Herald the heraldry from on High. Whatever that means. I happened to be at a fruit stand and there was a big sale on peaches. Someone happened to be blowing a horn at the time. Someone on a pedestal–the fruit seller of course, trumpeting attention the way he did with his medieval clothing and bowler hat and tendrils of cigar smoke roiling around his beard. He could blow a horn as well as anything.

I bought an extra batch of peaches that day. Hell, if I know what I’ll do with all of them. I don’t bake or particular like peaches. But other people do. Especially the fruit seller. And that’s good enough for me.

I want to start the new shampoo. But the old shampoo still has some left in it. It’s the same brand, just a different flavor.

The old bottle falls over so easily; its weakened, depleted. I know how it feels. But there is still some left, a potential for one last lather. So I for the old bottle, one last time. It doesn’t end well. I am forced to spin the bottle in my hand, centrifugal force moving the last bit to the tip.

It lathers. I rinse. I do not repeat.

But I do so with the new bottle.

A soap opera filmed in  split screen
A flute in a rock band (Exception: Jethro Tull and Marshall Tucker Band)

Belly button full of lint.

As useless as a useless ass

As useless as as a useless ass, with no place to go.

Ava drove me to this. This being a department store. An amazingly sedate Macy’s, with all the trimmings. It was Christmastime. I’d told her “Happy Christmas,” and she’d given me a “look.” And then I remembered; “Happy Holidays.” I amended. And then her “look” softened.
I was young postulant then, seeing her favor. I was desperate for it. She watched us as we filed into the order, taking note of our waifish beards and lanky figures. She knew we were kind-hearted. From her window I caught her studying us as we worked. Plumbing, gardening, painting, some of our chores sending up and down the well-worn path until out shirts were soaked with sweat.
It was a path we’d all chosen, to fetch her flowers and even berries. We took turn. When it was my turn her look had hardened. She didn’t like the way I smelled.
I told her I would fix that.
How?
But I didn’t answer. I just smiled. Later that day I went to Macy’s and bought some cologne. Nothing strong. Just enough. And new crisp, linen shirts that helped my skin breathe better.

By then it was Summertime and but I still said to her as she passed in the hall, “Happy Christmastime.”

There is no way to find the essence of a man but to get as close to him as you can. Wear his clothes, play his sports, shoot the animals he shoots. I did those things–better than him. And then I did even better. I became a billionaire. Now he wants to know my essence. But he is not willing to do the things I did to become one..

He doesn’t understand. He’s hungry, that’s all. You can’t reason with that. He wants food. Now.
But I can wait. I can be fed later.
But you’re different. You think about “calories in, calories out.”

We all have to eat something, regularly or else we die. Less immediate than oxygen or water, but food seems to give people the most long term grief.

Right there, on the lawn, on that picnic blanket. In front of everyone.
But instead I have to listen to career-talk; rap music lyrics, the taste of sesame seed oil vs just plain sesame seeds. I have to ask you about you things that are so boring that I find myself laying my head down on the picnic blanket.
A bird poops on my cheek. He laughs, grabs a wet-nap and wipes my face.
Who knew?

In the park, the mother saw her own baby pushing her own stroller.
Mother bent down, keeping in slow steps with the baby’s. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Mother said.
The baby took received the shower of Thank Yous with complete aplomb.

Winston lowered his eye on the plants, telling them to behave.
They never did. They grew if they wanted and didn’t if they didn’t.
He loved them anyway. He wished they were taller than him so they could look down on him, give him orders, pay his bills, tell him what to say to his boss, do the shopping, invest in the proper stocks, steal fancy items for him from Tiffany’s.
He longed for a plant to water him and talk to him. He wanted something that carried things.

I will speak to my brother by and by. I will air out all and sundry of my deeds.
I hope he will forgive me. But I know he won’t. He has a list of deeds that nearly killed him. From infancy to fancy inns. From hotels to sletos. We crossed each other and dug over each other. We competed and we detepmoc’d each other.

We are mirror images of each other but in name only. Most of the time we just say “Hey cow,” when addressing each other.

He is my brother–I have to remind myself of this. He has to dnimer this too.