Oaths of squid and rivers of colanders

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/oaths-of-squid-and-rivers-of-colanders | Reading Ulysses in Montana #79 | An oil painting in the style of Andrew Wyeth of a woman in a faded dress dancing alone in a bare barbershop with forty empty chairs, a squid lying in a dented tin colander on a weathered wooden table, an ink-stained blue Oxford shirt hanging on a nail by a window that looks out on a gray river under a stone bridge.

Reading Ulysses in Montana #79

Glynda waltzed into the oaths of forty barbers belonging to the benevolent order of yokes on you. Or is that yolks? Folks at the bazaar squinted at the squid in the colander and said maybe not calamari today.

Glynda’s pills helped her see forty terraces above the rampage of stinking lollipops, but that’s not in waltz time, rather commotion time to tell the heathen’s honest truth! Saw bucks with a photo of other than Lincoln fed Rabbi Ben Ezra a feast of ten pounds of calamari while the ink dried on the collar of his blue button-down Oxford shirt with a logo of two oxen fording the river Cherwell next to a famous university of some renown.

The ink spot on his collar resembled a bridge over the river Cam in the shadow of yet another famous university, famous universities being run-of-the-mill-on-the-river-don’t-forget-to-Floss-your-teeth in Glynda’s literary imagination.

But not in Nottingham.

Gaits, barnacles, and the abacus of three lefts

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/gaits-barnacles-and-the-abacus-of-three-lefts | Reading Ulysses in Montana #101 | Oil painting in the style of Monet of landscape with basketballs and high top sneakers across the quicksands of yellow time.

Reading Ulysses in Montana #101

Mincing reunions came easy to Marian under abrupt surplus of naval supplies–deltas of Polestar River be damned.

Gordon’s triangles of triangulating alpha spheres taught him three things about Marion’s gait that he had only guessed at in the long summer of empty winter. But Marion didn’t mind. She discoursed on Gordon’s quadrilaterals with token signals of disputed moonbeams.

Gordon rather liked Marion’s moonbeams and the way she used them to prove his theorem of heavenly delight–might not always making right but three lefts always do. Brave balls of spherical circles sent tidings of Gordon and Marion’s nervous journeys to the land of mathematical brilliance, lands unnumbered in the pages of the tomes of slavish threats.

Unnatural recursions left Marion wanting more, but Gordon got his revenge a month later when guiltless chambers cursed the desperate sun and left no rendered cheeks behind.

Pawned shingles of tin dusk

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/pawned-shingles-of-tin-dusk | Reading Ulysses in Montana #322 | An oil painting in the style of John Constable of a young woman in a pale, wilted hat peering over a vast eroded embankment at twilight beneath crowded rain-heavy clouds, a weathered wooden boat beached nearby, a gentleman in a dark coat wiping his mouth as he holds out a single roof shingle to her, soft tin-grey light breaking through the storm sky over the English countryside

Reading Ulysses in Montana #322

Crowded showers of twilight account for the jealousy of Cissly when she peeped her head over the great breadth of attrition.

She crept a little jolly turn over the mystical venture, the saddest vessel, and turned her wan hat with contrition to the brim of the gentleman.

The gentleman wiped his mouth and exchanged his heart on a shingle for her assent. Her bright hope of double singular devotion abandoned fleetingly for a toiled laugh.

Strained mercies and lisps of gold

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/strained-mercies-and-lisps-of-gold | Reading Ulysses in Montana #551 | An oil painting in the style of Georges Braque of Othello in a Barcelona barber's chair beneath a row of gleaming lampshades, a grandmother's Edsel and old Studebakers parked outside a tiki lounge, kites drifting over a fence where cats prowl, a baby with a full bowl of strained peas on a table, accents of gold leaf

Reading Ulysses in Montana #551

The crackers crumbled too far past the bridges of San Luis Madison Kwai. Flows the Don and Suzy show not so quietly through and along the county for old Studebakers in her grandmother’s Edsel and villain tour of tiki lounges.

