Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Rumor has it
What is a Yumawalli? Have anyone heard of this before? And what is "Dancing with the Yumawalli"? I hear a book by that name might be coming out soon. Word on the street says it could be the greatest thing since slice bread. Here's a small sample that came my way: Th is thing created a carbuncle that inhabited a place deep below the
surface of my skin. It manifested as a constant shifting irritation. Not
anything powerful enough to threatening my mortality or sanity, just
an incessant kneading. It’s always there these days, in my waking hours,
and in my dreams, it affl icts me completely. Th is uneasiness crept
into me on the same day they launched that vessel, and Karrol went
missing.
I’ve always thought of him as a scamp, and an instigator of the best
kind. My friend, Karrol Lagrenade, saw opportunities in places that
most of us would look straight through. So when he approached me, I
was a little doubtful. But we slipped away from the gathering, and the
launching of the vessel, leaving the food, and the celebration back on
the beach. He enticed me to follow with a promise of money, and a silly
idea. Had something to do with the heat of the sun, and an old man’s
fruit trees. “Should take less than ten minutes, man,” he argued. “We’ll
be back in time to watch them drag her into the sea.”
Each time I refl ect on how I acquired this anguish, one image
crops up continually: the downward spiral of falling leaves. Th e day
they launched that vessel, Miss Irene, the world, as I knew it, ceased
to exist. I crossed over, into matters arcane, mystical, and do I dare
say murderous? Our run-in with the old man was the fi rst sigh.
surface of my skin. It manifested as a constant shifting irritation. Not
anything powerful enough to threatening my mortality or sanity, just
an incessant kneading. It’s always there these days, in my waking hours,
and in my dreams, it affl icts me completely. Th is uneasiness crept
into me on the same day they launched that vessel, and Karrol went
missing.
I’ve always thought of him as a scamp, and an instigator of the best
kind. My friend, Karrol Lagrenade, saw opportunities in places that
most of us would look straight through. So when he approached me, I
was a little doubtful. But we slipped away from the gathering, and the
launching of the vessel, leaving the food, and the celebration back on
the beach. He enticed me to follow with a promise of money, and a silly
idea. Had something to do with the heat of the sun, and an old man’s
fruit trees. “Should take less than ten minutes, man,” he argued. “We’ll
be back in time to watch them drag her into the sea.”
Each time I refl ect on how I acquired this anguish, one image
crops up continually: the downward spiral of falling leaves. Th e day
they launched that vessel, Miss Irene, the world, as I knew it, ceased
to exist. I crossed over, into matters arcane, mystical, and do I dare
say murderous? Our run-in with the old man was the fi rst sigh.
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