pause into super fun

What I love about life. The fireworks stands have risen like cardboard flowers and stand in church and pharmacy parking lots selling small explosives at small expense, so common people can contribute a bang and a kick out of stars into the dark night and anniversary of our independence not long from now.

Today is the 7th in our latest summer wave of heat. Almost everyone has a roof over their heads. Almost everyone has a freezer, an ice cube tray, water gets frozen and cracked, only to melt down the throat and pissed out steaming, flushed and back to the ground and up into the plants, or out into greater bodies of waters, then subject of the sun and burned into haze cooled into fog, condensed into air, risen into clouds, cooled again at night and dropped…

The opening eyes of children, the tall ones first, all the way down to the middle ones and then the littlest ones holding their hands looking up up and incredulous, just as you all strike the matches and ignite the sulfur with twine and flame made from fluid, the spark off the side of your thumbprint grinding alloy with the flint, rubbing your identity right into it, and your small stars shot into the night with all the others, aginst the rippling flags and melting pot of frozen sugars…

If we could only all see, only see, you and me, from above, all the breaking apart and coming together of material, the tension, the unity. Cries of joy, subsiding, crackling seconds of attention and paper particles confetti the air, then back to subdued tones and complaints and kids running and using legs like trees to hide behind and duck around. Then looking up again and the thunderous sound far above makes you realize how small you are, and the adults become kids all over again. Fifty years or more of this. Rocking chairs on porches and reports like gunfire but without the violence, only to be super fun times, and the kind-like voices over radio. Television flashes through the windows in the dark.

Headlights cast across the knees. Some are walking and others on bicycles, and many now driving away. Listen. Crickets and squeaky wheels. There will be no less struggle between me and myself, you and yourself, and ideally we can be our own best friends, i can be my own as i display the best of my abilities in plain view,  up against the best of yours and everyone else’s. Perfectly on hold and iced until tommorrow. Four of swords. Pause into the super fun into the calm afterward.

The material of life. The mercury makes a difference, tomorrow more pressure and harder to breathe. My fair skin is nothing to the sun. The body is much on the mind, is nothing compared to the spirit. We will sleep and wake again into the beauty of the fullness of light and the breakfast table. If I am lucky I will continue to fight my own desires, my own ennui every day, blasting it to hell and confetti myself into paper. Being alone won’t matter. Could be a great day coming and why the hell not.

Outlandishlessness

The Tour  hasn’t even begun, and Lance Armstrong has already stolen the spotlight. He is the first to wear the yellow jersey this year. Stained with his doped up urine, for all to see. Still talking, long after he opened up with Oprah. Something about how no one could have won the Tour in the years he won, unless they were nice and doped up, too. I am only paraphrasing. (why waste my time or yours, hunting down the actual quote?)

Wow. I can’t believe he has more to say! This must be desperation. Anger. The need to get that stained jersey off his back. I don’t think the mailman is delivering flowers today, Lance. Maybe more lollipops from some international pharm?  I do feel for you. I am sure it is hard to live strong after your global avatar got character assassinated in broad daylight.

All I know is I am gonna watch the Tour this year, whenever the summer heat here in the West has me incapacitated. I am no couch potato. My bikes are my life! I ride almost every day. I have a Fuji Feather (fixed), a Motobecane Noir (cafe), and a beat up old Nishiki ten-speed. I do most of the repairs and maintenance myself, but I still need to learn how to true a wheel.

Come July, I will choose a favorite among the riders. But I consider them all, my heroes. The race is brutal! and these are all brilliant athletes. Doped up or not. Though I have completely lost interest in Lance…he’s probably right, what he says. Hopefully they are not doped, the riders, this year. But if they are doped, may  they all be doped! I want everyone in the race to have an equal, fair chance.

Yeah, all or none! Where everyone has an equal, fair chance at succeeding in the race. Just like the real world! Just like major league anything, and the national association of everything! No one has an advantage over anyone else! No nepotism, no doping, no ageism, no discriminatory practices! No dishonesty. No racism, sexism. Nor any other -ism. Strong and constant ethics! Great, abiding integrity! May the uneven bars become even. May the best players in the world be pulled off the field at once! for gambling, dogfighting, and homicide. And double homicide. And drive-by shootings!

We want our heroes to be rich! to be pure! Brita-filtered, if necessary! We want them charitable, and honest. To be good with the children and not beat their wives. And if not? We won’t suffer any out in the open antics. Not when our children our watching! The V-chips are set for high alert! Any outlandishness, and we will take them to court via International Sport Federation laws, if justice cannot be served elsewhere. We will promote only contractual outlandishlessness!

This is how it is in this our litigious year of our lord of our understanding, twenty thirteen! Any current or potential iconic sports hero must obey. Digital signatures notwithstanding! Hell! it’s not so bad! The expectations are clear. Ya, certain personality types will have to be weeded out, here and there. But there’s no such thing as a garden without weeds. And no hero of yours or mine will be suspected of any heinous crime, rest assured, without clear and present leads.

Katya Mills, 06/13 @ katyamills.com