meeting place

A geek?

Maybe a bit...
The other day I was bemoaning the fact that my new red car doesn't have a CD player in it while my older car had at least a tape player in it (A tape player!?! I know, right?) And I said, I missed listening to Books on Tape like I used to, that I had listened to a whole series on Quantum Physics when I was doing research for 'Death and Politics at the End of the World.' My boss said, "Danette did you just hear yourself? *repeats sentence* I couldn't really fix it without sounding geeky and like a nerd. Sorry. Perhaps I should have gone into science and become a total nerd. Instead I've come at it late in life and incorporate bits and pieces in my writing. And now I am going to share it with you!!!
I came across this video on another blog but it was on YouTube and wanted to share it.

Death and Politics at the end of the world

(This is the next section of my WIP 'Death and Politics at the End of the World'. It might be helpful to know that you are entering an otherworldly realm as you journey with my character. In my last post, I was asked what genre I was writing in. My response wound up being "Genre... think magical realism meets surrealism meets Quantum Physics meets my imagination and the authors who have influenced me (including Jeanette Winterson!") things happen that are out of the extraordinary at times so be prepared!! If you need to catch up, the first part is in the tabs at the top and the parts just previous can be locater here and here!)

III. Duality

         The original bridge stretches out alongside the highway. Henry Flagler would burst the buttons of his sacque suit if he beheld the remains of his folly still in use by the state of Florida for the infrastructure of Highway One, while the skeletal remnants of the “eighth wonder of the world” point knotted knuckles at the haunted tresses of the past. The view from the Bahai Honda Bridge is stunning, exposing a wide island vista. I dissolve into the liquid looking glass

Arms fall uselessly, dead wood at my side. My body lurches, reflexively seeking to    expel,        inhale. A beam of sunlight shimmers on the surface but fades and wanes as I sink down, down…  Kick.

            KICK!

Not even a dog paddle?

My torso sways instinctively, finally propelling me slightly upward. More force in the motion hurtles me up through darkling waters. I break the surface, and gulp reviving ocean air. Where was the bridge? Need to get back… Swells lead to shallow. My unfamiliar form confuses my senses but instinct drives me to follow Mother Necessity. My fusiform trunk seems well suited to the wet wilderness I am surrounded by. Experimenting with motion, I find myself twisting into a barrel roll: an aquatic airplane in tailspin. Crying out with delight, I abandon my former instinct for survival and dive back into the depths swirling a strathspey whorl.

My aquatic dervish thrusts me amidst a pod of fellow frolickers. We fly without wings, three reels of three into thalassic wilderness, travelers following Zohar’s porpoiseful paths. Plunging, our bodies gently roll, curve up, break surface, and spin over and over in mid-air. We whistle our bliss and soar out into the deep, following a gilt-edged path to the horizon.

Pulses and clicks: “The harvest.”

“Spread out.”

“Circle.”

“Keep in contact.”

“Beware. The tiger will be hungry as well.”

I

    fall back… 

“If you won’t eat, you’ll have to go back.” A glance in my direction, invites me on, luring me toward the hunt.

“ Thanks but… no, I don’t eat anything with more scales than me. Appreciate it. Maybe another day!”

I flee toward…  

safer waters…

Didn’t I?  Glancing back, I am suddenly overwhelmed by my singularity; numbed by the vastness and profundity of the darkness below. Vertigo discombobulates, confuses, slows my flight. 

Gently sloshing waters pull me back to myself. I gaze down, taking in the expanse of the water’s surface, snatched from neutral buoyancy, my sensory perception wakes from a long slumber…  I grip the railing, anchoring myself to concrete girders, cement my feet to pavement and flex spaghetti arms, key lime Jell-o legs. Staring down, the small shoal of uniformed uniforms on the shore are more surreal than the distant clicks of Atlantis’s descendents: the insupportable specter of the beloved existence engulfed here, extinguished in the swelling tide, tows a palpable grief back into the angle of my jaw.

Fragments of phrases filter up the embankment. “Look down…”  “what the hell…” “give me…  “  “there, Ben!” Miniscule Barney Fife’s scour the waters on a quest for lares and penates, nexus of speculation and substantial. “That looks like that could be…   “ “Now go over…”  “John, lower that…”  “Take it down…” No, the gunless deputy was far more efficient than these Police Squad washouts. 

