The Sunday Short: Volume 1 Issue 11

—————————————-
Ode to Portland
- Gabe Thexton –
——————–

- I turn and put the Willamette behind me, cement fails to stimulate and I move instead across the tattered grass. Befriending a supposedly empty Pepsi cup, my left foot discovers a remaining sticky mess and delivers it quite accurately onto my shin. I shake like a paint mixer with the willies, hoping to lose what mess I can. My now brown sock waits patiently for the white stick figure to replace the orange hand. It takes it’s cue and foot, sock and shoe enter the street in a single unified motion.
- I trace the shadows shading Salmon Street, hopscotching the iron-frames of the World Trade Center’s overhead walkway. Sliding across First Avenue I dive into the tree-filled square weaving a Family Circus like path through the trees, parking meters and benches. I do not stand out here. Dotted lines follow my soaked and sagging sock across alleys and trolleys to Sixth and Yamhill.
- The granite slab sky weakens and it’s containers fail, Powell’s Travel Books offers a brief dry respite from reality and the drizzle. I find myself in Tokyo, I get on the subway and it becomes the Underground. I get off in London and wander past Big Ben. Glancing at a begging pigeon I lose focus and when I turn back Rajabai Tower has taken it’s place. Bombay beckons and I tear through the streets of India on my scooter. I stop at a vendor for some Bhelpuri, hand him some rupees and at the ringing of the register, reality regains my brain.
- The sky holds firm again and I quickly carry myself across Pioneer Square. Passing Nordstrom’s I slow to match the strands of a sour guitar, I toss my pennies and dimes toward the open case, my TriMet transfer goes with them and we share an awkward smile as I bend to retrieve it. Cement, asphalt and cobblestones contact continuously as my feet carry me through these unwavering towers of wheat. These triangles of town merge at Tenth and Burnside. I push on the sculpture and it responds, up becomes down, sideways and the wire wands waver, emoting as though to share my personality with the world.
- Powell’s now, and up the stairs. The show is ‘Segments: bits of broken boy’ the art is fragmented, as I imagine the artist’s mind is. I contribute to the guest book, “Broken boy believes, life is given.” A wide window sill welcomes and I venture into unrealities again, one page at a time. This is Portlandia, she bekons.

—————————————-

and so on and so forth

I feel like rambling right now, hope ya don’t mind.

The bosses’ mother in law passed away today, I think I’m somewhat familiar with the pain of losing a loved one at the holidays, but I know I have no idea what it’s like to lose your mother (she was very close to her). I dread the day I lose a parent, my sister or a close friend. I bawled enough after Columbine and 9-11. Who knows how messed up I’ll be after something like that.

I like to go out on occasion, I guess it gets me out of the usual routine and helps me to feel like I’m part of the ‘real world’. The self imposed segregation that is car-less-ness does things to you. You stay home more, you have friends come to your place instead of going to theirs. You watch the neighbors and hope to meet one or two of them. You want to get out, see the world, you miss the freedom that is a trip to the ocean (oh how I miss PDX), a winding breath of fresh air as you roll up the moumtain and visit Rocky Mountain National Park. You want to be out there, wherever there may be.

That said, I’d rather go out with some groups than with others. I’m not sure if it was the birthday atmosphere, the suprise atmosphere or what, but I’ll tell you this, Bekah’s party beat the snot out of going out tonight. I sat there like a bump on a log most of the night. I dunno, whatever. I guess I need to go out with my M&M Ranch peeps more. Y’all come pick me up?

The Broncos won in overtime on Turkey Day, just want to make sure you know that. Oh, and they’re 9-2, that’s pretty snazzy. The thing that gets me most excited about this season is the atmosphere. There is always something contagious about a team’s attitude that makes it’s way into the fans. And what I feel this year is a calm, collected strength oozing from the entire organization. There is a pervasive ‘Yeah, we won, but we have a game to play on Sunday and that’s what we’re focusing on’ attitude. This is what a championship team looks like. (Afraid I’ve already said too much, I’ll say no more, and NO, I’m NOT superstitious!)

Giles and I have been talking and we both agree that I seem to write better when I can write journalisitcally (that’s what I get for reading so much darn news). So I’ve been thinking about doing some sort of freelance submission to an Independent or something. Any suggestions?

I don’t mind apartment living save one thing, it’s one-a-freaking-clock in the morning and I wanna get some sleep but the Thunderfoot Clan upstairs is still doing their 23 hour Rain-Dance-A-Thon-For-The-Day. Actually it only really bugs me when it’s the morning and I’m half awake but aiming for two more hours of quality pillow time. And to the guy who works at Joe’s Crab Shack, invite me to your gorram party next time or I’m gonna call the cops. If I can’t sleep, at least offer me a Guinness (billboard sez: ‘Guinness only has 125 calories’ w00t!)

