The suckers are in the bleachers.
I’m here in the hills, dizzy with anticipation and old age...your pick, pecking away at the first draft of Raytheon5, not driving. I’ve got two pages in, but have no outline to work from. I’ve not given this fifth project much thought, and don’t know how I would find my way home...without the bread crumbs.
I had to first note that this fifth draft had nothing to do with the title Raytheon5, as the five is ment to mean “E”, Which in my world can mean 5. I’m no cryptologist, free mason, hypnotist, or even a decent chess player.
I was a big fish in my small town, neither non partisan or very bright, I opted for outdoor activities over scholarship. I did a little Jay Gatz thing, but remembered the ending, so went back to what I knew, which as the not so great outdoors of civil engineering, where I never saw a tree ring. I saw days worth of trees being ripped out of the ground, and immediately chipped. The whine of the machinery seemed like screaming, as if the trees were screaming.
The carbon monoxide of the idling, decaying Suburban lingered in the cockpit with me, as I tried not to freeze to death during that one of too many very cold damp New Jersey winters.
Tree rings are historical evidence, and one of the real tools environmental historians use to imagine a factual past, as the clowns and high wire acts divert the crowd with myths, legends, highly marked up and sugary snacks, and trinkets.
The past has been hijacked, but who cares? The show must make a buck, or fold. Think about the children! A few Hours of magical fun, daring, tintalating amusement to break up the monotony of day to day, back in the day.
The trees screamed for recognition, but over the roar of the crowd, nothing could be heard at all. The fish shivered with fear, the birds were long gone, facts ...facts remained irrelevant.
As I pecked out the first page of Raytheon5, I realized Slaughter House Five, had snuck back into my life yet again. With no other agenda could Raytheon5 be homage to Vonnegut’s work, unintended? With nothing but Ray Pinnox and a desire to balance the books to go on, I entertain the idea.
The grifters work the duped crowd, but I’m not there, or driving. I’m here in the hills,waiting for that baby Tarentino tomato to ketchup.