A John Wayne prototype saunters up to the edge of the nearby railing, hitches one Tony Lama on the bar and gazes down, a wee king of a wee-er kingdom. “You boys make sure you get over there by those casings…” Debris is dragged from the depths to be sorted and examined, then pitched onto a heap.  

“Found something, sir!” A wide-eyed redshirt backs away from the pile displaying his plunder. The baiting fish crowd together to confirm the significance of the find as awed as an audience over a Fourth of July fireworks display.

“Put that in an evidence bag.” (Little Caesar can’t help himself, guaranteeing the most obvious is a chain of command decision. Job altering decisions are undoubtedly left for the first year rookie or newly appointed lieutenant . . . easy marks should the politicians begin to string their bows.)

“Keep at it, men. We owe it to this family to bring her home.” 

Christ- straight out of Hollywood!  “Hello! central casting . . ?”

I turn to leave, disturbed by the smoking gun, confounded by its significance, and upset at the possibility that my instincts might have been wrong: the absurdity of reality on another plane. Time to go to Paradise and return to terra firma…

'Death and Politics' and a little spring cleaning

I wanted my heading to reflect the changing season but since we're not really green here yet and the snow is still melting in the foothills as you see from this picture taken on a hike on Saturday (there was more snow elsewhere but I wasn't really into taking pictures of snow!)...

In anticipation, I've jumped ahead to summer in all it's glory. Hope it warms you up as much as it does me!

I want to thank Talei at Musings of an Aspiring Scribe for the 'Stylish Blogger' award she honored me with last week! I have also been remiss in thanking Alberta at Alberta's Sefuty Chronicles for the 'One Lovely Blog' award and JYS at A Writerly Pensheep for 'The Stylish Blogger award. It was a big week for me on the award front and I appreciate the honors that were bestowed. Check all of these lady's blogs out and see what wonderful sites they have! Thanks again for the awards!!! 

Small update: I mentioned that I applied for a new position at work the week before last. I am still waiting for a call about the interview, but I will have one as it is guaranteed if you're already an employee. (Sounds good but it feels a little like an obligation date.) So I wait!!! While I am talking about my job, things have picked up a bit and I am having a harder time blogging during down time (what down time? Is the question that I am beginning to ask) and while I have never had a set schedule for writing, I've been posting about 3 times a week. With less time, I am not sure I can post that often and still have the evenings to write. Of course writing is the priority as you can understand I am sure!!! I am still checking in on YOUR blogs wherever possible and commenting when I have time.

I missed posting my WIP last Sunday so I've posted it below. If you need/want to catch up, you can read the previous pages below and for the full document click on the tabs at the top!

Relative State
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Blinding sunlight penetrates the orbital septum, Excalibur to the brain. I flinch and burrow my head in down layers.

It was her.

I start as a door squawks complaint. Was she alive? Shuffling footsteps close in. Was she here? I rise and stumble to the door, wary of the ghost-filled hallway. Where was she? A flutter at the window. What was it? storage? for what? The unsettled calm of the spruce floor threatens collapse. Could I have gotten her out? Did they know who I was? I should have gotten her out. What does it mean? The vibrant hush of the house unnerves. . .

Whose voice had I heard?

What were th—

            Caskets?

My mind spins the exquisite, chaotic mathematics of a spider’s web with perplexities and fear.

“Good morning.”

“Roo-ro-roof”

[Large dog bounds into room]

“Ree-oww-err”

[Cat leaps, flips, clings to rafter, hair on end, eyes bulging]

[Granny enters, shoos dog outside]

“Now, now, out you go.”

[laugh track]

Thettle down Thylvester. Back to earth.

“Sleep well?” The eyes greeting mine were gentle but devoid … void. He seems insensible to my panic, words spoken to express polite but perfunctory interest in my wellbeing. My aunt’s grieving husband bumbles down the hall and descends groaning steps before I can reply.

I stare at my hands, the imprint of the cool metal tattooed on nerve endings. Had I slept? Had it been a dream?  The sudden sting at my little toe as I step onto the cool tile of the bathroom floor recalls the nip of rocks. Not state’s evidence…

More, I need more…

I strip and cleanse myself under the tepid trickle that had become a joke for our little trio. (“Shower? more like a sprinkle… well, really a tinkle. Gives “taking a pee” a whole new meaning.” Lou’s humor was… (is!) quirky, catching her audience off guard and spreading her cachinnations like a yawn. The most ecclesiastically austere beldam was heard to chortle when her rollicking laughter beach-balled around the room.) Distracted and disturbed, I mindlessly scrub and towel off, voluptuous ambiance become function. Murmured consolations drift toward me and I hover at the top of the stairs to drop eaves, unconcerned with the fate of the curious cat.