I can’t wait to meet my wife. Whoever and wherever she may be. I haven’t lost hope yet of finding her, and honestly I don’t think I ever will lose hope, I can see being 85 and still hoping. Of course I hope that I won’t have to be hoping then, that would be rough. Speaking of the future, Steve’s parents want grandkids. This is where I find the fuzzy, you see, I can see myself getting married, I can see having kids, I can see raising a teenager, and I can even contemplate giving my daughters’ hand (Dear God, Please let me have a baby girl.) in marriage. But the whole thing goes blurry about the time I have grandkids. Holee carp, I cannot handle that idea yet.

Quite tired now, and it’s not even 1am, I usually make it to 2 easy.

Oh well, ‘night folks.

An Excerpt …

I guess I’ve never mentioned that I write freelance music articles, so I will now. And I’ll mention that next weeks Front Range Scene is carrying an interview piece I did.
Here is an excerpt.
Read it or die!

– Jack.

—————————————-

Wandering with a Roamer

– Jack Moreland –

——————–

District 3 is a mid-level shopping area in Tower 3 of Flatiron City. Several levels wander together here in a flowing pattern of ramps, hills and valleys. There is an InfoJava just off the grassy lawn of the Shanahan Amphitheater. Concert goers often migrate from the small venue, down the glass ramp that fades to black marble. It enters a winding, ever-narrower tunnel that squeezes tight at the end and then explodes open into The Detriment. Passive rock sets the mood at The Detriment. Old school artists Magnet and The Postal Service often vibrate the walls. In the early days Sheila’s Left Arm played here, and they debuted their famous album ‘No We’re Not Aussie’ to a packed house here on April 1, 2078. DJ’s still come here to watch other DJ’s. This club is, among passive rock guru’s, more famous and important than CBGB’s.

I came tonight to talk to guest DJ Transient Sage, on loan from sister club The Azure Serpent. Known for her classic classical pieces, Transient Sage has brought a steady stream of new business to the Serpent as its’ first resident DJ.

Jack: Thanks for giving me some of your time, I guess I’ll start with a question more for me than anyone else. Do I call you Sage or Transient or what?

Transient Sage: (laughing) You can call me Rachel.

J: You do classical pieces at the Serpent, and If I may say so they are awesome, but I’m wondering if you plan on trying anything different for Detriment shows?

TS: Thanks, Yeah, I’ve been working on some new stuff and for Friday’s show I’ll be debuting my first completely original album.

J: Whoa, so I get a scoop?

TS: (laughing again) Well, it’s my scoop, but if it makes you happy you can have it.

J: So what brought about the gig here at The Detriment?

TS: Janet, at A.S., stumbled over one of my original pieces a few weeks ago, and she’s been looking for new acts for The Detriment, so she asked me to play this Friday…

———-
Read more in the mag when it publishes.

Dad’s Words – Because he said it best.

Friends and family,

It is Thursday morning, 7 a.m., Thanksgiving Day, as I write. I am sipping on a mug of hot English Breakfast tea to soothe my sore throat. I guess I am coming down with a cold. It will be a chilly day today (it is 25 degrees F outside right now with blue skies).

Because Anna and Gabe work in the retail grocery industry, and because today is a holiday, they are sleeping late after a hard day’s work yesterday, the day before a major eating holiday in our country. I am on vacation this week, resting and preparing for the certain layoff notice coming one week from today from United Airlines. Carla, bless her little pea-pickin’ soul, although she also works grocery retail, and she also had a hard day at work yesterday (she told me she had hundreds of fresh and frozen turkeys to lift, weigh and handle for her customers, and a large trailer full of turkeys was delivered to the store), she was the first one in our home to wake up this morning (6 a.m.) making preparations for our meal later today. I visited her at work, at the Wild Oats Market, yesterday and observed her “in action” with her customers. Oh, my! A smile….a gentle voice….her informed, thoughtful and helpful attitude….I could only wish for all of you the kind of warm, attentive service I saw her give the people who shopped there. I was impressed. Service like that is hard to find these days, from my observation. She is really, really good. I am very proud of her. And she is in our kitchen right now, making a pie crust for a homemade pecan pie which we will eat….no, “devour”….later today. She is a trouper!