Hail geezers, full of one too many lightshades gleaming over the fence at the other cats on the prowl. Bequeathed the outrage and a fleece outage where Spaniards fear to tread, a three-day trip from the Prado to the Alhambra enlightened Othello with or without Desdemona stopping in Barcelona for a gaudy hair appointment. He’s just a jealous guy. Kind kites elided fortunes of Philly cheesesteaks, but the grasp of the benefactrix was tight as a lisp and gave pause to those in the region who were hard of hearing.

Candy may be dandy and liquor quickor, but unlike the quality of mercy, the peas are strained. Give baby a full bowl!

Sixteen pounds of Tuesdays

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/sixteen-pounds-of-tuesdays | Reading Ulysses in Montana #630 | Oil painting in the   style of Pablo Picasso of cosplay warriors entertaining penguins (the fruit) and diamonds on limbs and socks.

Reading Ulysses in Montana #630

Diamonds of limbs and palfreys of bizarre socks bestowed another grim character to barter away the souls of too many unkempt promises. But Myrtle would have none of it.

A penny and a half penny more coined the term Myrtle and her brother perpetuated like the rules of wine tasting for the abuse of preposterous miscellanies and bacon. Penguins also being the name of a fruit bought Marvin a little time, a fact catching Myrtle off guard with the haste of incense and swords of good flights.

Sixteen pounds of Tuesdays led Marvin to pester Myrtle again about turning skills and reformations into strangles of offended bruises.

Finding me in another small room became a debt too far for Myrtle to play again, but Marvin took a chin of harmless earth and stored it against the everlasting future of endearing frontiers and enduring cosplay warriors.

Being with Georgette #20

Being with Georgette #20

“This must have been the kind of place they sent you,” Georgette said.

The low, whitewashed building in a park-like setting sprawled across the grounds like it would melt into the lake behind it in no fewer than ten thousand years.

“I was never sent anywhere,” I said.

I pulled open the heavy oak door and Georgette stepped in. She skipped across the threshold and mussed my hair and said, “I hope they don’t keep you.”

The lobby was warm with a stale smell, a cross between institutional coffee and day-old thrift store.

“I’m here to see my Uncle Nate,” Georgette told the girl in white behind the counter, and she gave her name.

The girl looked at me. Georgette said, “He’s just my ride.”

“Have a seat, someone will come and get you.”

Five minutes later, someone came and got her.

“Don’t let them keep you,” Georgette said, and she followed the orderly down the hallway.

The girl looked at me a little too earnestly, and I went outside.

* * *

The lake was calm. I sat for an hour under a tree by the creek at the outlet of the lake. I studied the transition from still water to rapidly running water and tried to find the very spot where you could say this is lake and this is creek.

“It’s laminar flow,” a voice said.

I looked up at the woman. She was watching the water too. She smiled at me. She pointed to the same place I had been looking at and said, “Where the water flows smoothly, like one body, no turbulence. That’s laminar flow. Peaceful.”

I saw what she meant. “Yes,” I said.

“Mind if I sit?”

I shifted to my end of the bench, but she remained standing.

“Are you from here?”

“No.”

“You look familiar.”

“My friend is visiting her uncle.”

She sat at the other end of the bench. “I’m Doctor Stacey.”

I told her my name. She studied my face as though trying to place where she had seen me before, then she gave up.

“I study English lit,” I said.

“At the university in town?”

I nodded. A twig on the lake slowly drifted toward the outlet of the lake. It took its time but finally hit the point where the water accelerated, which Dr. Stacey had called laminar flow, and shot off down the creek.

“I studied there too,” she said. “Not that long ago.”

“And now you’re here?”

It was her turn to nod, and then she said, “I’ve moved up in the world. How long are you here?”

“I’ll be going soon.”

She looked at her watch then put her arm on the back of the bench, turning slightly toward me. “You’ve been here before.”

“I’ve visited a few times with my friend.”

“Maybe I’ve seen you another place I’ve worked at?”

“The university maybe.”

“Am I familiar to you?”

“Depends what you mean by familiar.”

“You mean I’m being familiar. Pretty sharp.”

I watched the clouds flow across the sun, across the sky, roiling as they scudded along.

“That’s turbulent flow,” Dr. Stacey said.

The sun dimmed and a slight breeze rose goosebumps on my arm.

