the world went that way once. Went in the way the world was wont to go. Went wild there there went wild she did. The world there did she, the world there did she go.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Stu sat there and stewed. The tall cowboy hatted Frehner sat next to the other who stewed and then pulled out some chaw and put it in his mouth then spit.
“Goddamn, rascal, di she, you know it’g got ti go.”
“Spect.” Said stu and he just sat there and kept on stewing.
400 years later.
I thought that was that? You know what I mean? You got to know what I mean.
Very well then. Former radicals.
,…but the sun wouldn’t set that day. I was about to say autumn when it didn’t seem autumn, it seemed cold. But autumn it was. A cold autumn. It doesn’t matter. What will come will come. There isn’t much that you can do with it anymore. Sometimes it seems that the cold will always be the cold, but it doesn’t stay that way. Cold is cold, true, but, and there’s always a but, it don’t. What were the people doing? Which ones? The fat people who acted smart but weren’t because they were fat. The skinny people who acted smart and secretly hated the fat people? The middle people who want to go to church. (What the hell do They do?), the lost? the beaten? The forever young? I don’t know. What do they do? What do any of them do?
But the sun would set that day. There had to be some reconciliation between the sun and the moon. Or the moons. Another ride on a magic flying carpet? Where would you go? Over mountains and cities at night under stars at day under sun. Where would you go? What would you see? Would you end up giving all your friends rides just to be nice until your flying carpet is so full that it falls heavily to the ground? Which friend would have to go first. Probably the fat one. This is why the skinny ones hate them so.
But at least we had property. And land. And we could go somewhere and everybody could live in harmony or dis-harmony as you would have it be or if. Land. But the only thing to do is dig, for the world will become too much for you, the modern man, the one who thinks that you can make money like dad did in the 1950s. Rare and getting rarer. There is too much for the likes of you to do with all that dough. The likes of me too. All of us. Every last living, breathing red-cent-lovin’ all of us. Leaves little for the rest of them.
But some places it seems like enough. Like if you have land and everybody can come to your land and everybody can live together freely and in peace. Is it possible? I would have to say that I think the answer is no. It seems that there is always one or two people who always insist on busting it all up. Sometimes the skinny people and the fat people get into a fight. I know, I know, everybody is supposed to get along, but sometimes skinny people hate fat people That Much. Sometimes people have different styles of extravagance, cleanliness and neatness. This is always a deal killer. Slobby Joe over there living round meticulous Mick. Clash. The border war. Maybe we just hate everybody and think that our little home town in somewheresvill nowheresville is the best thing in the world and we never should have left in the first place because the leaving made me a different person that nobody from nowheresville knows anymore. Or we each think that there is something to our “art” that is, I was going to say “better”, different. We see worlds in our worlds and we want to tell, but there is a line. Everybody wants to tell, but there is a line. You’re going to need to throw a show. You’re going to have to perform a ritual, but everybody will have to know and be a part in it, but you, from somewheresville, nowheresville, don’t want to impose. In the meanwhile you stew. I was going to say stu.
“Spectnothing!” You spew, Anton!
“Spect.” Didn’t mean nothing to Anton or “Stu.” Didn’t mean nothing to him at all. What would it matter if he “stewed.” Everybody needs to know that this is okay. This is “Anton.”
Good to meet you, Stu. I’m Delvidere, Brockton. Brock. I’m Brock.
Good to meet you Stu.
There is never no never no mind about it (he said). There would be something else involved, but it wouldn’t have to do with you or me or anybody reading or the next mountain ledge we need to peak over! What did I say? (another voice somewhere. Ssshh. Can you hear it? No, Jody, listen! There’s another voice in this cave!
` Yo! What is it Tarkenton?
You got jody over there?
You got my daughter over there Arlengetti! (my name was arlengetti because my forefathers owners were Italians named “Arlengetti.”
I think you do.
And the race was on.
Jody Tarkenton was sixteen when she met Arpin. Arpin Arlengetti was considered the best chess player, by far, that Wilmington had ever had. When they traveled down to Booth and played for State, Arpin was the last man standing. The trophy sat there in his living room, over the mantle, insisted upon by his mother Anne, a “semi” retired school teacher who took substitute jobs whenever she could. Her back pain was the reason and her weight. It was plain to see. Arpin’s mother Anne was fat.
Arpin! Where’s my cream?
I don’ Know! Shit!
A typical conversation at home, but passable. Arpin mostly sat in his room and either read or played his computer a game of chess. He couldn’t get internet where he lived and, besides, his mother wouldn’t be able to afford it. He had other siblings, all older than him and mostly gone from home. Where? St. Louis, Phillipsburg, Oakley and a brother out in Hollywood trying to make it as an actor. His sister Jane had become a nurses assistant and then a nurse and lived in a big house with her husband and four children in Phillipsburg. Their house had a whole acre of land and she kept some sheep in a little pen just so that her children could grow up learning how to love and care for things. Her kids are still small so we can’t yet say if she will ever end up eating any of them, which to Arpin seemed horrible. It was a wait and see game, one Arpin didn’t want to have to mull so he put it out of his mind like all the other things in the world that he didn’t want to have to mull, like if he would ever get a girlfriend, like if he would get in Case-Northwestern where he wanted to study constitutional law, would he ever ride the stern of his own small ship through choppy waters along a wild and exotic coastline, maybe Africa or Spain? He didn’t know. What more could he think on the subject except that it was all leading to something and sometimes adding the score is the hardest part. It is hard to know if what you are doing is something worth doing. Whether you are on the right track, what thing could happen that could break your heart and thereby keep you from your goals? The wrecked, the seemingly lost, the masses. Arpin joined his political science club where he got to that final conclusion: there can be misery within the masses.
Yoospect. You know! There isn’t any doubt about it. You know!
any room for here here? Or I just dreaming? Good a place as any to get off I spect. Hearing that word round the stratosphere. Almost conked me on the head with it outside Nebulous 3. Sh*t, if it weren’t for that sarbortulanator malfunction Kremulon would have had some bargain in the deal. Blown up his own race too, what a leader, what a *sshole.
Anyway, got some creamed yodel beak here, best creamed yodel beak you can get in your can, if youre lucky enough to get a can anymore. Mostly its all just tubes. All just m*therf*cking tubes. Haint enough.
Sh*t, Wilbur, that you?
Yeah, I’m here, so what
What happened to you. You was the smartest kid in the class.
I lost it.
You lost it?
I lost it, man. There was nothing to know. It was all just hype.
So you weren’t a boy genius?
No. that was all just hype. There’s nothing to know, man. There’s nothing to know.
laying upon the meticulous rounds of the hillock beside him, he saw.
Just the breeze
The breath of the breeze
No, no more,
Oh Edie, how come
You know we’re so old
Oh I know you know, now you stay out of the shower.
I’m just combing down what’s left of the old hair I got on my old head. Dear be down with you in the coffin in a minute.