Thanksgiving is an American holiday that <!– D(["mb"," began years ago with the \r\nintention of giving thanks to (who else) God, for national and personal \r\nblessings; but over the years has become....well, less than that. I can \r\nonly imagine the confusion, when people who do not acknowledge God\'s role in the \r\nworld and in their lives, secretly and honestly ask themselves, "Am \r\nI thanking anybody? Who? And, what \r\nfor?"

\r\n

\r\n

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday \r\nas an adult. My mother will probably say Christmas was my favorite as a \r\nchild, and it is hard to beat Christmas from a child\'s perspective, but as an \r\nadult, Christmas is different somehow. Things look differently. I \r\nsee more now, as an adult, than I could see as a child. I see that \r\nthe universe does not revolve around me. I see people who do not have \r\nthe blessings I enjoy and sometimes take for granted. I see all the \r\n"lucky accidents", "fortuitous coincidences" that fell my way, and I know they \r\nwere neither lucky nor coincidental.

\r\n

\r\n

So, now my favorite holiday is \r\nThanksgiving. I want to Thank God for everything. I want to \r\ntell all of you how thankful I am for my salvation and the promise of \r\nheaven....

\r\n

For my faithful \r\nwife....

\r\n

For my wonderful \r\nchildren, Gabriel and Anna....

\r\n

For my parents: my \r\nfather, Leon, who worked very, very hard on trucks to provide for our \r\nfamily and pay for the education of his children at a Christian school \r\nwhich he did not agree with,

\r\n

and my mother, Locky, who also worked \r\nhard, and then took us to church and taught us about God, against the \r\nwishes of my father,",1] ); //–> began years ago with the intention of giving thanks to (who else) God, for national and personal blessings; but over the years has become….well, less than that. I can only imagine the confusion, when people who do not acknowledge God’s role in the world and in their lives, secretly and honestly ask themselves, “Am I thanking anybody? Who? And, what for?”

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday as an adult. My mother will probably say Christmas was my favorite as a child, and it is hard to beat Christmas from a child’s perspective, but as an adult, Christmas is different somehow. Things look differently. I see more now, as an adult, than I could see as a child. I see that the universe does not revolve around me. I see people who do not have the blessings I enjoy and sometimes take for granted. I see all the “lucky accidents”, “fortuitous coincidences” that fell my way, and I know they were neither lucky nor coincidental.

So, now my favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. I want to Thank God for everything. I want to tell all of you how thankful I am for my salvation and the promise of heaven….

For my faithful wife….

For my wonderful children, Gabriel and Anna….

For my parents: my father, Leon, who worked very, very hard on trucks to provide for our family and pay for the education of his children at a Christian school which he did not agree with,

and my mother, Locky, who also worked hard, and then took us to church and taught us about God, against the wishes of my father,<!– D(["mb","

\r\n

and their 40+ years of faithful marriage as an \r\nexample in these divorce-ridden times,

\r\n

and finally, my father\'s conversion to \r\nChristianity from atheism after he suffered a stroke: an old man, in his \r\nseventy-fifth year of life, became a babe in Christ....

\r\n

For the job at United \r\nAirlines with which God has blessed us these past 16 \r\nyears....

\r\n

For the friends I know and \r\nlove....

\r\n

For the kindness of many who \r\npassed through my life, un-noticed or un-acknowledged....

\r\n

For my health....

\r\n

For the \r\nchallenges in my life that have spurred me to grow....

\r\n

and more. So very thankful....to \r\nGod! I would not be, could not be, who I am or \r\nwhere I am, without God blessing me. With my mind, I know it. With \r\nmy words, I acknowledge it. I want to shout it!

\r\n

\r\n

So, today....

\r\n

with my family and \r\nmy friends....

\r\n

the fall weather and the flowers on the \r\ntable....

\r\n

the fowl, feast and football games,

\r\n

I am quietly crying....

\r\n

with humble, head-bowed thanksgiving because I \r\nknow where it all comes from.",1] ); //–>

and their 40+ years of faithful marriage as an example in these divorce-ridden times,

and finally, my father’s conversion to Christianity from atheism after he suffered a stroke: an old man, in his seventy-fifth year of life, became a babe in Christ….

For the job at United Airlines with which God has blessed us these past 16 years….

For the friends I know and love….

For the kindness of many who passed through my life, un-noticed or un-acknowledged….

For my health….

For the challenges in my life that have spurred me to grow….

and more. So very thankful….to God! I would not be, could not be, who I am or where I am, without God blessing me. With my mind, I know it. With my words, I acknowledge it. I want to shout it!

