Stewart spit with envy, so is her post-game summerwear impeccable-casual: anklet socks under running shoes that match her blouse - sleeves rolled to elbows - worn over ultra-thin t-shirt, pastel complements to her khaki capris. 

Modest-elegant silver necklace. Pearl on each earlobe.

Hair pulled back tight in a tail under the backstrap of her gleaming-white visor. Sunglasses featuring amber lenses, faint leopard-print temples, gold temple tips, the lone glimmer of glam on her.   

High-end-handsome brown leather purse.

Water bottle in hand.

She walks faster than Tommy.

You still walk fast.

And has to channel some inner race-car driver to keep up with Colleen through the twisty bits of the road on the drive to The Oasis. Colleen knows her way around a clutch and manual transmission.

boots 184: TOM'S U

Tom drives on, Carson watches the truck disappear down the road as he walks back to the house.

Cut to Tom, Carson disappearing from rear view.

He pulls over, equidistant from two widely spaced homes. He idles, finally shuts off the engine. He sits awhile before finally getting out of the truck and lighting and smoking the cigarette he pulls from the pack in his shirt pocket. He closes the door of the truck and slowly paces back and forth.

Cut to Carson, washing hands in bathroom sink, looks at himself in the mirror.

That was odd.

Dries hands, leaves.

Tom stubbing out cigarette on the side of the road, takes a long look, gets back in the truck.

Tom at the wheel, staring straight ahead then suddenly turning the rearview on his own eyes. A stare-down until he finally puts it back in its place. He starts the engine, checks the left-hand mirror, back on the road and flipping the U.

Carson walking down the hall, to the door of the garage, opens it, the doorbell.

Carson frozen in pondering until finally walking out of frame back up the hall.

The partly open door to the garage reveals a tarp over a motorcycle.

found object "good luck buddha"

sidewalk, walking home yesterday.

(well, actually Kathy Gao did, for me) 

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

triptychs tricks


His home office, window full of Organ Mountains. Chloe photo(s) and screensaver. Checks watch, leaves room.

His kitchen. Fill the cat food bowl, add water. Trash bag in hand, leaves.

Tom nearing, slowly, bin at the curb, then idling dead in line with the the driveway when Carson appears with the bag, sees Tom, stops. Tom accelerates away, Carson watching as he walks the bag to the bin.

Tom driving away, Carson in his rearview.

Reverse. Carson's POV as the truck continues and finally out of view. Carson walks back to the house.

Tom pulled over, engine off. Smoking, the pack in his shirt pocket. Hangs cigarette out the window. 

boots 182: FINALBEATS: "Soledad Canyon right" to MEET CARSON

[Tom, room, mapping it.]

Tom walking motel lot to truck in lot, suitcase in hand, sunrise. Gets in, drives short distance to gas station, pulls into a bay, gets out, walks to the station's mini-market, enters as someone exits.

Interior market. Tom getting cigarettes and forty on three. Hands over two twenties. 

Tom at the pump, and filling it up. Watches a 30-something father and eight-year-old boy pull in. Dad lets the boy fill it up. Remember how? Boy nods. 

Tom watches, the nozzle-click of his tank filled. A tip of his hat to the dad as Tom hangs the nozzle, gets in, starts up, drives away into traffic and out of frame.

Tom driving Soledad Canyon Road, wide open. Handsome southwesternish homes under the looming Organ Mountains. Tom drives slowly, window down, left arm out and then back in with the cigarette between his fingers. He takes a glance at the directions he's written, on the pad on the passenger seat. 

Turns right at Ladera Canyon Road, drives out of frame.

Meet Carson.


Sunrise outside Tom and Wanda's.

He's received the call, had the dream.

He and Wanda come out and to the truck. She's in a robe and slippers. Tom carries a suitcase. Cowboy heat, jeans, boots, western-style shirt, phone clipped to his belt, which features a silver and turquoise buckle. Wanda carries a lunch pail and sunglasses.

Tom in, loading suitcase into cab. Wanda hands him the lunch pail - thank you, baby - and sunglasses - dang, where'd I leave them? A kiss. I'll call ever couple hours.

Starts it up, winks, drives away down the street, Wanda following to end of driveway. He turns, waves, she waves back. He drives out of view. Wanda walks back to the house, enters. 

Tom pulled over to a rest stop. Lunch at the bench. Thermos. Bottled water. Ring tone. Tom takes his phone from the belt clip.

