cud for your brain.

Been an interesting week or so in this land going nuts with soggy heat. I could tell some sort of story about it but I blew out the candles on the pity party and my arm is getting better from a brown recluse bite so I ain't got a whole lot to be fucked up about.
I wrote this story at work last week on a notepad while the machine ran. It's mean but I like it until I hate it in about a week. The next story will be happier.

A parable of confused portions.

Redmond Wallace

A little ways back, the same year he got his first new truck, a ¾ ton Dodge, Jeremiah Stallings ran into an old friend, Tysun Slapweld. The two grew up in the same block of shanties on the edge of Clarksdale, running through the Crossroads with nothing but ignorance and youthful enthusiasm.

They went they went to grade school, had crushes on the same girls, learned to fix cars, fish, and fight. By whatever fortunes, Jeremiah ventured into High School and graduated while Tysun stayed behind to fish and drink. He got strung up with a plump and decent woman from Coldwater whom he had three girls with.

Jeremiah got a scholarship to Hattiesburgh and graduated with a degree in business. He took a job in advertising in Memphis but discovered that he couldn't stand a boss so he left after a couple of years and started a local gardening company.

He installed and maintained vegetable gardens for the suits and scrubs that were t0o busy to have one. Mrs. Stallings had always had a garden and figured that,“If you ain't using the rich earth, you are just letting the good Lord down.”

Her son had been working in the inferno of August tirelessly. He had the rough skin of summer and dirt permanetly streaked with sweat swirling around his face and hands, organic tattooes of the working man. After harvesting the remainder of one client's Caspian Pink tomatoes, Jeremiah decided to buy himself a beer.

“Hey man.” Jeremiah was startled by runny molasses accent as he opened the door to the bar. He could feel a push of cold air that made the dim pub all the more inviting.

“Don't waste your money in there. I got a cooler in the truck.” The urban farmer turned to see his childhood buddy, Tysun, leaning out of a battered red truck, sucking down a sweat-cold beer.

“I'll be. How you doing, you old redneck?”

“I ain't old, yet... and you're just as red as me, don't matter how dark you are. Hop in. I've got some shit to do around town. Came up to drop a load of copper off. Got a wad of cash and an old friend so it must be time to get drunk.”

“Yeah buddy.” Jeremiah climbed into the pickup and with a roar, they headed west.

“How's your momma?”

“Pretty good. Her feet are getting real bad but she still gets around.” Tysun handed Jeremiah a beer. “I see your mother in her garden. You come by it honest... Scrapyard gave me two-bucks a pound. Now I got to get to the River for a bit. Found a fellow over in Helena who pays some good money for driftwood. I figured since it got so high and just came back down I'll find a bunch of stuff for him.

“What's he do with it?”

“He makes all kinds of crazy furniture and shit. Jeannie Biminy said that she saw some magazine saying he was the man to have your stuff made if you needed to be hip. He makes some cheese cause I could get 700 bucks for the good load we find today.

Tysun reached below the seat and pulled out a bottle of blue-top vodka. Jeremiah let the breeze blow away his past and heard the sights of his city and saw his friend droll on about everything going on in Clarksdale.

“Where are we going?” Jeremiah asked as they turned north after hitting the river.

“We got a better score in the bluffs above the city, folks pick over shit down here like flies on ribs.”

The flat land picked up some hills and the buildings turned to forests. A few houses lined the road with signs for work and Jesus. They made a left and the new road wound through dripping woods that guarded the truck from the pulsing sun, a blurry circle past thick skies.

They turned again onto a rutted gravel drive. Tysun stopped the truck in front of a plywood cabin, shut it off, chugged on the bottle and handed it to Jeremiah, “Let's go say hey to my pops.”

“You go ahead, I'll stay here.”

“Hell, he ain't leaving his chair. Just stop in and say howdy and we'll get our shit done and finish the rest of our beer."

Jeremiah walked in behind Tysun as he opened the screen door. The room of smelled cigarettes and pus. A box fan tried to bring something of calm to the place as a TV flashed stupidity from a milk crate.

“Hello, Mr. Slapweld,” Jeremiah feigned pleasure and delight.

“I see you still got your nigger friends, boy.”

Jeremiah tried to watch the other side of the fan blades.

Tysun walked up to his decaying older resemblance on a blue-plaid sofa.

“You remember the way you done me and momma?”