“Too coincidental…” the discernibly feminine voice is shrill, anxious to be heard. The controlled response in low baritone reveals my uncle’s patience although his words are too quiet for distinction. 

“I don’t believe it…” words topple out, unequivocally strident, interrupted only by muffled responses. “ludicrous! I don’t care what he says… He’s an idiot… the whole town knows… You’re cra--… you can’t allow him to file… There has to be something… Damn it, David! I can’t believe you! You’re… you can’t accept this… There has to be a better explanation… aliens?… Well, it’s no coincidence… not hysterical… I know this isn’t X-Files… three people are missing… sorry! I’m very upset, not trying to upset you…”

The emotional avalanche loses its momentum, whiteout settling to troubled calm. Assurances, directives and solace filter up the landing unheard, buried beneath a rock slide of mental reverb.

Three people missing …

Missing people…

three maybe.      

Explanation! Missing people, town knows.               

They know!                             

Explanation for missing people, no coincidence.                                

Where are they?                   

Sheriff hadn’t mentioned . . .                   

you have to connect . . .

one, two, three…    

not likely isolated, no body found        

                      witnesses from a distance,                  

other people missing . . .

                                     four, five . . .     

No time for fineries … yesterday‘s wadded wardrobe.                      

Missing people.

Three!                 

More surprising if it isn’t connected . . .

sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.  

Oh, look it’s an elephant in the room.

Find a pencil, idiot!

She might be leaving. Downstairs. Move.

Three people missing …

no one connecting…

connected …

connect…”

I reach the bottom stair, a hoarsy whistle escaping, “What people are missing? three? Why didn’t you… this is important, don’t you think?”  questions bubble to my lips, stilled by the clicking latch. The empty room yawns at me lazily.

Apparently not…

Death and Politics at the end of the world

(This is the next section of my WIP 'Death and Politics at the End of the World'. The first chapter can now be found at the top of the page under it's own page it you want to catch up. It might be helpful to know that you are entering an otherworldly realm as you journey with my character. In my last post, I was asked what genre I was writing in. My response wound up being "Genre... think magical realism meets surrealism meets Quantum Physics meets my imagination and the authors who have influenced me (including Jeanette Winterson!") things happen that are out of the extraordinary at times so be prepared!! If you need to catch up, the first part is in the tabs at the top. In order to preserve some of the fonts I have saved them as png or jpeg files so they may be a little disconcerting... I apologize for that but there was no other way!)

II. Relative State
______________________________________

Voices ping pong,“Crazy”… “Like who?...” “sad, but seems pretty clear…” “got to be nuts…””                                                            

frustrating, bi-bonk, irritating, mind numbing.

Cla-thinck.

“never had trouble…” “everybody loved her…”

                                                Think goddamn it. Does it sound like her?

                        “I just never would have thought…”           

                                                                        “just unbelievable…”

Take a few minutes… clu-chunk, out of your own stupid, pitiful lives

                                                listen to me… b-clonk…

            “And to go like that…”

Think through “answers” or lies meant to pacify and subdue. Oh my god…

if I could just…

“If we had only known…”

Damn it!…                              I should have said…

“She’s in a better place…”

what if she…                                                  too late

She’s gone.
A trapeze artist tilting…

                    swaying

I rise, shivering from arctic waters, stumbling onto fluid surface, the sharp edges of miniscule rock cutting my skin. The cusp of a stone catches my toe, causing a rush of blood that drips between my toes. I staunch the flow of blood 
and begin

to move forward.   

A force seems to 

footsteps eerily absent.

My fingertips slide along the wall

brailing—

a crevice,

up,                       

over,                            

down,                            

arm’s length wide,                                           

a finger’s niche…

a door…                                                                                                  push

A sudden electrical discharge blinds me. A way out! I brace myself, frantic to get out of the darkness. Push! An incision of light. The hinge refuses to give, entombing me in bible black. I drive forward. Another flash quickly quenched. I lean into the obstruction, desperate… PU-U-SH!!! then grip and rattle it in frustration ...

