Rooster Land — Dig Site

Recent Replies

11:52 PM 12 Jul 19
Elk replied to Half a Todd
I.

11:49 PM 12 Jul 19
Elk replied to Barks
I laughed from the first sentence through the last reply.

11:37 PM 12 Jul 19
Elk replied to VW Bug
Takes me back, of course. I've got a thing or two to say about the bug ...

4:53 PM 12 Jul 19
Bear replied to VW Bug
We all know who stashed that beer. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

3:13 PM 12 Jul 19
Rabbit replied to VW Bug
Write like this more often. Tough as tires. Nice cross-threading.

2:58 PM 12 Jul 19
Horse replied to VW Bug
I wrote this straight through without revision or polish for concept, just wording. I've got a ...

3:12 PM 03 Jul 19
Bear replied to Barks
Reminds me of this one by William Gass: My dad wouldn’t let me have a dog. ...

12:27 PM 03 Jul 19
Rabbit replied to Barks
We are never the ones launching the fireworks. It’s always them. They launch them. And they’re ...

12:06 PM 03 Jul 19
Bear replied to Barks
We know why the dog barks, more or less. But why do we launch the fireworks? ...

Recently Revised

Barks » 11:50 PM 12 Jul 19 » Elk ⟳ Horse

Chirp » 11:39 PM 12 Jul 19 » Elk ⟳ Falcon

VW Bug » 3:12 PM 12 Jul 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Shades of Black » 6:07 AM 05 Jul 19 » Bear ⟳ Bear

The End Is Not Written » 1:33 PM 01 Jul 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Half a Todd » 9:39 AM 01 Jul 19 » Bear ⟳ Bear

People Were Present » 6:10 PM 22 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Succession » 5:09 PM 21 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Outcome Inequality » 4:45 PM 21 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

That’s Not Your Job » 3:39 PM 21 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

The Dodge Mahal » 3:29 PM 21 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Personal Fiction » 3:05 PM 21 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Housing Crisis » 2:39 PM 21 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Done » 1:43 PM 21 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Willful Introspective Self-Discipline » 1:25 PM 20 Jun 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Recent Haiku

VW Bug at 2:56 PM 12 Jul 19 by Horse

(Standard)

The family VW Bug. There were six of us and there was no complaining getting in, even if you had to jump in while it was on the move, which for a while was the only way to do it because it was hard to get going with everyone already inside. Once on the go, any number of neighbors could hop in. Some of our best friends ran after us in bathing suits swinging towels. My mom and her best friend practiced driving stick on that bug. I never saw two ladies laugh so hard. There was no hopping on the bug that afternoon.

Same bug I holed up in during a blizzard one afternoon years later, getting home with no key. The bug had become a permanent structure on the side of the house. You had to lift up the cover and crawl in. I think the earth had found a home inside. It was always warm in there. The cabin still held the smell of the engine. That afternoon, in high school now, I sat on the back seat remembering times like the one above. The seats were rust red, lined with white. I remember them as rubber — something we’d never make seats like now. Tough as tires. The steering wheel was white and had a rod for a horn that went around the inside of the wheel. The center of the wheel was a beautifully minimalist design. The knobs on the dash were simply delightful. I’d run my hands over everything in there like my eyes weren’t doing the seeing, but my hands instead. The pale grays and off whites were marvelous, and while you had to touch them to get the full effect, looking at them, you could also feel them. Thinking, seeing and feeling were all the same in there. What is it? Neurons that wire together fire together? Knobs were smoothed over but were never going to wear. The stick shift was really a stick, too. It was a place down to earth, but heavenly, a swirl of roots and ideas that made me fully present but at the same time, lost in time.

Hunkered in there for the duration, snow lightly but steadily unrelenting outside, I recalled my first sip of beer from a six-pack someone stashed on the back seat. By my beer standards today, which wouldn’t be anything to brag about if there weren’t two craft breweries in every town around me as far as I’d ever care to drive, it must have been awful — something like carbonated rice water. But every single first swig since, including the odor that wafts up from the head as I lift a glass to my face, is simply a memory of that first taste of beer template.

That snowy day I barely squeezed out of the igloo of a bug, I made tracks up to my front door, which was in the dark now. There was a light on inside, and no other tracks around. And the door was open. Too bad I didn’t just see if the door was open when I had gotten home. Knowing much more now than I did then (as far as sheer amount of knowing I guess, not quality of knowing) I understand that I don’t always know what I’m up to, and that day could have been one of those days when I had a plan for myself I didn’t really know.

Years since I unconsciously chose to sit in that bug and let my early life in the same bug wash over me, I found out that I wasn’t the only one to have those moments in there by the side of our house. We pretty much all did, my three brothers and I, and apparently my parents too, but also a few neighbors. It was a place for memories of memories.

Barks at 8:42 AM 03 Jul 19 by Horse

(Standard)

The dog barks at fireworks. He barks at the firework. He’ll growl as the firework is being lit out on the barge, keeping a steady line of sight as it goes up, letting lose a fulmination of barks on that firework blowing up in the sky. Noticing the fire in his eyes, you realize that to him, this life form above is coming for all of you, and for a moment you see it that way too. But this fades, and you tell him that’s enough barking.

The barking won’t stop just because you’re inside. You can put him in a room. He’ll still bark. He’ll find the firework-facing window and start barking at the sentient being outside in the sky. You want to brace yourselves for grand finales.