Hey angel.

She's in the kitchen, moving through the house. Discussion of her cyst removal "tomorrow," having got the plane ticket to Austin and friend Sally going to drive her.

Tom tells her he's outside Cimarron, New Mexico. Figures he'll stay the night in Las Cruces. End call.

Wanda outside to retrieve clothes from line. Stiff breeze makes the chimes sing and wraps Tom's square dance shirt around Wanda as if a surprise hug from behind.

Exterior motel parking lot, Las Cruces, sunset. Tom pulls in, parks, walks to the registration office, enters.


Interior room. Tom enters. Suitcase down, hat on table. Peek out the blinds. Standard room. He sits on the bed and removes his boots. Picks up the remote and aims and clicks at the TV. The last scene of Shane, riding away.   

Tom clicks it off, enters the bathroom. 

Meet Virginia. At home with friends, Peter and Donald. Chatting at dining room table when we hear a faint ring tone. Virginia excuses herself. That's Tom, excuse me.

On phone on table in bedroom. Footsteps nearing. Virginia enters, answers phone.

Hey cowboy.

I'm okay. Peter and Donald are over. Clarisse went to bed. Where are you?

Wrap it up. More on schedule. Ashes. 

Tom in room. Ends call. To laptop, on. Map "Las Cruces." Zooming in to Soledad Canyon road east of town. Tom grabs the motel logo pad of paper and pencil from the nightstand. Writes:

"Soledad Canyon to Ladera Canyon, right."

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

chinese box 4

When first my fingers measured
her precious chinese box
I knew that I'd found treasure
you won't find in Fort Knox.

Monday, June 20, 2016

Yi 74: campfire story and tribe revisited

she let her hair down today

She let her hair down today.
I respond like Pavlov's dog.
If I'd a tail t'would be at play  
but I am just a frog,
pedestrian amphibian,
quotidian upon my log.

She let her hair down today.
I almost stared in passing by.
As it was I lingered long
enough to capture in my eye
the photograph I'll take home
tonight to light the moonless sky.

She let her hair down today,
waterfall upon her shoulders, 
cascading Rio Grande brown
so warm the air feels colder,
soft as if a billion bubbles,
but strong enough to move this boulder.


saturday lunch SLO

Wineman Grillhaus on Higuera.

"Hefner" chicken, Mission Shipwrecked IPA.

bike 1

one hour, first ride in I don't know how long, and I felt it, even in baby gear, but it's a start. henceforth once a week in conjunction with weekend run. feel good today, strength in legs. will take a timeout from the treadmill for a minute, get a few good spins in.  

boots 180: beats: tom's dream to soledad canyon road

tom's dream.

tom leaving home.

wanda clothesline. tom calls from hwy. pullover. tom's square dance shirt hugs wanda in a breeze.

ext abq motel. sunset. tom arrives.

int abq motel. tom enters. shane on tv. turns it off. starts shower.

ext abq motel. sunrise. tom leaves.

tom on highway through las cruces (signage). off-ramp.

filling the truck. watches dad teach son had to do same.

tom walking out of gas-mart with pack of cigarettes, goes to truck, sits. gazes at organ mountains. 

tom driving soledad canyon road, makes the turn, drives out of frame, dust trail.  

boots 179: tom gets the call 2

Tom listens.

TOM: Alright.

Well I'll be on the first flight to Austin I can find.

Are you sure, Virginia?

Well, I'm glad they're there for ya.


Then what I'll do is leave first thing in the mornin', stay the night in Albuquerque, then see you late afternoon Friday.

Alright then.

I'll call you in the mornin' from the road.

I love you too sweetheart.

He puts his phone down, looks at Wanda.


Ruthie's dead. Hit by lightnin' out on twenty-seven south a mountain home.

Wanda rests herself on Tom's back, wrapping her arounds around him. He clasps her hands, bows his head.



the yard

click pic to enlarge

south of san luis Obispo 

woman taking picture on train

click pic to enlarge

southbound pacific surfliner, Hollister ranch

found jacqueline dawn

from left to right:

scott and his sister midge, whom my mother babysat.

my brother david, his birthday.

jacqueline dawn.

susan cowen

dream: big cup runneth over

like Gulliver's cup, fed from below, it seemed. 

and with a head, of sorts. 

