The morning swelled in my head
like a tempest,
and lightning splintered through my brain
like rivers divide land on a map-
the coffee was thin that morning,
and yet the tension was thick-
it hit me that my dreams only thrived
on paper-
paper dreams are sometimes the worst
kind,
a visual tease that’s all too easily crumpled,
and all too easily forgotten-
like old receipts, they are often stuffed into
pockets to collect darkness and dust,
discarded into a stack of unfinished old dreams,
or simply buried or thrown away, tossed
into the disposal of days and weeks and
stress-
the coffee was weak,
but my resolve was strong-
paper, for all its frailties, can become
airplanes, and soar-
they mold into cranes, and shapeshift
and bend and become whatever the
eye can envision-
paper populates legendary libraries and they house
volumes of some of the greatest thoughts
and dreams and hopes ever recorded-
paper dreams can become a beautiful
life-
the morning swelled and the thunder
collided with the clouds like a scrum,
and it hit me with the power of the rivers
that divide the maps-
paper dreams can become the best kind,
proof that the mind is busy at work and
play,
a visual tease,
an appetizer that gets you salivating
and hungry,
heightening your drive and stimulating
your passion,
leading to a brilliant main course-
it’s easily crumpled, but just as easily folded
into a neat square, ready to be taken
with you-
those timeless dreams, just waiting to be unfolded
and read aloud into the welcoming of the
universe,
ready then to be fleshed out with the force
of a tempest*

The footsteps were slow; whoever the guy was, he wasn’t in a hurry to get to where he was going.  It sounded like he was just stumbling around back there kicking bottles, taking his sweet time, maybe looking for something.  Trouble, maybe?   Was it just one guy?  I swear, I couldn’t even be sure.  I didn’t know and I didn’t give a shit.  I knew for a fact that I was going back there though, but Sally had to know…I wasn’t sure if she could see me through that pitch black, so I grabbed for my phone…and the damn thing got knocked out of my hands just as soon as I could grab it.  Maybe it was the wind, or the thunder, or my heart pounding the hell out of my chest, but whatever it was, it muffled the footsteps of the guy that was standing over me, tall as shit and screaming like a fucking wild animal.  The bastard snuck up and caught me from behind.  I should’ve been able to smell him coming if it weren’t for the rain; he smelled like a hot bucket of piss, shit, and coppery blood.  The phone flew out of my hands and into the rain a few feet in front of me, and I flung myself up to meet the guy head on.  Rage and fear and adrenaline filled my veins as I lunged at the guy and sent him stumbling backward.

I followed after him and landed a string of solid blows to the guy’s head, and managed to put him flat on his ass in the parking lot.  He went down hard like a sack of bricks; I stood over the schmuck and demanded to know what the fuck was going on, and why the hell he came at me.  All he did was scream, man; from the look of him, I wasn’t the first guy to kick his ass that night either.  Even in the dark, I could see that his face was beat to hell and covered in blood, and he had a gash the size of my fist peeking out of the front of his shirt.  I didn’t know what to make of it, I really didn’t, and I didn’t have too much time to think about it.  Just as soon as I got him on his ass, he was crawling up and making another go at me.  I hadn’t forgotten about the guy in the back, and wasn’t about to get double-teamed by these bastards, so I pulled out my pistol and whacked the guy over the head with the butt of it.  I wasn’t trying to kill the guy, just keep him from getting the drop on me.  I bashed him good, man…and yet he kept on coming.

Let joy be my armor,
and courage my sword,
determination will be my helm,
and confidence my shield-
my mount will be initiative,
perseverance, my banner-
resolution will be my battle cry,
imagination will be my captain-
each day will be my battle,
each obstacle will be my foe-
each challenge will be my reward,
each victory will be my legacy*

‘Could have been’ becomes ‘could be’-
‘could be’ turns into ‘will be’,
and when it does, that ‘will be’ can happen-
with desire, it will happen,
with hunger,
and with want-
there is a place out there,
nestled between thought and decision-
a mythical place,
full of balance-
a realm where want and action combine
to form resolution-
a place where ‘could be’ becomes ‘I will’,
and where ‘I will’ becomes ‘I did’*

If you’ve seen the movie Predator, you’ve seen Carl Weathers.  He was one of the few guys on film that physically held his own with Arnold; in Predator, he played Dillon, the former green beret teammate turned CIA ‘pencil pusher’, a tough guy that fit the role and looked the part.  He was subsequently featured as the mustachioed star of the mozzarella fest 1988 bomb Action Jackson, and seemed to be a burgeoning action star, but since Action Jackson, his career has rolled downhill faster than an errant goat turd.  I hate to say it, but his resume is littered with generically titled schlock like Sheriff Tom vs. The Zombies, The Sasquatch Gang, Assault on Death Mountain, and Alien Siege; this is the same guy that was awesome as Rocky Balboa’s legendary ass kicking rival Apollo Creed.  I’m just saying that it sucks to go from challenging a Predator head on, to playing a sheriff in a movie about a Buddhist Kung-fu cop (Phoo Action).  Carl’s a solid actor, and needs to return to the fold.  Bring that bushy stache back to the mainstream.  At any rate, he could pursue a role as an aging hero in the next installment of the Expendables?  Who knows.  It worked for Dolph Lundgren.  Needless to say, the guy undoubtedly has loads more cash in the bank than me, so I know he’s not complaining.  He can assault Death Mountain all he wants.