PULL!

7000 angstroms of radiance flood the room, piercing, tormenting the cornea. Unseeing, grappling forward, I timidly peer at reflected beams, walls sheathed with breastplates of drawers absurdly reflecting a distorted frame funneling to a single massive metal door.

Walls tip and sway  

The door’s protuberance anchors me. I tumble on. A forest of tubular chambers prevents reconnaissance or escape. Quiet movement draws my attention, drawing the focus further in.

Move!

A hollow hiss. Words?

Rising, an opaque pane floats overhead, framing familiar bloated water-washed features. “Alexandra.” More depth, higher timber “Alex” recalling a day on the beach, the tide rising, my tiny frame being tugged by the undertow, wanting to turn back, the surge pulling me further and further, my aunt’s frantic voice echoing my terror.

Shrieking her name, I scrape at the obscure seams that run the length of the metallic casket. Fingers throbbing futility, I crumple onto its cool surface.

A thunderous resonance fills my ears, confounding my senses. Snatches of phrases, float toward me, the strange syllables inexplicably intelligible “… kahee-nos' ktis'-is (no longer who she was) … ow-then-teh'-o (under Our authority) …hoop-om-en'-o (abide with Others)… hice al-lay'-lone mel'-os (she belongs with the Others)… “ktis'-is kahee” (she is no longer).  I seek my aunt’s familiar warmth only to face a macabre mask.

Out!

I need…

            … out.

I stumble,

then

            slip

                        and fall,

the floor dissipates

                                    beneath me.

_________________________________________________________

Also! a little political blogging on political scene in Wisconsin at Meanderings of a Wandering Mind!!! 

Death and Politics at the end of the world

(This is the next section of my WIP 'Death and Politics at the End of the World'. The first chapter can now be found at the top of the page under it's own page it you want to catch up. It might be helpful to know that you are entering an otherworldly realm as you journey with my character. In my last post, I was asked what genre I was writing in. My response wound up being "Genre... think magical realism meets surrealism meets Quantum Physics meets my imagination and the authors who have influenced me (including Jeanette Winterson!" things happen that are out of the extraordinary at times as a sort if so be prepared!! If you need to catch up, the first part is in the tabs at the top!)

Relative State

            If life were fair, the missing person would not be the genteel, affable woman who nourished the population of Key West. The MIA would be the detective in charge of the investigation. Alas…

His bearing is an uncomfortable parfait of govinator and Looney Toon stutterer as he ambles up to the veranda where we foxhole against the sun’s intense onslaught, the jaunty entrance invading our grief, faux royalty denying bona fide poverty. Hand outstretches, I reach out only to have his cool, dry foreignness enfold mine, a too-familiar caress pumps gently up and down, all the while eyes train on Dave, as the two exchange perfunctory greetings and my uncle asks for an update for my benefit as he slips to unawareness, clearly word weary.

“It does seem strange…” Nothing but the facts ma’am nothing but the facts … words hum, a noxious plethora of nothingness. “…but it appears she jumped over the bridge around twelve-thirteen Sunday night.” He completes the briefing, an anthropomorphic auto-attendant.

            “Did you fi--- where was she?”

            “The body?” He glances at the air over my head, then back at my uncle.

            “Body? My aunt.” I bite off the words, chafed at the reduction.

            “We haven’t found the body… yet,” His voice begins again, regurgitating evidence, snatches getting past the inner protests raging in my ear. “witnesses…”

            You don’t know crap! Idiot!

            “Left a note…”

A God-damned catechism

 “searched the perimeter…”

            We believe in

            “no trace”

            God the Father

            “no reason not to believe”

            The son and the…

            “it was suicide”

            “Holy shit!” A detonation of silence stiffens the room, then yields a mushroom cloud of resentment. “You cannot possibly believe that my aunt- Louisa Jean Cook- could possibly… She’s got a great life, a husband who adores…”

            “Your uncle tells me you’re a scientist?” Infuriating speciousness.

            “What has that got to do-”

            “Then you understand the difference between inference and actual data …” Condescending, patronizing presumptive pedagogue. “blah, blah-seem one thing-blah, blah-never know blah, blah get all the testimony-blah, blah- dope points to, blah.”