Sunday, June 19, 2016

my eskimo

my eskimo is wounded,
something in her spirit.
i couldn't tell you what it is
but i know hurt when i'm near it.

something in her brown eyes,
some sort of sadness leaking.
something in her makeup
like mascara streaking.

i think it's something gone
or something she can't do,
like a bird remembering
a life in which she flew.

boots 178: tom gets the call 1

tom and wanda have returned to their manufactured home along a quiet street lined by similar homes. carports. more trucks than cars. tom and wanda in square dance garb, up the steps to the stoop and tom letting in wanda first, following with a pat on her ass, turning her around with a bright smile, lighting tom's eyes as well.

int. living room - night

tom and wanda in pajamas on the couch, heads at opposite ends, feet and legs intertwined. bible, sunset magazine, and phone on the coffee table. 

at each end of the couch a small nightstand, both lamps on.  

tom is poring over a Hawaii brochure.

wanda is reading the newspaper (she gathered at the diner). 

cozy and warm, tv turned to the weather channel, muted. graphic features a storm passing over a region. 

tom: maybe i'll take a surfin' lesson.

wanda drops the paper from her face onto her lap. tom keeps his gaze buried in the brochure.

tom (contd): says Waikiki beach is one a the best places to learn. gentle rollin' waves, warm water.

he drops the brochure to meet wanda's are-you-kidding-me look.  

tom: what? you don't think this ol' dog has one more trick he can't learn?

wanda: I can't even tell if yer serious or not.

tom: is that so bad?

she ponders, shakes her head. smiles.

wanda: no.

she extends her hand, tom takes it, a long squeeze.

tom: think we'll get lei'd while we're there.

wanda's eyes go big,  her mouth wide open.  

wanda: Thomas Travis Walker. 

tom: what? ain't what they do when ya get off the plane, wrap them flowry things 'round yer neck. ain't that what they call 'em? leis?

wanda shakes her head.

tom winks.

wanda: I don't think they do that anymore.

tom: oh.

wanda: but to answer your question, yes. I reckon we will.

she winks.

ringtone phone on the table. tom sits up, reaches for it..

wanda: (cont'd) who's that?

tom: Virginia. I changed the ringtone.

wanda: I like it.

tom answers.

tom: hey there.

tom listens in silence, his face slowly collapsing.

tom: I'm here.

wanda takes note, sits up.

tom: are you alright?

dear dad

dear dad.
I pitched.
when I hit
I switched.

had some pop
for my size.
bat head drop,
big surprise.

couldn't run
but I threw.
bet I could still
hit eighty-two.

learned how
to throw a ball
across the street
against a wall.

learned how
to strikeout.
sit down
in the dugout.

'cause even then
i knew that
I'd get
a next at-bat.

learned how
to change speeds,
throw a curve,
chew sunflower seeds.

then I found
my split-finger.
all a sudden
your kid's a ringer.

blah blah.
and so on.
you'll agree
those days are gone.

your mother mentioned
your no-hitter.
great control.
crap babysitter.

Yi 73: tribe and campfire story

that damn aerobatic double-wide (dream) again

damndest thing, and I don't know that i'll ever "get it."

previously, several years ago, at the conclusion of a Ruidoso foot tour up main street (after having been seemingly beamed down), observing a double-wide "flying" above the nearby mountains, but not so much flying as putting on a crazy aerobatics show, all sorts of spinning and crazy mid-air maneuverings. (get my attention?)

and I remember that in that dream I was standing next to someone who, if I recall correctly, said something about it that indicated he knew what was going on but, if he did say something, it was too cryptic to make any sense of it to me.

at any rate, the same damn double-wide and act last night, nothing else but that.

just kinda loud to have it put it in my face again.

obviously something to it, to be revealed.

Saturday, June 18, 2016


name on the dude's tag on his shirt when i looked up after paying and saying have a good day.

which i usually do in some form or another.

but i basically never look up.

did this morning, though, at the whatever mart in union station.

protein bar and protein shake.

didn't look like a haySOOS.


"Robert Ryan," said the ticket collector

on the train to San Luis Obispo this morning, "that sounds like the name of an author."

Friday, June 17, 2016

Yi 72: a question about a tutu



this morning's white feather

pushed by a breeze in front of me as I crossed the intersection at 5th and flower.

