The other day, Stephen Elliott of The Rumpus said this… “I’ve been reading about Bob Dylan in 1965. He was tired of music and fame and he went to upstate New York to live in a cabin and be alone. He didn’t even bring a guitar. He said he quit music. After five days he started writing what many consider the best songs of his career.” That got me to thinking…
I saw Bob Dylan in 1965 at the Memorial Auditorium in Sacramento. A girl I was interested in at the time suggested I take her, as she had no money to buy a ticket. I had no idea who Bob Dylan was, but thought it was in my best interest to buy the tickets.
The Auditorium seats 3,000… there were about 600 in attendance, scattered all about. Bob came out on the stage… a skinny guy with a guitar and a folding chair. He sat down, strummed his guitar and sang a song. After a few songs, he told everyone to come down and sit in the chairs on the main floor. In those days no one stood at the front of the stage and lit matches or waved Bics… and certainly not cell phones. I thought that was a cool move on his part.
I enjoyed the concert and my introduction into the World of Bob Dylan. I didn’t get laid that night, but I did get a Bob Dylan record the next day.
Highway 61 Revisited was that album.
Something keeps rumbling overhead. Sounds of pushing.
I was falling. That was the scariest part. Of course the landing wasn’t a piece of cake… hurt like hell. Right on my back. Oh, God it hurts my ribs to move.
How long has it been? Maybe five days now. I can remember walking the field, then grabbing at air as I went down the pit. So fast… like instant. I can just see some light above, and the drip of water every once in a while has been a Godsend. I think I’m past hungry.
There’s the rumbling again.
Another 100 Word Photo Prompt from Madison Woods… and here’s where to find the stories… Madison’s blog
Today’s the day. Going to pop another cherry. Almost getting hard thinking about it, I know I will be when I get there… that’s always the way it works.
Chancy, taking the risk… she may be watched. Doesn’t matter, someone else will get the honors, and I want to be first. I have a reputation to uphold, and you don’t get to be the master without a few risks.
This tunnel is the perfect place… dark and cool inside. No one to see.
The cans rattling in my backpack empower me… Carnelian my favorite.
“STOP… POLICE!” “I told you he’d come.”
Another Friday… another photo prompt… another stab at Fiction with Madison Woods and her friends… see their stories here.
The following story was inspired by Quill Shiv‘s Flash Fiction Faction prompt:
Oh dear. What happened to the train?
“Has he called it in yet?”
“No, and I’m starting to worry. Not like him to be this late letting us know the number.”
“Be sure to have them meet him at the station. I don’t want anything to delay the delivery.”
I know I’ve just been down this street. Nothing is looking right. God, I have to hurry. They can’t move a train, can they?
“I told him it was not safe to miss the train.”
I should call them! Oh… I forgot the number! I know it’s in this phone somewhere. How do I bring it up. Maybe this will work. Who are these people? I don’t recognize any of…
“Finally! I’m putting him on speaker. Was that a cry?”
“I heard it too.”
This is my third attempt at fiction. I had not planned to write on this prompt… I guess I wasn’t prompted. But then, yesterday I awoke at 4:30 and had this story in my mind. I don’t think I dreamt it, just thought about it when I woke up. I think I was inspired by all those waiter and actor dreams where you are trying to find something, like the table you are supposed to be waiting on, and you keep getting more desperate. I got up and wrote what I thought was a pretty good story, and then… I erased it by mistake. I could not get it back, and try as I might, I could not recreate the same mood. Tonight when I saw Rinn’s story (that’s Quill… some Pen Name, huh?), and stories others had written, I really wished I had mine. So here it is. A little different maybe, but I like it.
Enjoyed this post from my neighbors to the North… The Eye of Faith. Enjoy their blog… and Natalia Kills.
English singer-songwriter actress, and short-film director Natalia [Keery-Fisher] Kills caught our attention with her enigmatic 2011 debut album Perfectionist. Compared to the likes of Lady Gaga or Nicki Minaj, we find this young export to have a flavour that’s all her own.
JUST AN EMPTY SPACE
Well… She’s Gone For Good! After my last lament regarding the missing truck, so many readers wondered, like I, what the hell had happened to her. One, was my son-in-law Steve. He didn’t just wonder… he called his friend Kevin.
Now, there is a show on the History Channel called ‘American Pickers’… kind of the poor man’s ‘Antique Roadshow’… where two guys go around the country combing junkyards, garages and people’s ‘collections’ finding hidden treasures, just as worthy. They would have a ‘field day’ at Kevin’s. He is San Juan Island’s Premier Collector. Island Stage Left needed a rusty old-fashioned radiator for their latest play… Steve called Kevin… they have a rusty old-fashioned radiator for their latest play. At our County Fair each year, one of the highlights is ‘Trash to Treasures’ hosted by Kevin. So, who better to ask about a missing roadside attraction. Kevin knew all about my truck.
She is a 1946 Ford Flatbed, with a flathead V8 engine. In fact, he had offered to buy her at one time and was told the owners of the property just liked having it sit there… they enjoyed looking at her while passing by on the way to their ranch. It seems a neighbor did not share the same affection and deemed her an eyesore. Word has it, that a scrapper had permission from the non property owner, and took her in the middle of the night. As Kevin says… “These guys scrap first and ask questions later”. The goods are carted off the island to be sold for scrap metal to one of the mainland salvage yards.
They call these guys Tweekers… as most are methheads, trying to score their next ‘eight ball’, so they can make it a few more days. So, that’s what my truck became… 1/8 ounce of Methamphetamine. Steve, Kevin, their friends in the collecting community and the Sheriff knows who they are… but, you can’t do much if you can’t catch them in the act. And you can’t station someone to watch the ferry lines night and day. Unfortunately, the problem has spread to outright theft of property, not just abandoned vehicles.
I have never shed a tear upon hearing of some mainland fool being electrocuted while attempting to steal the power company’s transmission wires to sell. I hope that does not start happening here… or maybe…
Island Stage Left’s latest Production ‘Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me’ plays at the County Fairgrounds Theater from April 5 – 29…
This post was not prompted by Madison Wood’s Flash Fiction Friday, but certainly qualifies… to see talented writers prompted to create by this week’s photo… http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/