Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Zombie Season Already?

This is completely out of season. Usually, you see zombie evidence only where people eat - the heads of animals, hanging over the plates, dripping with ghosts, formaldehyde, and Gods-knows-what parasites and bacteria, while the tourists and the industrial foresters gobble away at the grease and fake maple syrup and caffeine, totally oblivious to what's over their food.

But up the Hoko, right on the trout stream - by the shallows where the big steelhead come up to your feet - today, there were three beheadings, and a pile of shit.

Okay, they were elk heads, stacked up like Legos, sending a waft of reeking rot up the stream, out-competing the stack of human crap, all of it leaking right into the water. But they were heads, put together by something wrong, something inhuman.

Zombies do stuff like that. It's like they're practicing. Look how they took the skull-cap off, like they were removing antlers. Antlers on three cow elk? I don't think so. They were after that first taste of brains.

Usually, we get warned about hunters and their sloppy firearms practices, but we all know what's really dangerous up here. Looks like I'll have to put off looking for morels for a while. That, or take a machete into the woods. 

There's no use counting on firearms; they give anybody and everybody a rifle-carry permit up here, and considering how some of these guys dress, how can you tell a live stink from a dead one?

Oh, man. A Zombie truck. Will you look at that. There's something about Zombies - they just have to destroy everything. It's like, since they're going to pieces already, they have to take everything else down with them, too. What's up with painting it on their truck? The cops are so few and far between they've ignored the brain-bombers like they try to ignore anything that isn't outright property crime or assault-and-battery - something they can take to court. I can see that. Imagine the judge who has to face a case over zombies. What next? Sasquatch in on a possession charge? Next thing we know, we'll have zombie vanity plates. Does anybody own "BRAAINZ"? And would a zombie argue for more "A"'s?

Friday, April 25, 2014

Counting the weeks

Excuse the lined paper. I know the other book is here somewhere but had to find something to use. Can add in later. I'll find it. Hope Trashley didn't get her hands on it. Shit. All I need. No, it's somewhere but this is so bringing me down, will be fine. It's all so petty, really, just words on paper when there is such a big picture and huge forever and so much ahead, just overwhelming in its wonder. Not so long to go. 10 weeks? Something. Screw calendars and little lines and numbers, life is so much bigger than lines and numbers but we are all so chained down to the little numbers and lines and the letters above and below them. So sad. So few of us still hear the voices telling us what we'll be.

Countdown to the money. Thank you Dad. Get tablet. Look up what kind. Clean off laptop. Like Trashley's going to appreciate it. Look up about out there, for real. There's a bus you can take. Takes you right there. So easy. Why don't we let life be as easy as it wants to be? June will be perfect, lots of daylight. Goodbye electri-CITY and all bad energy and stars you no longer see. With vora-CITY eating minds and souls. 

FantaSEA will be REALity.

Something important. What? Something important and just a bunch of whining here. Looking for something to write in and I lost it. Big cosmic joke. It'll come back to me, it all comes back eventually. To make a circle you come back to where you began but most of us don't know where we began.

Such beauty there is but behind it such sadness. A joke you cry at. When the soldiers show up it's all over. Of course she killed herself. After they shot him its her turn and she'd wish she was dead before they were done with her. She was already dead. So many people are already dead. How there is so much more that I never imagined back then. 

Bring music and things to draw with. Smoke.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Really a Zombie Novel

I swear, if this place were a Zombie novel, we'd have everything we need. We even have a comedy cop.
The last time I saw that guy - skinny, blond, Swede-thing- he was cruising that bad intersection that bottlenecks out of the west end of Port Angeles, hitting everybody who got so confused when they tried to negotiate that scrambled mess. They've done their best to try to safely bring three roads together, with stop lights and crossing zones, but that it still looks like a mini version of Seattle's "retarded octopus" freeway system. One speeding logging truck that dumps its load, and the whole town would be locked down for the day.

Speaking of that, looks like somebody reassigned Goofy out on Highway 112, and told him to watch out for overloaded logging trucks. So, of course, he stops everybody in a beater pickup with a load of firewood. 

We got a loader up here in the clearcuts who must be on something; all his trucks are flopped into the beds with all the butts pointing the same direction, so they're heaped to slide out the back of the bed. And what's with piling the load up over the left side of the truck? - so when some driver who's never been up here and has no clue of where the speed signs are, takes a hard curve 20 miles over the curve recommendation, the whole load leans like a ship with a bad ballast. There's a reason the guys on "Axman" have to get their teeth fixed. Nobody cares about the staggering walks and ragged filth out in the woods. The animals manage to stay clean in the woods; I guess only a zombie would look that busted-up in nature.
Those drivers scare the crap out of me. Where is somebody supposed to go if one of them comes at a person and goes over the line? A ditch? Just my luck, if it ever happens, there will be a cyclist on the side of the road, in that skinny strip on the other side of the white line. Some "Scenic Route." No place for a bike, and they clearcut the only State park - probably to steal the maple trees.

I'll bet that's where that new "Hardwoods" store in Port Angeles got them from. I'll bet a walk in the woods without looking over my shoulders or sniffing for things that smell dead.

