No one was supposed to get hurt. Real criminals never say that or even think it. I would not base my evaluation of any dire progression of chaotic events on Ridley Scott's approximation of human behavior under such conditions. And who the hell says tarmac anymore? There's no rubber on the tarmac; that's out at the airfield at what used to be the south edge of town, where the Koren War era fighter from north of the border skittered down three-zero and slammed into the ice cream parlor sometime between the summer of love and the age of disco.
This is a parking lot and those marks are burned on blacktop or asphalt or pavement. A guy once got shot near this place and I had to look at his distal innards as they tried to slither out the colander that used to be his belly and those things were still squeezing and trying to move the mail. I tried my best to keep them inside. You don't forget a thing like that.
© Pseudocognitive
On the main street of an old riverfront town in the Delta there is a former gambling hall. This place and the town where it still stands were built and populated long ago by Chinese immigrants to California. The town is Locke, located at the apex of an elbow-bend in the roiling Sacramento River just north of Walnut Grove, and it packs a lot more substance than the post's title implies. You walk through Locke, you don't come out the other end without some history hitching a ride.
Well, I reckon a person could minimize their effort and simply post random shots from the 60′s, 70′s, and 80′s and then write a few lines about each. The older a person gets, pass the beer nuts. Also pass the whiskey, and never, ever venture into Harlan County, Kentucky unless you are strapped. Next season, SAMCRO rides into Harlan County. Look for it in episode 5.6 of Sons. This is complete bullshit–I don’t know what I’m talking about. Next slide, please.
Here’s a man named Mike who used to tame wild birds in the park near the Honolulu Zoo, back in eighty-two or thereabouts. He had endocranial electromagnetic waves, or so I’ve heard. These waves evidently fluctuated in amplitude and wavelength–amazing, really.
This is The Old Dead Elephant, one-time inhabitant of a zoo that has no elephants anymore. He was morose. I always felt guilty taking his picture, but that never stopped me.
Life is a series of snapshots. Retaining–or recapturing–the spaces between the snapshots is an elusive goal.
© Pseudocognitive