So, today….

with my family and my friends….

the fall weather and the flowers on the table….

the fowl, feast and football games,

I am quietly crying….

with humble, head-bowed thanksgiving because I know where it all comes from.<!– D(["mb","

\r\n

It used to be common knowledge, but now it seems to be a secret that is all too \r\nwell-kept.

\r\n

It all comes from God in heaven who loves us \r\ndearly, and sent his son to die in our place.

\r\n

I Praise God for it all.

\r\n

He is the "who" in "Who \r\nare we giving thanks to?"

\r\n

Our grateful response to His \r\ngoodness, His love and caring for us is what our Thanksgiving \r\nis about!

\r\n

\r\n

Thanks for patiently reading.

\r\n

\r\n

With Affection and Love from the Thextons in \r\nWestminster, Colorado, U.S.A.

\r\n

Gary Thexton

\r\n\r\n",0] ); D(["ce"]); D(["ms","85b"] ); //–>

It used to be common knowledge, but now it seems to be a secret that is all too well-kept.

It all comes from God in heaven who loves us dearly, and sent his son to die in our place.

I Praise God for it all.

He is the “who” in “Who are we giving thanks to?”

Our grateful response to His goodness, His love and caring for us is what our Thanksgiving is about!

Thanks for patiently reading.

With Affection and Love from the Thextons in Westminster, Colorado, U.S.A.

Gary Thexton

… And fall short of the glory …

Puts my three strands to shame.

(Erik, do this on your dad’s compy at work, you GOTTA have the sound)

Tracing The Wind

Tracing The Wind

To where it ends.
Where did it begin?
Now it comes.
Around again.
Endless in nature.
As is the Maker.
Ever blowing.
Effected unknowing.
This is it.
Do you have Him?
Are you His?

The Sunday Short: Volume 1 Issue 10

The last Sunday Short I posted was on July 17th, not long after the London Bombings. It has been a long time and, if I may say so myself, it’s about darn time…

————————-
See Me – Not So Fast
- Gabe Thexton
—————

Her back against the wall, by choice. Her right hand in right pocket. Arms in pink, a turtleneck provided the warmth and security not found outside herself. Left hand on Long Island, her third, but who cared, did anyone notice? She wanted to shout ‘Look at me! I’m trashed, take me home!’ But who noticed, did anyone care?

Watching the ebb and flow of the gathering around the pool table, there were many there, but one stood out. He was shorter than would normally catch her eye. His left bicep rippled with every twist and turn, but his right was emaciated, lost in a car accident someone said. His rolled tee hung loose there and it was impossible not to notice.

“Excuse me.” She flinched, she’d wandered, he was looking at her.

“I hate to ask, but do you mind moving so I can try this shot?” She stuttered, he was talking to her, she shuffled to the right.

“Thanks.” came the response as he turned back to the table to shoot. He had spoken to her, the one she noticed had noticed her. Her breath cut sharply as she looked down his back, muscles changing under the shirt. He made the shot. She sipped from her drink, lost in the haze of the room.

“I didn’t think I was gonna make that one.” She choked on the sip she’d just taken.
“I, uh, yeah, good shot.” was all she could muster.
“I’m Trey.”
“Lu.”
“Like Lucy or something else?”
“Like Lucy, well, Lucille really.”
“So, Lucy, do you wanna get outta here?”

Her heel left a bruise on his foot.

She paid her tab and left content.

—————

March 10, 2099: A brief history

Mr. and Mrs. Hanaka awoke to a pleasant, sunlit view of a small “wild mountain” garden. Columbines and evergreens looked up at their balcony declaring, “The morning has come, and there is natural beauty to be enjoyed, even amidst the modern city.” Mr. Hanaka hugged his wife from behind as they gazed at the garden.

“Our son chose a delightful place for us.” Mrs. Hanaka commented.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by a muffled, “Room service.”

Mr. Hanaka allowed the young man entrance, paid him, and set about arranging their breakfast. A simple assortment of pastries, fruits, and coffee refreshed them energized them for a day of site seeing. They decided to start at the Flatiron City Historical Society.

A film describing the history of the city began shortly after their arrival, so they decided to watch. The lights dimmed and the hologram of a well-dressed gentleman walked onto the stage.

“In the year 2010, the nation of Japan began construction on Tower City in an attempt to solve their mounting population problem.” The curtain spread, revealing the skeleton of the slowly rising Tokyo tower. “As you can imagine, this marvel caught the attention of the world powers, in particular, the Los Angeles city planners. Immigrants from Mexico continued to swell the borders of the West Coast’s largest city, and soon they would face the same problems as Tokyo.

