Random Literary Ramblings

Tiny leaves lie scattered on the grass like dried stars in a great green sky.

A blue jay cries, "Empty sky! No grass, no tiny leaves".

Laughing, the tiny leaves dance and leap back up into the trees.

The blue jay sits on a branch - Shriek!

In His Own Image

I'm growing gods in the tool shed. It sort of started by accident, but now I've got a big production going. It was Mom who got me my first pack of Sea Monkeys - you know, the ones you send away for on the back of comic books. And Dad, he was the one to get me the chemistry set. He said I was old enough to bring "dangerous chemicals" into the house. He said it in that big lecture voice of his. I was experimenting, dropping different chemicals on my Sea Monkeys when the first accident happened. Now Mom's made me move my stuff out to the tool shed because of the smell. She thinks it's just because I don't change the water in the Sea Monkey tank. And Dad's mad at me too because I leave the shed lights on all night. But I have to!

Come on in and see them. But watch your step, that pink extension cord runs the heaters for the nutrient baths. I make the nutrient bath from water, Sodium Metabisulfite and Cheez-Whiz. I don't know if that's what gods like to eat, but it seems to work okay. The racks above the lawnmower are where I mount the Erlenmeyer flasks, each with its own nutrient bath. I have fifteen now. Inside each I've got a mounting clip with a Sea Monkey that I've dropped the right chemicals on. The rubber stoppers are so that any gods that form can't escape.

Each night after dinner I come out to look to see if any gods have formed. You can tell if gods are there because they start creating minor universes in their flasks. So far, all the gods I've created have been mutants of some sort, defectives. Here, look at the one in here. He's created a universe in which seven is the largest prime number. That's stupid. And the one over here has decided to create an afterlife, but there is no life in his universe. Duh. When I see that a god is defective I usually kill it off by opening the flask, pinching the god and then dipping the whole mount in acetone. Sometimes they scream.

Once I gave one of these little gods to Charley Froggett to try as fish bait. Too bad about his little sister.

The gods that outgrow their flasks get transferred to one of those big beakers over by my brother's bike. The gods I've been able to grow seem to come in only a few different species. So far I've named eight different lines of god, like "Buddha," "Manitou," and "Lennon." Sometimes they start to mutate after I transfer them, like Nietzsche-27 here. The Nietzsche gods are kind of pathetic. They're omnipotent, but they're pretty stupid. They keep trying to kill themselves. Nietzsche-26 crushed himself trying to make a rock so big he couldn't lift it. Oh, and here's Devi-38. She's going to be quite useful to me because although she has no power to create a universe of her own, she knows everything that will happen in the future. She usually just sits there kind of sad and despondent. I guess she can tell in advance when I'm going pinch her out. On Friday I'm taking her down to the 7-11 in a Mason jar to pick a lottery ticket for me. Then I'll be able to grow some full- size gods, and maybe fix this mutation problem. I'll have to ask Mom drive me to the pet store in Galveston so I can buy some really big aquariums.

Now look at this one, Jehovah-2; he's obsessed. His universe is still only half formed because he spent the whole week fiddling with just one planet. Watch me pinch him out. Ungh. Hey, look what happens when I start to squeeze him, the lights in the shed all start to dim. This one's a fighter! Let's see what happens if I pinch him really hard.

Watch this.

Get a Grip

The muscles in Kevin's forearms were straining as he pushed himself up above the ironwork of the trestle, his body perfectly vertical over the gorge. Small flakes of rust were dislodged by his grip, and I could see several embedded in his hands. It was the kind of stupid macho stunt he was always pulling. But I couldn't help admiring his nerve and his competence.

We were crossing the trestle with a case of beer. On the other side of the gorge was an old railway shed where we would sit and get drunk in the sun. It was a good escape from the house, and got me away from my little brother and his fucking Sea Monkeys.

We had bought the beer in Galveston. The guy in the store was an old geezer who got uptight whenever anyone under fifty was in the store. Just because we were having some laughs and rearranging some of the cases was no reason for him to have a fit. And he didn't have to call Kurt a fairy just because he wore an earring. As we left, Kurt called him "asshole." But he didn't just shout it and run outside. Kurt had an in-your-face way of stringing it out that gave the guy a shit-fit. "Ass-hole-." He ran after us as fast as his geezer legs could carry him. But by the time he was out on the sidewalk, we were already in the car and tearing out of the parking lot. We howled about it all the way to the trestle.

There was a brief moment of silence as we all stood there watching Kevin upside-down against the sky. The world had stopped, except for the force that ran through Kevin's shoulders and arms, and ran into the bridge. Two beer bottles clinked together in the case.

Then Kurt said "asshole."

Walter immediately burst out laughing, which of course got me and Vinnie started. We had to struggle to suppress our laughter because we didn't want to distract Kevin. Kevin fought to keep his concentration and his balance intact, but I could see the inverted twinkle of his eyes. He wanted desperately to laugh out loud. We all did. We were fighting the urge to crack up - fucking Kurt and his earring! Vinnie was shaking with laughter, one hand covering his face and the other trying to keep Kurt and his ears away. Walter had fallen onto the ties and was biting his hand in an attempt to keep from cracking up. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

Kevin's whole body was shaking now. A bead of sweat ran off his chest and up the side of his face. His mouth was clenched tight through sheer physical effort, but in its corners smile threatened to escape. Lines ran from the corners of his eyes to the nascent smile.

Kurt just cocked his head slightly, pointed his left ear at Kevin, smiled deliciously, and said "ass-hole-."

That did it for us. Vinnie lost it completely and went running across the trestle roaring with laughter. Walter just laid there crying "ow, ow, ow." Kevin sputtered and broke into laughter. His left arm was wobbling uncontrollably. "Fuck you, Kurt," he laughed as he struggled to bring his attention back to his grip on the iron railing. But he couldn't concentrate anymore. He wanted to laugh at Kurt, who was now covering his ears and acting like he didn't know what was so funny.

Suddenly the twinkle went out from Kevin's eyes. He tried to regain a solid grip, but he had suppressed too much laughter. His left arm was shaking so much, he was gripping only a loose pile of rust flakes. He was leaning over the side too far. And, although he started to lower his legs, he began tipping farther outward. Fifty-three cents of beer change slipped from his pocket and disappeared down into the gorge.

"Fuck you, Kurt," he said, but it wasn't like before.