Not that Officer Goofy would track any of those loads down. Too busy making sure his lights and siren are on so he can speed through small towns, and then turn 'em off when he gets on the highway.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west

This park used to be a whole lot quieter. Now there are trains every ten minutes. Just now a big coal train with more than a hundred cars (yes, I counted) took its time going by, and before that, something with a lot of those containers on it going the other way, screeching and clanging and making noise to wake the dead. The black and white ducks, that were peacefully bobbing on the smooth water near shore, took off for deeper water, but most of the people here never looked up, but the kids got all excited and climbed on the overpass to wave and shout at the trains. OK, I did that once when I was younger too but that was before I knew what was coming in and going out on those trains. 

Now that it's quieter I look across the water at the mountains again. It's mostly blue overhead, but out west it looks like another land, so covered in clouds that I can only see the darkest shadowy outlines of some of them. I would hope it would be clear, but this is good, too. It looks like another country or an island far away where everything is different. Like a citadel ringed by the steepest most impenetratable mountains. They don't have any trains over there. The sand and gravel are warm, and the log supports me. Where did this tree come from? Maybe some day someone will show me how to listen to them. Someone over there. There's nobody over here. If I didn't have to leave soon, I could sleep here in the sun but I need to call when I said I would so I can come out here again by myself. Like I would let anything happen to me. I blend in. That's one of my powers. I need a better phone. I love the walk back. It's a dirt road through a little canyon and past an orchard, and when the people ahead go around the bend, I can be anywhere. It can be anyplace else and hundreds of years ago. I can think. I can plan.

Dumb kid just asked me what I'm writing. Where's her mother? I won't miss anybody over here. Now there's another train, looks just as long, every car is a new, shiny black tank making it look like a giant millipede or something. Each car has a flame logo on it and it moves a lot slower than the coal train. Time to go. I'll be back. 

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Getting Out Of Town

Local psychopath at large
I can't believe I was out of chicken food again. My shopping list keeps getting shorter and shorter, but some things you can't get without a 60-mile round trip. So off to Forks and what's left of the businesses. 

It's not a trip I like to make. Things are scary enough around here, and Forks is worse. You can't even go into the hardware store without finding flyers like this.

At least up here, the cruelty is just short-sighted and stupid. Nobody can get it through their heads that if the land by their houses gets clearcut, the resident predators, small and large, will have to eat the pets or the chickens, just to survive. 

Kind of sad, seeing the Twi-Squatch tours in Forks. The place had been making some money on that Twilight novel, but no series lasts forever. I dunno, maybe a vampire/Bigfoot tour would be kind of fun, in a campy kind of way. The Twilight store burned down, but that's the old wiring they have around here; sooner or later, everything will go down and it will be more empty lots.

Nice to see that the "Native to Twilight" store is still in business. The commercial stuff based on the book is slowly being crowded out by some really nice native art. Meyer and her agent kinda screwed up with how they treated the Quileute, but once they knew it, they got on the ball and made sure the tribe benefited. Now there's an hourly free shuttle down to LaPush; it's nice to be able to jump on the little bus and go down to the beach for a couple of hours. Better to do your research late than never.

And at least vampires are imaginary. The only people with weird teeth in Forks are because it's the meth capital of western Washington. Though, to give it its due, it's also the meth-treatment center. You can get the stuff or get off it; take your pick.

Clallam County and the cops - though they won't admit it except in whispers - are looking forward to the marijuana farmers and the resulting tax money, as they see it. I'd say it was also to get rid of the exploding meth labs - but we already know there are guys who can blow themselves up making budder.

Neah Bay's got pills, proving even the legal stuff can be hell. I guess one of the advantages of this place is the freedom of choice. 

Saturday, April 5, 2014

The most beautiful place in the world

Of course, Mom blames me for the wrong turn. She'll never know there is no such thing as a wrong turn. Her kind never do. Trashley just whined as usual. What kind of a beach is this? I'm not walking out there. It's all rocks. They're getting in my shoes. Whine, whine, whine. You should have heard her whine when we finally got to Forks. LOL 

That's OK. I'm coming back. I'm going to live here for the rest of my life. I'm counting the months now. No, the weeks. And right now I'm the only one who knows. I'll make a little house of all that wood on the beach. There's an Indian reservation down at the end of that other road. I'll go live with them. I have Indian in me, probably a lot more than they say.

I'm leaving a space where I can tape in the photo. I wish I could have gotten a picture of the eagle but there will be a lot more. I just know these things somehow.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Does It Walk?

The Walking Wood?
"Sometimes you wonder, if you met some of the things on the beach after dark, you'd run for home. Does anybody else think this looks like a giant Hallucigenia?

A lot of people die up here, or at least that's the rumor; it's hard to tell. Rumor-to-Rumor is how the news gets around, and since the Makah have gotten cell-phones, the news spreads in Neah Bay even faster.

It's odd not a lot of people get shot up here. Then again, being able to run off to Shipwreck Point in the rain, and have tiny beach fires under the overhanging tree, and suck down a six-pack of the limited beer selection from the Weel Road Deli (forget Killian's Red, but at least they have Alaskan Amber, which is better anyway), and then ranting up and down the beach in the rain until you sober up, probably keeps down a lot of hunting rifle incidents, at least at home. And watching grey whales feeding while you're calming down doesn't hurt, either.

Yeah, that's what passes for therapy in THIS place. We may not 'have any mates,' but we have sand and booze and isolation for our primal screaming. Normal screaming, I mean."