Mile Marker Zion

Post by **mtmynd** » April 8th, 2009, 7:43 pm

To be continued ...

I'll be back...

Post by **the mingo** » April 9th, 2009, 2:17 pm

Post by **the mingo** » April 11th, 2009, 12:38 pm

Father LaBoing left the forest not the same man who entered them. Found by two French trappers who escorted him downriver he made his way to the settlements on the coast and returned to France. Then he went to Spain. From there he took ship for Mexico then by expedition to a small mission in Spanish California by the name of Los Angeles. There he ministered to the local Indians for many years until his death. Being subject to visions ever since his sojourn in the northern forests he often wandered into the canyon country to the north of the mission sometimes for days. So no one missed him when he left one day with a few provisions and his burro for the canyons. A month later searchers found his body, what was left of it anyway from the vultures & coyotes. He had died next to a large boulder upon which the search party found the following words scratched into the surface of the stone - "The Lizard King is coming and with him divided days & strange nights of stone. He will light his fires & break on through to a soft parade. He will take his Texas radio to France & die there with the Big Beat."

The End

Post by **the mingo** » April 11th, 2009, 1:12 pm

Nancy walked out of Price Chopper and all she could smell was the lake. Fishy fishy fishy! She had all those groceries in tow and the wind was blowing. She got everything into the car alright & headed home to her man. When she walked into the grocery store she was a participant in 32 different stories. When she walked out she had gained 3 stories but she was unaware of this. When she arrived home and walked in the door her man didn't notice the net gain in stories either but that's how these things go.

Post by **the mingo** » April 11th, 2009, 1:37 pm

Nancy's man was waiting for his son to show up as agreed when Nancy got home from the grocery run. The son was supposed to show up so his father and him could go look at a Jeep Comanche pickup truck. At a quarter past one father calls son & when son picked up the phone father says "They wanted me to go to rehab but I said no no no." The son began laughing so father says where the hell are ya it's quarter past one and the sun is shining. Ya got no proper appreciation of time boy, ya know that don'cha? Son blurts that "I'm at the bookstore but I was going to head your way soon as I leave."
Father replies "Yeah right well I'm not gittin any younger while the world spins 'round."
Dad hangs up. Nancy says "Where is he?" "At the bookstore is the story" "At the bookstore? "Yup" "Wow I wonder what he's doing at the bookstore?" Dad was thinking as all this was going on about why Jeep names its vehicles after Indian tribes and Italian rivers & African deserts. There's Cherokees & Comanches & Rubicons & Saharas. He wondered what his son was doing at the bookstore too & planned on asking him as soon as he showed up after, of course, issuing him the standard ration of shit.

Post by **the mingo** » April 15th, 2009, 6:40 am

It's damn awesome strange how a reflection can reflect a reflection.
Perfect in detail. Seamless in presentation. An exact transmission. Not that there is a need to draw or arrive at a conclusion from this fact but it's just damn awesome strange.

Post by **the mingo** » April 15th, 2009, 6:57 am

Sometimes the sun rises like a gunslinger. The day held in leather & strapped to its hips loaded with bullets & explosive powder. A morning in Deadwood, South Dakota, 1876. On your mark.

Post by **mtmynd** » April 15th, 2009, 8:10 am

Brautigan-esque... the whole lot... Brautigan-esque... damn fine reads... quiet tasty clips shot out of the barrel of your mind with a gentle 'pop'...

Post by **the mingo** » April 16th, 2009, 7:43 am

Glad you enjoyed them,mt.

Post by **stilltrucking** » April 16th, 2009, 10:35 am

my mingo morning alarms I call them

a wake up call

sunrise gunsmoke

I was already an hour late when I read it this morning, sun come up on quiet little pussycat feet this morning,

working the grave yard shift this morning, here at my part time gig at the Rosewater Foundation. I got 160 seconds to take a call, my customer managed to bless me with the name Of Jesus Christ four times during the call, I was most apreciative and wished her a blessed day, still managed to do it in 180 seconds. If that ain't good enough for Kurt Vonnegut well hells bells, he can take this Job and shove it.

Post by **the mingo** » April 17th, 2009, 8:32 am

Poor Job. After all the shit I was rooting for him to buy an old station wagon & head out for the coast. Go 'til he couldn't go no more. Maybe even become an itinerant preacher since he ended up in a book anyways...I loved it when his wife tells him to curse God and die or his friends all gathering to discuss with him his sin. His story helped me to see that there was more than a graveyard at the end of the road, "cause what would be the point otherwise? Do we all not need to be stripped & destitute & diseased in our own eyes before we can be real enough to hear the Voice in the whirlwind in a place beyond our every excuse?

Post by **stilltrucking** » April 17th, 2009, 9:10 am

rainy morning sun snuck up behind the clouds again

"Raindrops on my windshield and tear drops on my steering wheel and 18 wheels singing home sweet home" I always loved that song. Been a long lonely trip this past lifetime. But I am reconciled to my life without touch. Never thought I would end up a priest.

You are only Jung once

C G believed that Jesus Christ was the answer to Job

The feminine voice of G-d. The anima

So long since I read the book

Answer To Job

truck on mingo amigo.

Post by **the mingo** » April 17th, 2009, 10:49 am

I think Jung was on to something there. You've mentioned this notion before and I have thought about it in odd moments.

Of course I think about Papermate pens too. Remember when the Bic's came out? Their ad ran: "Writes first time every time!" Which was not true. Regardless, they just couldn't deliver ink to paper the way a Papermate did. They lacked that smoothness.

I don't know if Papermate pens are even made in this country anymore. Pick up a Papermate and write a letter to Job.

Dear Job, ...

Post by **the mingo** » April 17th, 2009, 10:50 am

Looking to win the lottery. Twice a week on the multi-state tickets. Four times if we play the state game too.

A man can't be too careful what he stoops DOWN to pick UP.

My answering machine is my main weapon for blow-offs. The skirmish line.

If I'd been alive during the Revolutionary War I would have been a smuggler. With my own brigantine. Slipping in & out of small coves. Selling whatever to both or any side.
Let the dead bury the dead. Keep moving.

Hypocrisy - a false assumption of virtue...don't we all?

Post by **stilltrucking** » April 17th, 2009, 11:57 am

Uncle Chaim came home from World War II and bought a ball point pen in 1946. Amazing, we had never seen the like. It sat in a plush lined case right out of the future. And then before we knew it the steam locomotives were gone and everything else became disposable.
But that was before "Stem Cells"

The difference between Job and me is that he was a righteous man and the best I can do is self righteousness.

Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

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