Archive | July, 2015

The Zone

10 Jul

Black-holeWe all have them.  Somewhere in your habitat, and wherever you travel, something called The Zone is close by.  It is always where you are.  It is invisible.  It makes no noise, has no smell, no one knows its size, and it cannot die even after you do.  It is a mystery.
Not quite a black hole, but very similar.  A black hole eats all cosmic matter falling into its orbit.  At some point it then spits it out.  It doesn’t “pull” things in, it’s just there for stars and planets to drop into.
The Zone is very similar.
Nothing is pulled into The Zone.  Things simply “enter” as if instantly transported.  Zap – it’s gone.  These items are usually a sock, an earring, one-half of anything, a precious letter, a glove, a shoe, a remote, your last AA battery, a favorite shirt you just had in your hand, your lower denture, the only working pen in the house, and a zillion things from your computer files.  Are you relating to this yet?
Research into the origins of The Zone have resulted in more questions than answers,  For instance, why do these Zones apply only to humans and no other animals?  A dog or cat has none, nor a bird nor hippopotamus.  Only homo sapien sapiens.  The wisest of wise man.  Indeed…
At some indeterminate time, The Zone will spit out what it ate.  It could be immediately, or perhaps an hour or a year.  It will not make noise, it will not give any clue to giving up the “thing”.  It just zaps it back into your dimension.  If your eyes are good and you still have the sanity to keep looking, this is the time you find it in your orbit.  Nothing feels as good as when you actually see that _________(insert anything)
There’s no point in cursing The Zone to hell.  It is sociopathic and has no feelings.  It is cruel beyond measure.  You will have this shadow-place of mystery all your life, and when you pass away it is still unknown what happens to it.
The idea that it follows you into the afterlife is too monstrous to consider.


Years Ago When I Was Older

10 Jul

How serious I was while playing house with him, he being my first love and older by 6 years. How happily serious. I made his meals and washed his clothes, I ran his baths and gently helped him to bed. Time stood still as I watched him fall into a quick, deep tired sleep of no dreams. We lay in a small bed, no TV or radio, but a fast car with the latest in audio, called an 8-track player. We blasted Led Zeppelin while driving to the Bowling Alley to meet our friends. Were we hippies? By then I was still marching for peace, mostly in New York, once at the Pentagon.  He had no political leanings and I did it to belong to something.  I was 17.

The children we lost to the world have been living out their schemes and he, my first Romeo, is dead now, many years gone.

Today in my dotage I wonder at what could have been. Sometimes I cry, many times in gratitude, for I almost lost this precious life, lost it completely, as he would beat and abuse me, and I came so close to the edge that my feet have scars sharp as a blade. He could punch out teeth, break bones, steal your soul. Before he died, he took me to a hell I can never remove from memory.

He loved me that much.