“Thwack”

Jermiah turned to see the old man rocked back with a broken jaw and Tyrus cocked back for another swing. He sucked on the bottle to silence his brain.

“Let's go get that wood.” Tysun walked by and let the door spring shut with a cheap clap.

they called him psycho in the penal farm

I was playing with my camera while Adam gave us a ride to our respective places. That's Reggie riding shotgun and mumbling away. Larry is one of the most entertaining figures I have ever met. The next time I wander down to his house and get talking drunk with him I should have more bits to add on. Hell, it's better than the video I didn't take.
Now y'all know why I mumble the way I do.

i hated that last post and want to delete it

they working the crud out of us so the best I can do is throw up this picture I took of me welding and then woke up in the middle of the night heat drunk and agitated so I wasted a bunch of time messing with Gimp. it's free. money is better blown on non-free stuff.

i lied like always

Say hello to wheatstraw, a real deal true blooded memphian pimp tight geek style. That's the picture, now on with the note.

You have to work at all smalls so this won’t sound off the cuff though it is. I’ve been doing more productive writing as of late but I figured I would throw these notes up cause its free and I like to. I’m gonna check my sobriety levels and go watch Fear and Loathing. Fuck you, I deserve it for putting up with everyone’s shit. I must look like a shrink since everyone sees me as a bitching post.

It was an interesting night or two of learning about new people as well as myself. The fact is that I already knew I need to move past my dumb insufficiencies and man-up to my quasi-potential.

That and the two most stylish hats I have are nothing but bad news which is a damn shame. Oh well, I’ll just be me in the face of a place that antagonizes me with it. Metal, writing, friends, family, taking care of business all along the way. I have been a part of the stupid party of our age for long enough. It’s easy to not give a fuck when there is way too much to worry about and I have been jacking around with this bit of time for way too long. The other thing is that she is right in that I must do things I say that I am going to do. It’s not that big of a deal if I am not a superhuman because I am far from it. No, I just need to continue being me and that is the natural fact. Not really making sense here but it is a lot better when I spend the time to write about it than not. We gonna get this shit done. Pissing away time is no way to live.

Too much going on not to talk about it.

On Saturday, I spent the afternoon hanging out with my new lady, Jasmine. We had both put in long fucking weeks and spent the afternoon napping and dreaming of our wakeful selves. Around midnight, my dad called me after an afternoon of drinking rum and cokes in his funky valley home.

“Been drinking and thinking. You know, you have a half brother.”

He must of debated it for awhile because he never comes out shooting that straight. Fortunately, my horoscope said that I would get a surprise that shocked me to no end, so I was not shocked. I guess cause he sired the lad that it was a bigger deal to me. Maybe the dude’s fucking loaded and bored or a publisher or the coolest motherfucker I know. Probably not my luck but I am destined for weirdness.

The following day was spent roasting in the Memphis sun repairing my mom’s deck with an array of tools that didn’t work. I probably should have noticed the troublesome winds because no matter what I tried, nothing worked. The pressure washer seized. After spending hours in this pile of things, I found enough tools to try to fix it but it stayed fucked and then I pulled the handle of the cord. Used a rickety saw to cut some big ass boards and all other lovely things to replace four steps. I did manage to get that done which was most important before the wood rotted anymore and my crazy mother fell in a state of Miller Lite imbued balance.

Finished that. I was supposed to go see Jasmine for an evening of less sleeping but she was with friends and family before she started school today. By the time I caught up with her we were both exhausted and fell asleep to wake up at 3-something and have a one-sided argument that had me pack my grip and go. You should know way more about her before this introduction for she is one of, if not, the coolest people I have met. Despite the fact that we met at a bar at 7am, we felt we found someone that broke all the molds and expectations.

I honestly can say that I will get a lifetime of real friendship and adventures with her but both of us has been burned too hard to get past ourselves for the time. Who knows? I ain’t got a plan and shit may change any second.

That drama led me to oversleeping enough to finally going through with the pain in the ass that it is to sell an engagement ring. Try hocking some shit and you get the distaste for money-changers. Ain’t no hate here but some lines of business lead to sordid understandings. I gather it wasn’t so tough to sell shit a few years ago but everyone’s broke and inventories are full. In the end, I should have thrown the ring in the river and gone to work but I tend toward the wrong decisions.

In the meantime, Mary Allison packed her little red car and drove west to her new life. Maybe your day was weirder and if it was I gots to hear about it because I despise the stale.