The Absence of Color

Coals and flame from the Arcane Battle Arena

We have neighbors.  They live downstairs and casually support the idea Adam and I have tried to support,"neighborhood community."  Phil comes over from across the street, shirtless and shoeless, starting fires at the Arcane Battle Arena -- our yard fire pit -- while the pads of his feet soak in the heat from the flying coals.  Summer in Wisconsin is Markiplier embarking on a new game, or the last episode in a season of House M.D., or the sensation of a new chorus freshly written in a sketch notebook.  It tickles and drools, then add pork ribs.  I am euphoric.

BBQ pork ribs

Frank and Luke are the the downstairs neighbors -- they had a fly problem.  No effort could rid them of the thousands of bugs that seemed to be coming up through the woodwork.  Where were the buggers coming from, anyways?  Frank vacuumed up the team that were swarming his head.  Adam had this idea that maybe -- just maybe -- the cellar was a source.  Or it was a plague.  We opened the floor in their kitchen and descended.


Below the floorboards was a fragrance, if a lake could become petrified.  The skeleton of the house opened and fluorescence consumed the heavy darkness.  Over three hundred thumb-sized flies, chest of collectable pennies covered by a sheet, a water heater, a wooden bench, a brown pelt -- legs attached and toenails sprawled.  Maggots.  We take turn getting the willies and gagging, then grab a plastic bag and two shovels and scrape the body off the cement.

The rabbit pelt

Let's counter this experience with one from Big Falls State Park.   Shirtless Phil took us through the forest-maze and into a secret beach complete with sand, riverfront, baby toads, and the fixings for a fire.  Driftwood had formed in layers from the previous week's flood, and, in the vegetation, we were tased by ghost-mosquitos.  Adam welted up in dramatically from the bites, each white bump complimented by the surrounding cherry skin.  He moaned and put his brain on beer-bypass.

I jumped in the water and sat down downstream from the common falls.  My hips and back felt a series of tickles and wiggles, so I glanced at my thigh.  A school of minnows were nipping and playing at my skin.  I considered Israel, places there you can go where you pay money for fish manicures, but that was just a service that the state park service provided pro bono.  After drifting the beach shore, climbing a cliff, and a fallen tree, we headed back home.

Oddness is appealing -- even if the instance is undesirable.  It morphs an otherwise black world into something that has detail.  Something that breathes and has sensitivities and strengths.  I believe in change, and I believe in being uncomfortable at the expense of bursting flamboyantly forward and feeling something.  A dead rabbit didn't change my life -- actually it was probably someone else's problem, something that caused our neighbors and landlord a whole lotta head-pain.  The slight shame I felt was only a small issue; I am raw elements and chemical reactions.  Rebirth.  Seeing the small things as events, new and important that shape my future decisions.  Without color the world would be black, just black.

The Overworked

The highs in life can sometimes disappoint.  Mainly because they can be over-emphasized when planning for them.  You book a plane, scroll through the Pinterest-modeled hotel rooms.  And the time that you use to think about it.  That is a strange spin on the idea of daydreaming.  Usually ideas float around like thought-bubbles entertaining the strange scenarios that cannot ever happen, but in the scope of a large trip, you daydream -- and that dream manifests.  You actually ride the big coaster.

But, as in planning a perfect wedding or even the annual celebration of Christmas, waking up the following morning and searching that bare area of your cranium, quickly scooping the last little bit of sunshine into it.  But the temperatures continue to drop closer to negative double-digits, and the snow has stopped falling.

It's time like these I think about seeking that next fix.  An event.  Maybe buy something, or I could make something -- a song or sketch out a scene, get crafty.  But that brainal section void needs time to shrink back to a normal size.  Then I think just send me something, give me a morsel of excitement and God provides.

This week I got to sing during a friend's set.  Fathom is the alias for Cory, and we have several songs that we wrote together.  We work well together.  It has always been fun writing and working with Cory.  I live for these moments, but rarely do I prepare for an artistic experience.  What did I learn?

The repercussions of my taunt on a Fat Far float