His Reaganesque “facts” were irrelevant. I am not one of those shell-shocked women who scream and cry out, refusing to correlate gun with hand, only later recognizing dark moods, caliginous silences, emotional meltdowns: Precursors of destiny. My eyelids lower, slowly shuttering out the incongruent, incompatible scene.

“blah- so very sorr-blah, blah …” There might have been a condolence amidst the disembodied syllables but it was lost in his candy-coated southern drawl.  “Best be going.”

Moving toward the door, the bereaved husband’s arm valanced the lawman’s shoulder as though he were the one in need of comfort, his low voice reassuring, even apologetic as he thanked him for his visit. The two men clasp each other gingerly, then turn to face their lives, one man’s stride cocky and insolent, the other ponderous and dilatory.

Words float back as he reaches his patrol car. “I’ll put ya’ll on the prayer chain. God doesn’t give us more than we can bear, but this is difficult, I know.”

I long to race into the yard to give an impromptu seminar for the protist on protocol, human relations and… “religious sensitivity!”

“He’s only trying to be helpful, Alex.” My uncle’s eyes hold a gentle reproach, then settle back to enveloping sorrow.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean to… I wasn’t… He shouldn’t say that shi... To assume… helpful?! … What an ass… unprofessional. It’s wrong!”  Vocal chords compress producing a raucous graunch. “If there was a god…”

A death mask faces me and my soaring passion hits the ground, wings abruptly clipped. “People do the best they can,” He recedes into unoccupied space. “Doing the best I… we can…” He wanted consolation, consideration, rather than the breaking storm of skepticism. The endeavor of inhaling, exhaling, heart pumping, limbs moving are all he can sustain, the added weight of my turmoil too much.

“You don’t really think… it’s impossible, not her at all. You don’t believe it?”

“Yes, What choice? I don’t know. No. I never would have thought, it’s not something she’d do, never in a thousand years… But it’s there, her last words. She loves,” He disappears into the framework of their memories. “loved. She loved me…” The final words float back, nearly absorbed in the gulf’s tender breath, as he lumbers up the front steps of the small conch home the pair shared for over half their lives.

__________________________________________________
Don't forget to check out Meanderings of a Wandering Mind! I've written a blog featuring our favorite (but missing) MSNBC political commentator, Keith Olbermann! "He's Back!"

Death and Politics at the end of the World

(Having made her way down through the Keys, my main character is finally arriving onto the island. If you want to review you can find the first part of her drive here and the next part here. Perhaps it might be helpful to know that you are entering an otherworldly realm as you journey with my character. It is not fantasy nor is it magical realism although perhaps that might be a helpful touchstone... things happen that are out of the extraordinary so be prepared!... a reminder that my formatting is different in Word. I have far more freedom than I do in Blogger and formatting is part of the text. I use formatting and fonts to promote a mood or to have the words show more than might be shown in simple text formatting. )
______________________________________________________________

Bells over my right shoulder, I glance over, startled to spy a stout, charcoal-skinned grandma in full gypsy garb, hobbling off the curb just as the Conch Tour Train rattles up to the light. She leaps nimbly backwards, the fluid motion in sudden and surprising contrast. She lifts her fist and shouts, face contorting as though uttering a curse as the train rambles obliviously on around the corner. A tall broad-shouldered… woman? adorned in a floral, foo-foo tutu and flowing hot pink boa hangs out the door of the train, shouts back to a thick-chested man leaning against the back window sporting a leather bustier, one thigh-high booted leg draped casually down the side of the car. The passenger-laden train is blossoming with men outfitted in a bouquet of taffeta and silk. A rowdy rooster struts down the sidewalk, confident in his own colorful array, raucously punctuating the human cacophony. He flutters onto the sidewalk, inches from the tire tracks of a swimsuit clad couple, sporting matching full-body tattoos, brattling by on scooters, weaving in and out of idling traffic.

            “… more like a carnival.” I ease my vice grip on the wheel, clicking the red ruby slippers of memory. “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

             Involuntarily, yet necessarily

drawn to the water,

I drive.

            Past the turn in to an abandoned bar;

                                                past palm and pond;

            past bougainvillea and banyan;

and finally,

 past the fort . . .

past the past.

Bread crust colored shoreline nearly deserted.

