MY GRANDPA LOOKS LIKE A BAD ASS

Think back

Back to my father and his father

And his father before

Then further past the eons

Think back

And see

Adam now, taking a bite of the apple.

Bulletholes, 11/25/2019 

WINDOWS MISSED

"It is not so much that the boat passed
and you failed to notice it.
It is more like the boat stopping
directly outside your bedroom window,
the captain blowing the signal-horn,
the band playing a rousing march.
The boat shouted, waving bright flags,
its silver hull blinding in the sunlight.
But you had this idea you were going by train.
You kept checking the time-table,
digging for tracks.
And the boat got tired of you,
so tired it pulled up the anchor
and raised the ramp.
The boat bobbed into the distance,
shrinking like a toy—
at which point you probably realized

you had always loved the sea."

Naomi Shabib-Nye

LETTERS TO JAIL

Hey Clark!
Back about 10 years ago I went to the Green Bay unit to visit my son. While I was waiting for him to come out I saw you in line behind the window, waiting I suppose for a visitor.
Over the years I would check the TDCJ website and see what your status was. As always, following you was very entertaining. It seemed like any time I was compelled to look, you would be back in. Maybe it was just bad luck, if you believe in that kind of thing.

So New Years Eve last year my son called me. I friend of his had OD'd. We talked for a while. Every now and then when I would talk to my son about dope, your name would come up. I think it was the next day that I went on to the website, and Holy Shit, you'd been busted the night before.
Damn son, you just cant seem to stay out of Jail!
Anyway, I have another friend who had put together some clean time, decided to become a mountain climber, went on an expedition to climb Denali, up in Alaska. Its a 3 week ordeal, and he trained for a year to do it. Even climbed Ranier just for practice. When he got to Denali at last, the weather turned bad and they never made the summit. When he got back he was so devastated that all he knew to do was go get a big shot of dope and go on a six month peyote and mushroom filled run down through Mexico and South America, only to wind up in a flea bag hotel in Waco when the cops barged in and shut down his meth lab.
Anyway, I thought I'd send you a letter. Its probably not as entertaining as you were.
Me? I have 12 years clean now.
I remember one time you said to me "When I first moved in next door to you you always had money. I could always count on you if I needed a front on some money. Now, you never have any money".
Hahahaha...I wonder where it all went!
I've got a pretty good job theses days. 15 years now, same place.
If you want you can write me.
Good luck to you Clark

Steve from Little Taste of Sante Fe

LETTER TO A FRIEND

Hey Bryan!

Man, I’m sorry its taken so long to get to you. My writing juices have just almost been dried up! I hadn’t really posted anything since 10/25.

Been very busy. I started looking at houses to buy last month. My apartments had decided to raise my rent by 25%. That ought to be criminal, yes? So I gave notice and went house hunting.

I’ve got a contract on a house over in Meadowbrook. I shitty little house really, it needs wood siding replaced, paint, and has grading and drainage problems. The roof might make it another year or two. I’ll be lucky if it passes insurance inspection. These people that flip houses, they do all this sexy stuff inside, but forget the big stuff.  But it has a huge kitchen (big enough for bunk beds and a television) and a big master bedroom, like no house you’ve ever seen, and once I’d seen it I couldn’t un-see it. Me, leaning against the kitchen counter drinking coffee watching my kitchen television; me, sitting at my picnic table in the kitchen, just over from the formal dining room table set with fancy dishes from The Pottery Barn, waiting for a supper party to happen; me, lounging around the master bedroom in my smoking jacket, mint candy sitting on the pillow on the made up bed and artwork on the walls, and a big mahogany desk where I take care of business, maybe pick up a quick million on e-trade while three or four junior Playboy bunnies frolic and lounge around my huge combination bedroom/office/parlor and purr things like “Hurry Sugar, come back to bed”.
Anyway it’s a shitty little house that needs a lot of work on the outside. I could sure use your expertise.

We just finished having the groups 38^th Anniversary. It was full of angst, drama,  sturm and drang, and I wont bore you with the details, or get involved with rumor and loose talk about what all went on. As Moneyhandler I can say we made about 600 bucks and no one got knifed in the parking lot so it was a complete success.
A friend of mine from High School, Bill, was asking me what we did at the group. Bill and  I, when we were Seniors at LD Bell were in the first High School philosophy class in the state of Texas. The teacher had tried for years to get it on the curricula, and finally had done it. She wanted 3 volunteers from the class to do a film presentation about the class to take to the State Teachers Convention. Bill and I did that. We were already buds, but that cemented it. It was about a 15 minute presentation, with Moody Blues music and everything, and except for the debate team, the only thing worth having gone to High School for!

I’l try to get another note off to you soon. I have to get your address from Trish. In the meantime I’ll leave you with a David Foster Wallace quote a ran into a few weeks ago. It really stuck with me, and in some way makes me think of you.

“What he'd do, he'd never go out to the length of the chain. He'd never even get out to where the chain got tight. Even if the mailman pulled up, or a salesman. Out of dignity, this dog pretended like he chose this one area to stay in that just happened to be inside the length of the chain. Nothing outside of that area right there interested him. He just had zero interest. So he never noticed the chain. He didn't hate it. The chain. He just up and made it not relevant. Maybe he wasn't pretending--maybe he really up and chose that little circle for his own world. He had a power to him. All of his life on that chain.”
― David Foster Wallace, The Pale King