Overwhelmed In the House of Simon

We'd become a lucky people. I am compelled to tell you of the clarity, the vantage of the eagle, and the perspective of the dead. I'd gone as electric as I might that first day on the Great River. Perhaps selfishly, the subdued stage two engine had gotten me safely to the current, allowing me to steer silently. Moments ago two topless babes, in a well varnished-glossy, Chriscraft, cheerfully circled me. The girls were half naked.

I saw them approaching with disbelief, and now I rocked; as happy as a child on a swing. The girl with sunlight on her yelling are you the man behind the curtain? Their laughter and rough wake added to the complexity of my good fortune. I wondered if she were the one who spoke of having won the COSMIC LOTTERY, that girl somewhere else on the Internet. No, no I'm not. God, their smiles and summery, youthful bodies were beyond even St. Augustine's passion. I struggled for a an adroit, worthwhile description, as a wide-eyed writer, how to say about their nakedness, winding up with nice big t_ts. Wow!

Adding to the vigor, to humble Hart's panorama, the stern of their classy little boat snapped a 2' x 3' Red Cross flag.

I gave them a surf's up sign like I'd seen on those caps from Hawaii.

Catch any? She motored away, really kicking it in, near hydroplaning. Water lapped into my boat and I cut into the wake, somehow more of a natural sailor than I deserved.

Not that I'm undeserving. Not that I'm trying to get my Levi jacket retired in the Poet's Hall of Fame, either.

Now they were coming back toward me, having pulled on those old tie-dyed shirts of brilliant colors. Like those chicks in line for for Jerry Garcia and the other mystics. Gracefully she idled alongside, and the scent of Victoria Secrets Candy melded with the tepid mossy odor of the Great Mississippi. We tied off with those bungee cords she threw at me. They'd began speaking in French and Italian, a northern Italian, possibly, and, later, after we moored on a sandbar and a small barge sounded his fog horn off the endless forest, off the clouds lofting as slow as Old Man River --- the three of us waving back like movie stars in a small town parade --- I confessed I spoke only English and limited Sanskrit. All it is is repetition, learning a language, the younger woman said. All you Americans know is rock mit roll. I laughed heartily like I practiced whenever I really wanted to laugh, to entice other people to maybe want to be with me, laughing on a summer's day.

As if you could call it "mingling", the wet sand a few billion years old, the women with blonde-silver hair (not) shimmering (not) reflecting off the water as seen through memory of laptop screens (not) mirroring the water of the rolling Great River as the sky doubled and glimmered (not) the raven black hair with blue auras (not) as bright and bountiful (not) other synonyms one might imagine elsewhere (not) black like the just washed shirt of Allen Ginsburg as he stood on the corner looking in both directions, as though in a strange town, the door closing behind him, (not) that color. Not blonde-silver.

I'll leave it to the selfish reader to imbibe the color of their hair, asking that you reflect as well, that you slowly embrace and dance with me. On the wet sand, as the southwest breeze all the way from California, the great Santa Ana wind, touched their long beautiful hair curving it for a moment on their lips.

I peeled off the wax hide on the cedar wheel and spiralled very thin rings of cheese with a wired roll cutter. You could tell they were hungry. I'd been killing my appetite with salted almonds, coffee, eclectic political commentary.

I told them that I take pictures with my eyes.

We had great fun--- strangers, on the Great River, drawing images of our feelings on the wet beach sand with a driftwood white birch stick, and the simple pictures would almost instantly be washed clean by the next wave, leaving the sand as smooth as those stones skimming off before vanishing into Old Man River, the stones gone to its ancient depth.

The older woman and I (I could not tell older/younger as they were closely born sisters) spoke of wild horses and the younger? girl kept changing the subject to WWII. It was absolutely an astounding day, those few hours, as though God were a diamond cutter, smiling down on my center stage to focus upon a magnificent facet etched and reserved for fiction writers at the start of time.

We shared a an index finger's worth of Carmex, and the woman, the older one, delicately touching my lips, asked if I had delusions of grandeur, if I ever dreamed I was a horse/man. Or man/horse, is what she asked, I think she asked it that way, of course not saying horse forward slash man or man forward slash horse. And then, like the old song says, and then she kissed me.

I reversed both pockets on my cutoffs. They laughed so hard they ran waist deep into the water after I said, I said I am the elephant.