The gulf breeze tousles my hair

I come to myself, agape… 

Here are your waters and your watering place…

deep calls to deep …

A woman and child face each other in the water, modest swimsuits quaintly reminiscent of an innocence long forgotten, capturing my attention. “Allie, put your face under the water! It won’t hurt you. Now blow bubbles…” The girl's shoestring arms cling then flail. Her moon-shaped face dips, arcs, mouth gapes in a desperate gasp, then sputters and coughs.

 frightening depths…

thought I would die…

terrifying baptism…

“It’s all right… won’t hurt you. Just a little water! Here.” Clutching, they buoy in the waves until the child’s laughter peels over the sonance of wave, wind and wings.

 Water…

generated soul…

drink and be whole again… 

“So you come to the end of the world, Child,” a lyrical voice breaks my reverie. “What you think you’re going to find here?”

  The question hovers, a sparrow caught in a headwind. My gaze flitters back to the pair still bobbing in the waves. I know them… how?

  “Trying to find yourself?” Her voice holds tangy lilt that exposes the question’s banality.

  I squint, amused that she is so dispositioned to entice consumers, approaching them regardless of their susceptibility. “What are you selling, Grandma?”

   Her fake grin dissolves. Thick webs of tangled braids oscillate around her counterfeit affability. She smiles wryly. “Lookin’ to tell Martha Money how she will meet the love of her life.”

   “I’m not interested in having my fortune told. Save it for Martha and the rest of the rubes.” Where did they go? They had been by the rocky outlay. On the beach? A lobster-colored young couple lies motionless side by side. An elderly woman creeps to the concession stand. Underwater? Gentle waves lap onto the beach undisrupted by thrashing limbs.  

            “You’ll find many things- here - at the end of the world, child…” Her voice blends into the music of the beach.

            I turn back to the parking lot and search for the duo on the road:      

exiting the park???         …              

gathering bicycles???              

I cross the blistering tar preoccupied with my hunt. My senses are awakened by the metallic melody of bicycle bells, the roll of engines, searing sidewalks, and piquant seafood. No hint of the familiar strangers. Dead ended, my curiosity dribbles off and the urgency that brought me across the country tugs at my sleeve again. I turn toward the parked car to finish my journey.   The tumult of a couple in the throes of modern love impedes my departure, the loci of the contention blocking the rental. Leaning against the car door, quietly hoping Heathcliff and Cathy note my presence and scram, I resume my recollection, ingesting the ambience of the beloved burg I experienced when visiting my aunt as a child.

Cathy’s voice rises over the sounds of the street, the words shrill, taut, faltering as a sob breaks through. Heathcliff steps forward, the timber of his voice low, controlled. Her sharp protests interrupt his words, their voices trip and collide.  “You said”“we were supposed””you are such”“to go after the show”“a liar”“I told you”“I hate you”“I was going to”“you told me”“you are such”“you loved me”“a bitch” ^{watch out} “Would you shut up and listen”^{what is not known} “You can’t”^{could kill you}...

            I turn, seeking the source of the third voice. Perhaps the Rastafarian fortune teller followed me…  then spot the old lady lingering in her booth, a black hole in the murky shadows. It echoed her voice, her accent, but distinctions coiled around the couple’s blistering words making it impossible to extract origins. The low bassy boom of a passing car… a radio?

            “Don’t expect me”“leave me”“take you home”“Bobby you said”“find your own way”“you loved me!” Her final words ring out as he strides past, brushing away grasping hands. She collapses onto the car, her back bowed, head buried. 

            I glance at drifting stratus and exhale, relieved there’d been no need to ask anyone the number for nine-one-one. The air backlogs, my cheeks balloon. A slight whistle escapes between pursed lips. Hesitant to break into her solitude, I nonetheless burgle.  “Umm, hey, I’m sorry. That, that was… uh, You okay? I, well, I was wondering… I just need to ask… did he tell you to watch out? Or that something could, um,  kill you?”

            She lifted her blotchy eyes to mine. A puzzled expression said more than the mumbled “What?”

            “Well, did you? I mean you didn’t say you’d… umm, kill him?”

            The cash register of her mind completes the transaction. “What the fu--”

            “Yeah, no… I didn’t think so. It’s just that I, err…Never mind…” I flee. Pulling out into the steady stream of traffic, I am only half aware of changing lights and turning cars as I measure my own lucidity.