If you went to battle with the dog, he’d bark at the guns and cannons and rockets and bombs. You’d be running through the field trying not to die, and he’d be barking senselessly as if all that mattered were barking. The righteousness in his denunciation of the whole affair would obviously not be lost on you. But what could you do?

You could be at Gettysburg loading a musket. The dog would spot a guy doing the same thing over yonder, and he’d growl, which would be useful I suppose. But you’d be like, “Yeah, I know,” steadily going about preparing your weapon. “Yeah, I get it. Would you please!” And sure enough, as soon as the gunpowder would start popping, the dog would start barking. Maybe he’d even give you a side-eye, kind of barking at your gun, letting you know he’s not sure if that’s OK. A few barks by accident, I guess. But I suppose he’d get the hang of it and start barking only at the other guy. You would hope.

You could be on the western front with some pretty gnarly things happening around you, and the dog would be barking at it all — even under the gas mask. Telling him to stop barking over and over again would slow you down, but he’d never stop. He’d just side-eye you while barking, sensing he might be bothering you, but he couldn’t help it. And you’d be like that too, not being able to help constantly yelling, “Stop doing that. Just stop. That’s enough,” while you’re getting pummeled. Knowing full well he’d rather be barking through shrapnel than be home alone, you’d stop to do him favors, like crouching in the field to give him water from the canteen so he wouldn’t get horse, so he could get back to barking. What a guy.

You could be on deck in the Persian Gulf launching scuds. The dog would be right beside you with a helmet, barking at scuds, growling as they were getting loaded, but barking at them flying away. And you’d have to yell at him to stop barking while you were launching. You’d have to take off your earphones so you could hear yourself yelling. But eventually you’d just not bother looking at him and just be yelling at the same time that you’re doing pretty serious launching. “Stop barking. Stop,” you’d learn to yell while launching. And you might have to stop what you were doing from time to time and catch him from jumping overboard after a scud.

You could be doing special ops with your seal team, and, well — OK never mind. That could go poorly for the dog.

You could be in a fighter jet. You could be in a tank. You could be on a rooftop or bell tower. Bell towers would be a pain in the ass if you think about it. But if you were deep in a mountain in some lab that required the highest level of clearance, in front of a screen punching keys, he’d be sound asleep on his bed. Maybe he’d be snoring or dreaming about muskets, occasionally yelping in his sleep. After getting the go-ahead to push your button while looking at a far off place your drone is filming, between sips of coffee, you might look at him while he’s snoring and say, “Shh,” or maybe simply smile and sip coffee if you want to let sleeping dogs lie.

But where were we? Oh yeah, fireworks. The dog barks at fireworks.

Half a Todd at 9:39 AM 01 Jul 19 by Bear

(Standard)

One day, Todd awoke to find that he was. All night, he’d had a dream that. Sure, he knew Wanda couldn’t. Or. But what did that.

Todd jumped out of bed, elated, brushed his teeth and. He knew he might just catch her at the train station if. The train left in. Todd remotely started his Datsun motorcycle with sidecar, hurriedly tied his. At the last moment, he grabbed a mid-level sucrose cereal bar and jumped down the.

The ride over was a. Todd couldn’t stop thinking about. He knew that he loved. And she loved. Only they didn’t both.

Todd was so engrossed in thought that he almost didn’t see. It was upon him in less
than the time. It was a maelstrom of unforeseen. A deluge of unparalleled. Todd knew he should have checked a tide chart, but. He barely made it out with.

Ten minutes later, a soaked-to-the-bone Todd. Wanda was in the dining car, ordering a. The train started rolling toward. Todd began running, water pouring out of. As the train picked up speed, Todd ran faster until, right next to it, he saw Wanda through the window, talking to.

That’s when it occurred to Todd.

The End Is Not Written at 1:49 PM 30 Jun 19 by Horse

(Standard)

Pony Rides has been half-finished for — well, sometime now, I guess. Things have changed, not just for Horse, but for everybody. Here’s the thing.

Despite the thrill of it all, Horse remained as steady, unwrinkled and featureless as Horse could in those early days of ridesharing. And Horse reported on riders in way that was just featureless enough so that you could see yourself or someone you might know in every rider and not become distracted by other details. There may be an exception or two.

The ridesharing powers that be — sorry, were — blessed both passengers and Horses back then. Horses got fed, passengers rode free. Even after those powers wore off and reality set in, the goodwill remained — for a good long while. But all good things… plateau? And where there are plateaus, rides can tire. Oh, maybe the scenery fades. Or maybe a rider or a Horse turns inward, conversation minimizing into a comfortable or even altogether forgotten silence.

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh. Must have been a car horn.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

But the first and so far only volume of Pony Pides captures the better old days, when it felt like we were part of a vision of the future that had come to fruition. It seemed like pure good change was here. A new way of doing things had arrived. And in the Horse’s cabin, everybody was like you.

What emerged was a kind of conversation that you get when there’s a massive power outage, an asteroid the size of Rhode Island headed for earth, or free ice cream. All of a sudden we’re going to talk now, so we’re going to talk about everything — eventually things we weren’t talking about. There was universal heartache and courage, shared desires and trials, vulnerability where there once seemed to be airs. Always an exception or two, of course. But there was no despair — just a widespread and omnipresent drive to keep on. And keeping on was Horse’s motto.

Today, Horse has one request. While ridesharing seems more like taxi driving these days, keep the conversation going. A little goes a long way. Yes, it’s true, things don’t always go as they’ve always gone. When it comes to Pony Rides, it seems like they won’t. But this can be a good thing. Who knows. The end is not written.

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