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A Brush with Sage

One bleach blonde head with fake pink ray bans and lipstick plastered on her face. A 1950’s teal work dress with fancy oriental fan-like print, her hair pinned up so that her natural dirt stricken, and ashy hair isn’t peeking through. She is searching for her wallet but her attention is focused on the camel that seems to inspire each exhale that exhumes from her lips. A familiar hand pushes the 30 rack to the drive thru window. There are three friends in the back seat of her 1965 Ford Galaxy 500; four if you include the life size sock puppet dressed in a three piece suit everyone has dubbed, Wilbert. Her husband and lifetime villain Jezebel occupy the front. With all of the inspiration that this moving steel can carry, they roll on towards Black Bridge Road for an afternoon photo shoot. Jezebel was always the weird one. However, the question on everyone’s mind was, is she trying to be? I Summer in Paonia Colorado. I was 15 or so. I had just finished a healthy dose of what was referred to, in those days, as triple C. This was a cold medicine that was made to aid the cold symptoms of those who have high blood pressure. When taken in high doses one will experience a high; filled with drunk like bravery, mixed with the first few waves of a psychedelic, and the comedown of a methamphetamine. But it was all I could afford to steal at that age. Outside on a broken lawn chair, the sun beating into my face with such caress, I didn’t dare leave it for six hours. Attempting to play a tune or two on a baby pink Spanish classical guitar, and burning myself over and over because I repeatedly failed to recognize the fizzling warning signs of my lit cigarette, I saw her walking towards me. As I placed the rumors on each freckle that perfected her face, I heard people around me. Voices: Hey!!!!! Her: What’s up guys? Person 1: Just chillin, want a beer? Her: Sure! She sat down in front of me. She was wearing a black and white striped dress, her cleavage could eat an apatite, no matter it’s desire. If she was wearing underwear it was in worse condition than the tiny amount of fabric she claimed to be clothing. The rumors appeared to be true. Her: Who are you? Me: Jenna Her: what are you doing on my lawn? Me: Oh, is that what this grass is? Yours? It’s beautiful! Her: Are you high? Me: OK Looking up from her bed, the collages and random fabric that hung from the ceiling seemed to engulf my motor skills. I felt like I was sleeping in Tim Burton’s daycare. I turned over and saw her. I saw the apathy in her empty brown eyes. I was fixed on her like some sort of A symmetrical death moth. This girl, this lost little girl. Her: I gotta go to work Me: yeah, I gotta get to class. Thanks for letting me crash here Her: Don’t make a habit of it I found the wood stairs that went up, and chose to listen to them. I opened a door and the light penetrated me as if I had been some etiolated creature of the sea. I remember thinking to myself, ‘who could live in a boiler room?’ Turns out she paid for it. Lived below some single, middle aged, psycho named Kelly. I left confused and completely infatuated. II The Y Campsite: It was a treacherous drive up to this haven, most cars wouldn’t make it, but most tried anyway. This town really new how to live up the high school years. I have never seen delinquency executed better. Jezebel and I had just started a relationship with two very different, but somewhat similar boys, who loved partying with each other; Sauce boy belonged to Jezebel, and the drunk-ass avenger was all mine. The drunk-ass avenger drove us up in his trusty gold Jeep Cherokee, and to no ones surprise, we made it. No one in our ‘group’ ever went up here to witness the beauty. It was a safe distance from town to overindulge in underage sex and drinking. And occasionally some really great drugs. Someone had hauled a bunch of pallets up, so the bonfire that night was bright enough for all the counties surrounding to see. We split a handle of vodka and a 30 rack. We didn’t know it then, but that would be our ritual for the entire summer. The morning after a party like that was always rough; Body aches from passing out in a ditch, clothes pungent with notes of semen, urine, and blood. Confusion soaked with severe dehydration and misplaced innocence. Anger has always been my motivation to keep getting up. Even if the purpose of doing so, was with the sole intention of destroying everything beautiful in me, or my surroundings. III There are many small towns to choose from in Colorado. And contrary to what you think, there are boats that live on land. The X Games had finished, Jezebel and I were hell-bent for a hangover. After feeding into pointless flirtation and getting the adequate amount of free beverages that we wanted out of all those poor ol’ bastards… We, like always, went home together. The sun is coming up over Sorpis Mountain, and we are coming up on some delicious needle point grade A Acid. We rummage threw the closet of the previous occupant of the bed we took over. There was a small war to claim it, but victory was in our favor, and without casualties. Like children we began to try, place, and peg the perfect flannel and paisley on each other. I, in my raccoon hat, boxers, irrigation boots, and bare breasts find myself in front of a pair of very large vintage curtains. I pry them open like a dentist going at a patient with epileptic lockjaw, and scream; “This is my kingdom!! And these are my squires!!” It wasn’t until the roommates of the house woke that we found out that the delicious coffee we had been drinking all night, was a nasty moldy vessel. For some reason, that kind of shit happened to us a lot. It was soon after that, Jezebel stepped in dog pooh. We cried for her for quite a while, but then moved to sheer joy when we realized we could simply remove the sock! There is a time and place for innocence and delinquency to be brought to the surface. For her and I, we only reached full bloom during the same hour a werewolf turns; with the same beams that the moon would purge. Each particle portraying an entirely new color that the world had never seen before. Together we were, by all definitions a product of our environment. But, in some aspects a default. She was born with another, explaining the push and pull of comfort between oceans and mountains, and with or without the company of anything or everything. A constant game of tug of war, one end tied to her mind, the other to her heart. A partner in crime to some, but in my opinion, she was always looking for an alibi or an excuse to avoid responsibility. I was ready to break out with her, and dig a tunnel to never-land. Always looking for happiness, but incapable of it because of the abandonment and constant lack of attention as children. During one of her mothers many trips to Brazil for an ayahuasca ceremony, she and her siblings were left to fend for themselves at ages ranging from 13 to 16. I stayed with her in that double wide somewhere between self loathing and self exploration. Paonia, as she later mentioned, is just a town of homeless children. It was my 18th birthday and a celebratory event did occur. The drunk-ass avenger bought me a pint of tequila and made sure to draw a big heart over everyone else’s name, on the only card, signed by all of the attendees that evening. Jezebel and I ended up fighting and wresting that night. It was always entertaining for the masses. We, in a drunken storm, would completely assassinate each other. That night I broke the railing on the porch, with Jezebels body. Although I cannot give him all the credit for the events that would unfold thereafter, Travesty happened. He will be addressed as Beau from here on out. But he had his sites on us. Upon her mothers arrival one fall afternoon, she came home but hadn’t quite come down. While looking for her offspring, she opened the bathroom door to find Jezebel and I naked in the bathtub with an empty gallon of wine floating between all four legs. I was never good at first impressions, but they always had a lasting effect on those involved. I stayed in her bed until her mom asked me for rent, then moved on.

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100 word challenge: Fort

A safe haven, a beacon of hope, a sultry siren. How can I see depression or distress when I am in a perpetual state of growing bliss. Infatuation grows with each hardship that sinks or sails by. The swells that skim the skin between my grin and your teeth. All spaceship smiles and ziggy stardust. You are always glitter and gold, glistening and bright as your bite. Captivated by your charms and wicked ways. I’ll love you at the end of each night, and every morning that follows. We’ll build a fort from shipwrecks wood, sharing souls with the sea.

#Thinspiralnotebook

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The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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