Views: 99

Comment by J.P. Hart on May 21, 2019 at 1:28am


Just who I wanted to hear from, no no I'm at O'Hare and you're just where I wanted you to be. Don't forget I put you there---kidding, I'm kidding. No, we were out, Z and I saw Grand Torino. O yeah do it. Catch up to it. No not bad at all, well, sure, older. No, no, I'm not going to tell you the plot. No, no nothing like that. Just check it out. Some of it bounced off Mailer's The Language of Men, no, no, not Mice and Men, The Language of Men, when he's trying to get the kid...no, no, it's a Hmong family...no, no, they're primarily here cause they were displaced after the Vietnamese War, we brought them here as they were subject to persecution by the North...no,no, before your time I know. Remember as little as possible about it, you know? No, he plays a Korean War Veteran....Early 50's. No, not like that. Oh they're right, these dudes are right on the pulse. Well, sure, some of these problems are not going to be solved over night. Sorta like Boys in the Hoodmeets Weber...you didn't see Weber?

O it's a writer's website?

Sure, sure, some of that. Lots of cliquish bodily fluids, that kinda thing. No, I'd allude to Barth, and then the pagan god Abraxis, no,no I didn't give 'em that one about the returning souls. Of course I'm anonymous. Even Z and Sil think I 'm reading the financials day and night. Z still believes in Fibonacci Ratios. You lost how much? No, no. I'll call 'em myself. No, no, just wait on the Big Island. Are you still having those nightmares about 911? Good night boss.

Good night daddy.

Comment by Robert B. James on May 21, 2019 at 5:47am

A Swiss is just a Swiss.

Comment by Anna Herrington on May 21, 2019 at 7:46am

.... as seen through memory of laptop screens (not) ....

  : )

Enjoyed this.

I sometimes miss summery youthful bodies. Sometimes you couldn't pay me to go back to a youthful mind.

Stay in the Now.


What the tie-dyed folks recommended. and the philosophers lounging stoned under a tree.

It was a Time.

(Meandering that shows up after reading. .... would love to have a parent call. not in dreams but even just once more.)

Comment by koshersalaami on May 21, 2019 at 7:53am

“Sometimes you couldn’t pay me to go back to a youthful mind.” 


Comment by Maui Surfer on May 21, 2019 at 8:15am

Rarely did the Beach Boys hit it, except this time:

Surf's up, mm-mm, mm-mm, mm-mm
Aboard a tidal wave
Come about hard and join
The young and often spring you gave
I heard the word
Wonderful thing
A children's song

Comment by J.P. Hart on May 21, 2019 at 1:04pm

RBJ-thanks: Caught the annual airline USA passenger projections this summertime summertime...impressive (oft curt). And (here we go again) I've an excellent night shot of what was Western Publishing's yellow neon. Idle capacity. Maybe pulp and fried pickles one of these days. At least the sky was the limit,no?
Dear Anna Herrington: Full book ASAP, please OU. Of late, I'm starting to think Asiimov is the Gfather of advisors...of late too, I read Stephen King's advisory
re the long long journey...not especially looking forward to the Flanders Field Memorial Day Weekend Show LO;} Here's another thank you, dear Anna:
The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' but 'That's funny...'
koshersalaami: your most recent blog hereon has a 'spot on' acuity not unlike one might see in the WAPO or Times. Your string push here on my 'Throwback Tuesday' is appreciated! Also please allow a moment for my belated congratulations on your anniversary and daughter's wedding...
Maui Surfer: I saw the BBs not real long ago in East Troy, WI's 'best anyVare' little town square. Sun caps and LO;} that was me in the baggies. Blue moon longnecks. Gotta scoot over to the kite fest in Kennedy Park...
mood: ribbon of highway

Comment by koshersalaami on May 21, 2019 at 7:05pm

JP, thank you. 

Comment by J.P. Hart on May 22, 2019 at 10:48am

Thank you lady and gentlemen.

Beulah and me have embarked on yet another stayKtion. Rations: soda, pretzels and beer. You know what's been said 'bout heaven!

Although we oft spat EVERYTHING (you know: who let Sunshine and Shadow o.UT (:...we've opted for Hortonville, WI via Lodi.

We're on our way. No Windex mist on the leather.

Listening to Robert F. Kennedy's Speech for Humanity

What a day for a day dream! Or is daydream conjunctive.??.

Castle Rock State Park, WI
(for no reason Beulah sings Home of the Blues)
left me feeling so bad

Comment by koshersalaami on May 22, 2019 at 12:11pm

Daydream is a word

Comment by koshersalaami on May 22, 2019 at 12:12pm

So, apparently, is spoonful


You need to be a member of Our Salon to add comments!

Join Our Salon


Open Our Salon For Good

Posted by Robert B. James on June 25, 2019 at 6:52am 4 Comments

Hooking up on BS

Posted by Robert B. James on June 24, 2019 at 7:47am 8 Comments

Just a Little Too

Posted by Doc Vega on June 24, 2019 at 1:39am 0 Comments

Water View II

Posted by koshersalaami on June 23, 2019 at 3:00pm 11 Comments

© 2019   Created by lorianne.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Privacy Policy  |  Terms of Service