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Greta Garbo

I've got some Greta Garbo
deep down in my bones
so I thought you ought to know
I want to be alone

from time to time, not always,
but often enough you'll see
there will be some days
I need to spend with me.

sincerely, a frog

I decided I would waste the time 
of the marvelous mother of three,
so I will not commit that crime,
I will instead just leave her be.

She has wings to grow, flight to take
that I would just inhibit,
and besides there's too much at stake
to ruin her music with my ribbit.


Bobby drive-by Lucille's.

Jeff in Guillermo's house, walk-through. A box of bottles of wine. His own house - The Van Horn ranch home - in the distance through a window. He stares, finally leaves. We hear steps, the door, then see Jeff walking with the box of wine into and out of the frame the window makes.  

Tommy in therapy. "This damn Colleen Barnes thing."

Therapist: Isn't it Colleen Van Horn now?

Tommy: I don't know.

Rayleen's astrology podcast. On Pluto transits. Clearing out and uprooting.

Bobby in the Corvette outside the ranch house, listening to the podcast. Night. Starry skies. A shooting star. End of podcast. Bobby leaves car, heads to house.

Jeff at table, laptop, beer. Door and Bobby's bootsteps nearing. He enters.

J Hey.

B Hey.

J So?

B Runs like new.

J Where'dja go?

B Down to the hills.

Bobby grabs a beer, peers over Jeff's shoulder.

B Where's that?

J Red River.

B New Mexico?

J Yep.

B Thinkin' about gettin' away?

J Thinkin' about it.

B Well, y'oughta.

J Yeah?

B Yeah.

Bobby leaves the room. Jeff's eyes come up from the laptop, contemplative. Then back to the virtual tour of a cabin in the woodsy mountains.

 Colleen pounding tennis balls. Tommy Shaughnessy happens by, again.

armadilla talkinamyself FROM JEFF HOTEL to BOBBY DRIVE-BY

Jeff's thrown out the first pitch and had depressing drinks with his old catcher. That night in his hotel room he takes a long look at a photo of Colleen on his phone, flips his phone shut, fiddles with his ring, starts shower.
Colleen and Rayleen at Ray's on the river. On Tommy Shaughnessy. Rayleen steps on Colleen's over-sensitive toes. Colleen barks and leaves. Dave notes, puzzled.  Rayleen: "Later."
Bobby in the Corvette, back road. Sixties rock. 
Rebecca with roomie, cafĂ© in The Haight. Jeff calls from the ranch. Home alone, out the door. 
Colleen at home, staring at Tommy's card, glass of wine. Phone nearby. Stares at her ring. Removes it. Looks at it on the table. Sips wine. Pushes it away. Looks at it. Ring tone. She doesn't pick up. Cut to PETER, phone to ear, ringing on the other end. Begin Colleen voice message. He hangs up. Back to Colleen. Rayleen's ring tone. Colleen picks up.

Rayleen, I'm sorry. I've thought about what you said and I'll think about it some more and I know you mean well and I can't say I know exactly what I'm doing right now but you have to admit that given you've always suggested how too under control I am - I'm sorry, can be, at times - I'd like you to consider that maybe, just maybe, it's not so horrible that right now I'm willing to, as you say, go with the flow and see where it takes me. (Pause.) Hello?

Cut to Rayleen.

I'm here. And you're right. I thought about what you said. What you're going through. And I realized that you know better than I do what's right for you, and that I really don't know what I'm talking about.

I love you too. Let's talk more tomorrow, k? 


Shuts phone. Wind chimes.

Colleen. Putting phone down. Wind chimes. Finishes wine, leaves, ring on table.

Lucille at home. Jewelry box. Wind chimes. A special locket, a ring inside. She takes it, holds the diamond to the light, slips it on. The low rumbling of a muscle car, faint but louder as it nears.

Bobby driving the Corvette slowly up Lucille's quiet, leafy street. Ballcap, sunglasses, ridiculous fake ZZ Top beard.

Lucille pulls off the ring, ears perking to the gurgle of the 454. She leaves the room with her furrowed brow.

Bobby driving by Lucille's, furtive glance over, then past as...

Lucille arrives at the window in time to see the Corvette and the back of Bobby's ballcap going away down the street. She goes to the front door.

Bobby stops at the sign, checks the rearview in time to see Lucille come to the yard for a look. She shields her eyes.

Lucille looking at the Corvette, its brake lights off when Bobby makes the turn left and drives out of frame. She looks at the ring, takes it off as she walks back into the house.

Bobby driving and peeling off his beard.