The rain was cold as it hit me like a thousand beads of ice and seeped right through my clothes and into my bones, it seemed.  I hunched and crept forward slowly to the front of the rig, and peered around it to take a quick peek at The Beak to see if I could spot any sort of movement inside or out.  I held my breath and stood as still as I could, but all I saw was darkness inside; I squinted a bit and a few icy droplets of rain caught the creases that cornered my eyes and slipped down my face like a stream of tears.  I slipped around the front of the rig and darted to one of the small trees out in front of the place, and with my back to it, peered again to make sure I was still the only one out there.  I was facing the truck now, and it felt good to know that Sally was in there, holding down the fort and watching my back.

I’ve gotta say again that I was nervous as shit, but at that point, I was so jumped up on adrenaline that I didn’t have the time to be afraid.  I was just determined to get inside, check on Sam and get him out if need be, and head back out to the rig to make sure Sally was safe and sound.  Lightning lit up the sky and the thunder roared like God was ripping the sky open, but it was pure instinct and adrenaline flowing through me, man.  A few deep breaths, a quick prayer, and a glance at Sally as encouragement, and I pushed off of the tree and made the break for the front door of the joint.  The rain pounded my face and flooded my eyes like somebody dumped a bucket of water in my face, but I made it to the door and jiggled the handle.  It didn’t give.  Whatever else happened, Sam must have locked himself in…if it was even Sam in there.  I crouched to the right of the door to stay out of sight, and figured I’d run around and try the back.  It’s the only way that I could leave the place feeling like I did everything I could.  I tried to motion to Sally by waving my arms…I had to try to let her know that I was going to slip out of sight briefly and head to the rear.  Being perched out front like a sitting duck, ripe for a plucking, seemed like a plan that was destined to fail.  I don’t know if she saw me or not, but the longer I was out in the open, the longer she had to be in the cab by herself; I had to move, and I had to move with quickness.  I reached for my phone to try to send her a text; couldn’t have her worrying about me, so I figured I’d shield the phone from the rain with my jacket, rattle off a quick text, and then head to the back.  The only thing is, somebody was already back there…I heard the racket of footsteps stumbling around and knew then that I wasn’t alone anymore.

I was about to slip her into gear when I saw the flash inside of The Beak.  It was just a split second, out of the corner of my eye sort of flash, but any eyes that have ever seen a pistol shot would have spotted it in a heartbeat.  Even in the mess of that crazy ass storm.  I can’t say it enough that I’m no cowboy, no hero, but I ain’t the kind of guy that’ll just wait in the rafters while a buddy of mine gets his guts shot out.  My first thought was to call the cops, but seeing as I just left an empty police station, I knew for a fact that there’d be no backup.  No response would come.  All I knew at that point in time was that, for all we knew, a gang of crazies was roaming the town like a pack of wolves, and my good buddy Sam could be in The Beak getting robbed or taking a hit from some doped up schmuck.  Was I supposed to just drive off and pretend that I didn’t see anything?  Convince myself that it was nothing?  I’d never forgive myself if I did that…especially if I found out later that something had happened to Sam in there, and that I waited right outside and did nothing.

I did what I thought anybody in that situation would do.  Or at least what I hoped that somebody would do for me.  Was it stupid?  Probably so.  Nobody ever singled me out for my brains, anyhow.  I looked over at Sally and told her what I saw, and told her to sit tight.  She said that she didn’t see any flash, that she was looking down at her phone.  She pleaded with me to stay at first, and told me that it was probably nothing, but I convinced her that I couldn’t let Sam go down like that.  I at least had to see and be sure.  Sally understood, and I didn’t forget that.  Part of me just really wanted to get in the mix and find out what was really going on in that damned town, as crazy as that sounds.  I grabbed my piece from the console and flung the door open; the bang of the storm filled the cabin with a big wet whoosh, and the cold of the rain hit me like a hard reality.  I was scared, man.  Real scared.  If it weren’t so damned wet already, my palms would’ve been slippery as wet rocks.  I told Sally to grab hold of the slugger and to keep a good look out for me…I didn’t want some punk sneaking up on me and taking me from behind.  The wind was sending her hair across her face in soft brown streaks; as weird as it sounds, she was beautiful in that moment, and it was just the jolt of courage that I needed to head into whatever I was heading into.  I flashed her a wink, hopped out, and shut the door tight.

 

Born in the Caribbean to a French plantation owner and a slave woman, Boulogne was renown for his swordsmanship and athleticism; he also gained considerable fame as a composer and violinist, often referred to as the ‘Black Mozart’ for his musical prowess.  It was noted that he excelled at fencing as a youth, and was praised by his contemporaries for his skill and grace in masterfully defeating his peers.  During that time, he studied under several prominent Parisian musicians, gaining notoriety for his compositions and abilities.  As an aristocrat, he served in the army during the revolution, commanding a regiment of free black volunteers, and also led the ensemble of the Concert des Amateurs, in which he played violin.

Symphony Concertante in F Major, Opux X, No. 1

Behold two cheesy and melodramatic classics; 1953’s The Robe, and its sequel, Demetrius and the Gladiators.