Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
When God Tells You That You Suck
--Note this is rough, off the cuff, and my latest attempt at third person. Lots more planned with this one--
When God Tells You That You Suck
It happened to Lewis when he least expected it, in the same holy way that it happened to the prophets and the sinners on the brink.
God spoke to them.
And sometimes saved them.
But he did not save Lewis.
The word of the holy messenger came down to poor Lewis for the first time on a golf course in Florida passing over the rolling green that clashed in epic war against the surrounding marsh where there is no doubt that dinosaurs used to roam long ago when the world was different.
There are only crocodiles there now. Sometimes they bite the occasional businessman and the novice golfers cackle in delight and see it as some sort of karma or intervention from the gods.
God did not speak to Lewis through the bite of a crocodile, but rather in two simple words.
The day it happened Lewis was with his friend Geoff. Geoff was a hunched up guy but working on getting that back straight. He had some problems when it came to gambling. We all do in our own way.
“Life’s a gamble isn’t it?” he would say, oftentimes sticking his hands in his pockets as if he knew the truth behind the statement.
Usually his pockets were empty after a day at the tracks or a day on the green.
That day with Lewis, his pockets were still empty and most likely will be for eternity because people do not change.
Lewis knew this, when Geoff asked him to put some money down on the hole.
Lewis wasn’t the gambling type. He was an average sort of guy.
“What doya’ say Lewis? How about puttin’ a few dollars on this hole. It’s an easy one,” Geoff said.
“I don’t think so. Not today,” Lewis said, lining up for the drive. Squaring the feet, straightening the back, judging wind and the manipulations of the sun on the eyes and perception.
This stuff is a science.
“Oh come on. Don’t be such a square. I know you’re trying to be a straight shooter but have some fucking fun man,” Geoff said. He slapped Lewis on the back, disrupting his zen moment of concentration.
Lewis gazed at him. They used to run together, in another life. One of cigarette butts littering the old apartment they shared, and the occasional pink thong found in the couch, and pages and pages of small black books with no title and no cover. Just names, money amounts, and bets.
“I’ve cleaned my shit up man. I’m married to a girl I love, I run a business,” Lewis said.
“Bullshit. You know you miss our glory daze. Who wouldn’t. We were hustlers once. Lets give it a go again. You know I still got the old contacts,” Geoff said.
“I’m sure you do. But I’ll have to respectfully decline,” Lewis gave him a look. So this was what this golf outing was about after years apart. A business discussion about illicit business operations.
Lewis looked out over the water trap. He thought he saw an alligator ripple through the water somewhere, but probably not.
“I’ll sit this bet out Geoff. Even though I’d win anyway,” Lewis said.
“Suit yourself big shot,” Geoff said, surrendering far to easily than what was usual.
Lewis entered his zen golf zone, squaring his feet and doing that jazz that serious golfers do.
No Happy Gilmore shit here.
He raised the club in the air and focused. His breath steadied in his chest and the warm moist Florida fire sun pressed against it and reflected its light as if the dinosaurs still roamed the earth and the club and the light from it were the death comet that rained down their destruction.
Lewis was in the moment.
As he brought the club down in a swift moment, the flurry of the universe parted for a brief second, the singular nano-second from the point of impact of club to the ball stopped and time ceased to be.
Lewis felt it.
The voice from the high above coming down to him.
It was loud, hoarse, cigarette choked and broken. Defeated. The sound voice of a dying man.
It was God.
It was God that rang out the only two words that Lewis would come to know only to well.
“YOU SUCK.”
The club turned in that nano-second, right after the “-uck” in suck. The ball went wildly out of its desired path into the water trap.
Lewis thought the alligators might grab at it.
Lewis turned to Geoff.
Geoff cackled in his own way. His hands still in his empty pockets.
“Damn I wish you would have taken me up on my bet.”
Lewis stared at him dumbfounded. His lean legs shook in loose kaki.
It was a moment before he spoke.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what? You fuck up that shot?”
“You’re telling me you didn’t hear that?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Lewis shook his head and looked around the golf course. They were alone save for a few fire ants crawling and a stray pelican flying in from the coast.
He knew then that it must have been God that spoke to him.
When God Tells You That You Suck
It happened to Lewis when he least expected it, in the same holy way that it happened to the prophets and the sinners on the brink.