“Shivers,” she said. “Come up to my office. That’s it, second floor, third from the end.

“My friend will be finished soon. You have a nice view of the lake from up there.”

“Seniority,” she said. “I haven’t worked here very long, but neither has anyone else.”

* * *

I stood and took one last look at the creek flowing from the lake.

She followed me around to the front of the building to the portico at the main entrance.

“Don’t walk so fast, I can’t keep up. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“My friend is waiting.”

But Georgette was not in the lobby.

The girl behind the counter looked and me and then at Dr. Stacey. She picked up the phone and said, “Orderly.”

Two orderlies appeared from the hallway and rushed toward me, but they did not stop. They stepped behind me and said, “Dr. Stacey, it’s time you went back to your office.”

With a half smile she gave a faint wave and went up the stairs with the orderlies following close behind.

“She’s a doctor?” I asked the girl.

“She was a graduate student in physics. She thinks she’s at Princeton.”

Georgette appeared and the girl went back to shuffling papers.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

“How’s Uncle Nate?”

She giggled and took me by the arm and pulled me outside.

“You always seem too at home when you bring me here. These are your kind of people.”

“You are my kind of people.”

I helped her into my truck. She gave me a peck on the cheek and said, “Don’t ever go away again.”

I shrugged and said, “I just go with the flow, you know that.”

As I drove through the parking lot, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw myself standing next to the bench by the creek, my hand frozen in a faint wave.

I punched the gas and pulled the truck out of the parking lot and back into the turbulent flow of Georgette’s happy life.

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Sevenfold sieves with a census of crooked knots

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/sevenfold-sieves-with-a-census-of-crooked-knots | Reading Ulysses in Montana #428 | Oil painting in the style of van Gogh of a mountain and two curls sitting by a zebra with astrolabe and reel-to-reel tape player.

Reading Ulysses in Montana #428

Demented in Dayton–except there is no Dayton in that neck of the would–another scallywag showed her true colors.

Ginger secured her flyer to the roof of George’s car and took a masculine quarter with a blame of patience and a sorcery of fortitude and untied the waking knot. Not that beds of vigilant urns had anything to do with it, but exploits of Ginger’s victories gave force to George’s scales of festivals and Chinese fireworks along great walls and fortresses of rainy regions.

George followed the course of the sieve with fear and malice toward none and cracked the fossil across the slate of twisted weather, whether the masons had built the brick wall in the color of Ginger’s natural history or not.

Sevenfold shelters protected the demented of Dayton, even though there still was no Dayton in that neck of the wouldn’t.

Mispronounced scandals of velvet oysters

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/mispronounced-scandals-of-velvet-oysters | Reading Ulysses in Montana #530 | Oil     painting in the style of John Constable of the road to Shadow Falls in the morning with a man and a woman leading a     llama. An anvil sits in the corner.

Reading Ulysses in Montana #530

Spectacular proclivities and liberties of unplumbed living quarters made Jean livid at the vivid veils of Shadow Falls.

Contrary to other unpopular beliefs, brief encounters of mischief and altogether rubbish of another kind gave Jean’s wife, also called Jean–him French her English–the fits, like on their pigheaded tour of Shadow Falls when the oyster couldn’t keep his hands off the cabbage leaf.

Shelves of simply rotten discoveries accompanied a plague on all their blouses with an epidemic of academics whining, although Jean hadn’t been a fictional citizen of Shadow Falls as long as Jean had. Allotted advantages from both the worst of times and the best of times gave royal credence to the protector of sanctuary and sorrow.

Where liberties and proclivities of accrued dreams beguile, Jean and Jean left no more ominous oaths complain along the languid road to Shadow Falls.

Being with Georgette #19

Being with Georgette #19

I walked along the road to the gap between the guardrail and the old bridge, the two-tone truss bridge a mile from my house.

The dirt trail led down the steep slope between the boulders to the river. The boulders had been blasted from a quarry on the other side of town to shore up the road on the approach to the bridge. A few boulders rose to my waist, and I patted one and, feeling its radiant warmth in the afternoon sun, I embraced it.

Georgette had stopped me on my way out the door and said she wanted a divorce. I could barely contain my glee, and all I could say was could we talk about it after my walk. She had said of course.

