sopping up the inspiration, creativity and beauty from life's dregs

Monday September 3, 2013

Filed under: THE RIVER — nomisyar @ 23:18

The cool touch of the moonlit kissed boulder sends a chill straight up his spine.  It is very, very, early, and he has been up for hours. Turbulent streams of feelings race through his chest, while the emptiness of regret leave him paralyzed. Ghosts, long exorcised –or so he thought, float through these vacuums.  On nights like these, morning never comes soon enough for Samuel

He should be exhausted, but instead is wired.  He imagines himself as a marionette, strings pulled by the haunting apparitions.

Staring through a patch of leaves in a bush to his right, Samuel reflects on the moonlight’s path, in, around, and behind everything it touched.  There was something magical about the moonlight, something soft, and comforting, even in the fright of dark, Moon’s light can take you places.  Unfortunately, this evening’s lunar wonderings, had only taken him across a barren wasteland of desolate memories, leading always towards the ever expanding void of the present.   Only his own wandering dreams and imagination could possibly be more cruel and unforgiving.

It would still be several hours, before the sun would allow him to begin to break camp, and head to his favorite fishing hole.
Though his cabin was only a few meters away, he would not go back inside tonight… though the Ghosts traveled with him constantly, the cabin was their lair.

Reaching into his right hip-boot, he feels the comforting, cool metallic touch of calmness – sponsored today by the good fellows at Glenmulfdowne.  The cool, fiery, relieving and suffocating elixir rolls through his lips and tumble awkwardly down his mouth and throat…. Instantly, even before the smell registered, Samuel feels free.
As he lurches further and further into his own personal little freedom, he recalls bits and pieces of this past Saturday, and his night on the river.  An uncharacteristic smile creeps across his lips as the more ridiculous moments of the evening bubble to the surface.  As the sun rises, Samuel realizes he had not had any more swallows after that initial sip, though the ghosts were gone.

But, with the coming light, shadows formed.  As he prepared his coffee over the tiny cooking fire, and sliced some chunks of bacon to fry, Samuel suddenly realized he was about to have breakfast alone…. It was nothing new… for some time now at least, but somehow, at this moment it struck a chord, and he felt low.

He put the bacon away and saw to his fishing gear.

His fly box was surmounted by an overly large and garish looking pink barrette.  His had brushed faintly against it as he reached to unclasp the box.

It was time to go.


Sunday August 21, 2013

Filed under: THE RIVER — nomisyar @ 05:58

Jackson awoke to the smell of fresh urine tickling his nostrils. He opened one eye, and saw the massive root of an oak staring at him.


He contemplated rolling over, to see what his other eye would report, but after some serious consideration, he decided against it – it would expend too much energy, and could possibly upset the already delicate balance he had achieved.  He closed his eye again, and as he listened to the gentle purr of the river, dispassionately wondered if the urine he smelled was his.

“Whatever”, he thought as he drifted away, back into sleep, only to be awoken again, minutes later, this time by stinging sunlight.  He knew now, that no amount of contemplating or considering or eye closing, would delay the inevitable.

He rolled his head over, slowly opening his eyes.  On the other side of his head lay another massive root.  This one decorated with a pair of black boxer briefs.  Jackson had stopped wearing underwear about 40 years ago, and was truly perplexed and slightly worried as to the origins and ownership of these shorts.

He looked straight up.  The great canopy of oak which protected him from the early searing sun could not protect him from that same sinister star’s reflection off his Dodge’s windshield.  A thin cord of morning pierced through his temporary hideaway, and knocked impatiently on his eyelids.  He rolled away with a grunt.  The cooling feeling of no longer having the sun on his face was manna from heaven.  Jackson was pretty happy with himself at this moment. As usual however, this feeling of success was not to last.

No, although it felt much more comfortable than the morning light, Jackson slowly began to realize the true nature and source of the new cool, moist and comforting feeling.  Retching almost in the instant that the filthy thought bubble formed, Jackson realized that this nearly instantaneous cooling was not solely due to the absence of sunlight… His mind made some startling leaps in logic, quite startling and unsettling for Jackson to handle, especially in his current delicate condition.   First of all, this instant cooling was not entirely located on the cheek which had just recently evaded the urine, but spread across his neck and shoulder.  His face shuddered in horror at the new scent now assaulting his nose, a scent that was far more pungent than the fresh, watered down urine smell which had greeted him -now, in comparison, so soothingly compared to this current wretchedness.

Not taking the time to taste the cobwebs in his mouth, Jackson added to the concoction of filth by further emptying out his stomach unto his erstwhile pillow, the contents of which, already have been emptied several times the previous day, provided nothing but bitter bile, and a sharp pain in his sternum.

Once again, Jackson was experiencing the worst day of his life.  It is amazing how many days in his life he had experienced as the worst day, more often than not, at this very river, and typically, on a Sunday.  He could not rank which of these terrible days were better or, worse than the rest…. They were all, quite simply, the worst.

Standing slowly, and stumbling gingerly to the river, he cleaned himself as best he could.  He then forced himself some long sups from the cool water.  After he was sure he would keep down the water, and not caring which side of the river he was on, he gingerly laid himself at the base of a large willow, closed his eyes, and left again.

A few hours later, even the dense leaves of the willow could not protect him from the suffocating heat now engulfing the river bank.  Almost like an automaton, he launched himself upright, and stumbled away from the river, in search of shelter, and revitalization. His nap had done some good, and he now realized that he was only a few dozen feet away from his cabin.  Muddy, sweating, nauseous and dizzy, Jackson made his way back home, followed by Ulysses.


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