Bang Bang Dang
Ringing steel with wallops and haymakers
Ringing steel with wallops and haymakers
Somatic jolts of collision therapy
Hammering home
Points in your head.
Speaking of cranberries, I recently met a cranberry farmer in Brandon, Oregon. We were both sharing a stretch of deserted beach. His dog Zippy was over-protective and nipped at my heels and shouted with piercing barks if dogs can shout, that is. The farmer’s name was D. Peck. He used to clean pools in Beverly Hills for 10 years. Now he floods bogs and clears them of cranberries. SO, he’s still cleaning pools. The farmer liked me and said I could stay at their (wife) house if I wanted but Zippy was so very NOT IN ACCORD with the plan that I politely declined. D.Peck wore a cast on his arm and liked that the beach made him feel small in the world like a grain of sand. He ran back to me later with a really nice sample of petrified wood and a fossil of a sand dollar that he said I could sell to the shell vendor in the morning. Zippy added: get the fuck off my beach.