Three quick leaps through clouds of clicking grasshoppers brought me to the sandy beach at the water’s edge. The river flowed briskly for August, following three days of rain that had washed out Georgette’s camping trip with the girls over the weekend.

I stepped into the river and stood still until the minnows gathered around my feet.

The county line ran down the center of the river, accounting for the bridge being painted two different colors: green on the Morrow County side and maroon on the Park County side. The road was a state highway but the state contracted the maintenance to the county shops, and each shop used whatever paint they had on hand for last summer’s paint job.

“Catch anything?” an old man asked from his drift boat.

I shrugged and held out my empty palms. “Not a thing.”

A boy popped his head over the gunwale of the boat and lifted a stringer full of fish. “Put that down,” the grandfather said, and they drifted down around the bend.

I entered a grove of quaking aspen and lay down in the dry, summer grass and fell asleep.

* * *

When I awoke, nothing had changed. The trees were the same, the bridge was the same, and despite what you might have heard, the river was the same. Even the sun was the same.

Only ten minutes had passed, but I had slept deeply enough to have gone to the other side of the universe and back. I can always tell how well I’ve written in the morning by how well I sleep on my afternoon walk to the river. I had written well.

The only time Georgette joined me on my afternoon walk, we napped in this aspen grove and woke to see a bobcat drinking on the other side of the river. We watched it drink and admire itself in the surface of the water and finally wander off into the brush. Ever since, Georgette asks me when I return from my walk if I saw the bobcat, and I never have. I likely never will.

A couple of loud, lifted pickup trucks with patriotic flags flapping from their beds chased each other across the bridge. I thought about my novel that begins with a man trying to end it all by jumping off this same bridge. Each time he jumps, he wakes up on the beach downstream, and after three or four tries, he gives up and goes off on adventures of a kind of Shakespearean comedy where everyone gets what they deserve in the end.

I stepped into the river again, and found that not only was it the same river, it was the same step. The same minnows. The same me.

* * *

Back through the clouds of clicking grasshoppers, and through the field of boulders. This time when I caressed one, I felt nothing but the texture of the rock. I had become as warm as the sun.

Up the dirt trail and through the gap between the guardrail and the old bridge, the two-tone truss bridge a mile from my house.

* * *

Georgette was in her garden. She stood and said, “I’ve decided to divorce him.”

“I never liked him anyway.”

She stared with that look of yeah, you never do. She said, “I’m leaving in the morning. I’ll be back, but I don’t know how long it will take. He has a lot of property.”

I looked around at her flourishing garden.

She said, “Get Esther to help. Or just let it go.”

I nodded, already letting it go.

She went back to weeding between the potatoes, and I went to the house. As I opened the door I heard, “Did you see the bobcat?” I stepped inside, pretending not to hear, and let the door close behind me.

As I prepared dinner, I realized that despite her predictability in some things, the truth was you never love the same Georgette twice.

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Royal decanters dust the staircase

Visit https://almostmeaningful.com/royal-decanters-dust-the-staircase | Reading Ulysses in Montana #654 | Oil painting in the style of Hieronymus Bosch of an apocalyptic landscape with horses, a river, and night. A sword. A staircase.

Reading Ulysses in Montana #654

Amid the dust of a thousand horses, along the river to a thousand seas, within the night of a thousand virtues, Gumpy woke up and, clearing her dilapidated head, said I know what you want but I won’t give it to you.

Decanters of empty slights awaited Gumpy’s presence in the kitchen, but Christmas had come too soon and gone too late for it to matter to her or anyone else at that time of year. Mildred stopped Gumpy on the staircase and said where do you think you’re going. Gumpy walked away having not heard her sister–or at least pretending so.

The armor shone no more, and the round table was missing a leg. Gumpy wielded the missing leg as a sword of defiance and said no one else will pass. But no one else was around, so Gumpy was absolutely right. Mildred said put that thing down before you hurt someone.

Gumpy did not hear–or at least pretended so–for by then she had muddled her dilapidated head once more and dreamed of a million hyenas laughing at the dust of horses, rivers of seas, and virtues of darkest night.