Death and Politics at the end of the world

Sunday is the day I am going to be posting from my WIP so bear with me. If you are lost you can go back and read the first few pages here. The character is driving and this section is stream of consciousness so you are jumping right in to her drive down to Key West...(Thanks for any input you care to give!!) Little note: I think the paragraph immediately following this will be formatted differently... not in a paragraph. On the blog I'll leave it for now but visualize it as a chain down the left side of the paper with each shade and size of font on a different line. I think it works better...   

Maybe I should call, has to be there has to be she can’t be gone—mistake has to be—missing? That can’t be right She can’t be. Missing Went for a drive and ran out of… or maybe just needs time. Time? Maybe met someone. Left Dave? No. Can’t be right! Loves Dave. Means the world to her. She’d never. Don’t believe it for an instant. But she’s… Missing. Time for herself working too hard stress restaurant not doing well… maybe.    Said “gone” right? GONE as in they don’t know where she is. Didn’t mean dea—not dead. Gone dead?  She’s MISSING… Murdered? Oh my go- NO It can’t be that! Too terrible Think logically, doesn’t make sense. Make Sense All right… She doesn’t just take off. Not a runner, a fighter. If things weren’t going well? she wouldn’t just… not a bird. NOT her But if she were taken by force she would fight and they might… OH MY GOD

                                    The median!

Pay attention, drive, can’t think about it right now.

                        Fifty-nine miles→already

Radio… distraction…can’t think… FOCUS   

Sailing away to Key Largo…

We had it all …

Just like Humfy and Bogall..  

Starring in our own la—

John may call…

doesn’t,

shouldn’t matte…

It’s over

Too many differences…

couldn’t work it out…

if I -- younger… prettier…

didn’t see it coming…

Finally, the Train Bridge: famous…  

calendar, paintings- palm trees, train track, ocean… postcard perfect…

                                                            oops, Original Overseas highway-

still a beautiful… umm, twenty feet.  

Just like Bogey and Bacall…

Watchin those old movies- fallin in love so ten-- tend --er…

                      er-rrhmmmm.  

Idiot.                                        Stupid love song IDIOT

                                 Too stupid to be believed- hormones.

Aunt missing, MISSING, MISSING

breaking up….

had to do it now, stupid man

 No more crying.

Seven Mile Bridge

  not a good place for car trouble

So high… swerve… Dive! Dive!

Eyes on the road—

A tiny key, Mini Key… Mini Mouse Key

…a piano with too many keys.

Breathe--- Breathe-- water’s beautiful… on and on. Read the signs.  

Hungry…

thirsty

Key Lime Daiquiri, Floridita--- Marguerita! 

Wastin’ away again. . .   looking for my mmm, mmm.

Banjo’s…

lots to drink...

dance,

sing…

stars…. 

End of the world… wizards and angels… 

Key West chooses you.

                     

Sunset Key.   

                                                                        hmmm hmmmm . . .

Searching for my lost shigger of salt-

Some people claim that there’s a ma-an-n to blame- Yeah there is---

It’s his damn fault.

His damn fau---

Nearly there.

God I hate Buffet…

What was that music…?     

                                     Something like…

So magical: Should have fairies,             

Palm trees … forget this

                                                            spray … forget that

Or, forgetting specialists, hmm---

In the real world…  bartenders

Six miles.

Drive right into the ocean…                                                   real dead end! 

Five miles to the BEST Key Lime pie

Number One Key Lime Pie…

Favorite Key Lime Pie…

Award Winning Key Lime Pie…                               Who decides these things? 

Key Lime cookies-

Key Lime cake-

Key Lime ice cream

Key Lime soup

Chocolate-covered Key-lime-on-a-stick

Key Lime off-a-stick

Key Lime Lemonade

Key Lime Margueritas

Key Lime edible underwear…    hmmmm

Some people claim that  

there’s a ma-an to blame

                                                        Song’s a virus

Hog’s Breath—God’s Breath—hamburger yummers!… with everything… fries, Bartender’s special drink---

P-Thingy.

Do these people know how to drive? For God’sake

Bone Island: Boner…

Boner Island?

Key-

Boner Key—Bonkey… 

Don key Otee.

move! I need to go!

“Land of the Free because of the brave”- MOVE, moron.

Left turn, right?

Right… Right?

No! left… right.

Southernmost Point

Southernmost Real Estate

Southernmost Hotel

Southernmost Café

Southernmost Bank

Southernmost Key Lime Pie

Southernmost oxygen.

Most Southernmost

turn…

Busy!

People everywhere.

It’s a zoo…