“The city council met, and over the course of four years laid out plans for a tower to be built in the L.A. metro area. In 2014, the proposal was sent to D.C. for government approval and support. As you can imagine, the plans received a great deal of criticism. However, the governors of New York and New Jersey saw merit in the idea and gave California their full support.”

The narrator disappeared from view and the scene on stage revealed the governor of California closing his proposal. “The unemployment rate in California has reached an all time high. The construction of this building alone will create hundreds of jobs, and upon completion, thousands more in city maintenance. This new building will be almost entirely self-contained with its own dedicated power source, sewage and plumbing systems, and even an independent city government.”

The narrator walked through the hologram and continued his voice-over. “In fall of 2015, the issue hit the public ballot. The citizens of the United States were to decide if their tax money would help to build, not just one, but three tower cities: one in L.A., and one in New York City, bridged to a third in New Jersey.

“The general population received the plans with enthusiasm; however, a large group of environmental advocates stood in opposition. They stated that the pollution created by these monstrosities would ruin the environment and mar the skyline. These were petty arguments set forth by uninformed activists. The leading members of the protesting minority simply wanted an equal exchange for the great expanse of land consumed by the building. The issue remained on the 2015 ballot with the addendum that a fourth city must be built in Boulder, Colorado to free up one thousand acres for a wildlife preserve.

“In the summer of 2016, land was cleared at the four designated locations, and construction of the American tower cities began.” The narrator again disappeared, allowing the audience to see a time-lapse rendering of the Flatiron City building process.

“With advancements in hydrogen energy extraction, came cleaner, safer, more efficient tools that contributed to the efforts in cost reduction that were demanded in 2029 by congress and the nation’s tax payers.”

As Mr. and Mrs. Hanaka watched, the supporting columns for the three great towers of the city quickly climbed their way into the sky, much like enormous steel vines reaching for the sun. Framework spun around the base, as if giant spiders were creating tall funnel webs.

“In 2031, after many setbacks and budgeting issues, the Disney Corporation set the foundation for a fifth U.S. tower. In a press release CEO Robert A. Iger said, and I do quote, ‘What the hell, we have enough land, and it’s been a while since we added a new attraction.’”

The narrator again walked onto the stage, the curtains coming together behind him. “Though it was the third to begin construction, Flatiron City was the first tower to reach completion, and on July 4, 2076, a grand opening celebration welcomed the thousands of new inhabitants, as well as local and foreign dignitaries.”

The curtain parted, displaying the city amidst a show of fireworks. “With improvements in solar and wind-harvesting technology, nearly thirty percent of the city’s energy is created by solar panels and wind farms on and around the structure. The remainder is generated by a secure nuclear plant beneath the foundations. To offset building costs and local taxes, any excess in produced electricity is sold to nearby Boulder.”

The curtain closed a final time, and the narrator bowed. “Thank you for joining us today. I do hope you enjoy the remainder of you visit in Flatiron City. Have a nice day.”

The narrator vanished and the lights came on. Mr. and Mrs. Hanaka stood and followed the other audience members through the exit.

Back at Hanaka Nippon, Katsuro sat down with his parents with a pot of lime-spiced green tea. “How was the historical society?” He asked.

His mother frowned. “I got the impression that they were trying to impress us with the host’s glorified vocabulary.”

Mr. Hanaka agreed, “I understood everything alright, but many of the companies involved in these buildings are clients of mine. Not everyone is going to be as well informed as I am.”

Katsuro smiled. “Welcome to America.”

Harry Freaking Potter

Just got back from the midnight show, another long Potter movie, another good Potter movie, and the first to get itself a PG-13 rating. No spoilers here, just go see it.

Thurthdayth Thongue Twithter – 11.17.05

In an effort to return Typing Hurts to it’s glory days, those wonderful weeks that had back to back ‘Sunday Shorts’ with ‘Wednesdays Words’ in the middle, I bring to you a lighthearted look at lyrical limericks…

Thurthdayth Thongue Twithter for Nov. 17, 2005

I slit the sheet, the sheet I slit, and on the slitted sheet I sit.

[WARNING!: this one might come out dirty ]

Now, with Flatiron City going on, and having a post every other week there, I think the Sunday Short will be a bi-weekly thing and I will just syndicate the FC posts on the off weeks. As far as Wednesdays Words goes, I’d love to hear from you readers about your favorite poets, poems, raps or rhymes. (Laila, that means you) I think it will make it a little more interesting and diverse, and Moe only knows I can’t read every poem out there.

—–

It’s snowing today, a real, regular snowstorm. I am Hapi!