God spoke to them.
And sometimes saved them.
But he did not save Lewis.
The word of the holy messenger came down to poor Lewis for the first time on a golf course in Florida passing over the rolling green that clashed in epic war against the surrounding marsh where there is no doubt that dinosaurs used to roam long ago when the world was different.
There are only crocodiles there now. Sometimes they bite the occasional businessman and the novice golfers cackle in delight and see it as some sort of karma or intervention from the gods.
God did not speak to Lewis through the bite of a crocodile, but rather in two simple words.
The day it happened Lewis was with his friend Geoff. Geoff was a hunched up guy but working on getting that back straight. He had some problems when it came to gambling. We all do in our own way.
“Life’s a gamble isn’t it?” he would say, oftentimes sticking his hands in his pockets as if he knew the truth behind the statement.
Usually his pockets were empty after a day at the tracks or a day on the green.
That day with Lewis, his pockets were still empty and most likely will be for eternity because people do not change.
Lewis knew this, when Geoff asked him to put some money down on the hole.
Lewis wasn’t the gambling type. He was an average sort of guy.
“What doya’ say Lewis? How about puttin’ a few dollars on this hole. It’s an easy one,” Geoff said.
“I don’t think so. Not today,” Lewis said, lining up for the drive. Squaring the feet, straightening the back, judging wind and the manipulations of the sun on the eyes and perception.
This stuff is a science.
“Oh come on. Don’t be such a square. I know you’re trying to be a straight shooter but have some fucking fun man,” Geoff said. He slapped Lewis on the back, disrupting his zen moment of concentration.
Lewis gazed at him. They used to run together, in another life. One of cigarette butts littering the old apartment they shared, and the occasional pink thong found in the couch, and pages and pages of small black books with no title and no cover. Just names, money amounts, and bets.
“I’ve cleaned my shit up man. I’m married to a girl I love, I run a business,” Lewis said.
“Bullshit. You know you miss our glory daze. Who wouldn’t. We were hustlers once. Lets give it a go again. You know I still got the old contacts,” Geoff said.
“I’m sure you do. But I’ll have to respectfully decline,” Lewis gave him a look. So this was what this golf outing was about after years apart. A business discussion about illicit business operations.
Lewis looked out over the water trap. He thought he saw an alligator ripple through the water somewhere, but probably not.
“I’ll sit this bet out Geoff. Even though I’d win anyway,” Lewis said.
“Suit yourself big shot,” Geoff said, surrendering far to easily than what was usual.
Lewis entered his zen golf zone, squaring his feet and doing that jazz that serious golfers do.
No Happy Gilmore shit here.
He raised the club in the air and focused. His breath steadied in his chest and the warm moist Florida fire sun pressed against it and reflected its light as if the dinosaurs still roamed the earth and the club and the light from it were the death comet that rained down their destruction.
Lewis was in the moment.
As he brought the club down in a swift moment, the flurry of the universe parted for a brief second, the singular nano-second from the point of impact of club to the ball stopped and time ceased to be.
Lewis felt it.
The voice from the high above coming down to him.
It was loud, hoarse, cigarette choked and broken. Defeated. The sound voice of a dying man.
It was God.
It was God that rang out the only two words that Lewis would come to know only to well.
“YOU SUCK.”
The club turned in that nano-second, right after the “-uck” in suck. The ball went wildly out of its desired path into the water trap.
Lewis thought the alligators might grab at it.
Lewis turned to Geoff.
Geoff cackled in his own way. His hands still in his empty pockets.
“Damn I wish you would have taken me up on my bet.”
Lewis stared at him dumbfounded. His lean legs shook in loose kaki.
It was a moment before he spoke.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what? You fuck up that shot?”
“You’re telling me you didn’t hear that?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Lewis shook his head and looked around the golf course. They were alone save for a few fire ants crawling and a stray pelican flying in from the coast.
He knew then that it must have been God that spoke to him.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Haibun 16
I walk down the sidewalk between two buildings. The sun and wind feel fresh and new. A pair of crows peck and fidget along the sidewalk between two buildings-bored. They fly to the roof as I near them. They behold me from above with their hollow eyes.
they watch
to find out
if I am dead or alive
they watch
to find out
if I am dead or alive
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
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