i’ve been smelling toast for days….time to go to the nuke country

so i google this because i think i heard something about it being important and the search came up with a stroke, a heart attack and an epileptic fit.
oh boy.
so here i am. a day or two later.
the toast issue, i decide, was toast. i made a baked meatball hero a day or two earlier and like the scent of love and passion, it lingered. or not.
i’m still here, the aroma is gone.
if you smell toast and didn’t make a baked sandwich in the previous 24 hours, google “smell-of-burning-toast,” and get ready to say, “elizabeth, i’m comin’ to join ya.”
the information they offer will give you a heart attack.
the day after, i awoke to greyness and immediately looked upon it as an opportunity and jumped in the car and went to my sanctuary, fort tilden.
last week, the tide was the lowest i’ve seen.
this week the tide is high and furious and loud and joyous.
it covers the beach and reaches where there used to be a seawall;

the weathered, misshapen stalks of rebar used to be connected to something, but now reach out like something blind, hoping to connect with a proton or two who has an in that’ll get them a roundtrip ticket to “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension”.

there are remnants of the old seawall here and there.
there’s about half of “half of a here,” here, in the pic below;

as i retreat from the beach i take a pic of the place where i saw the big tire last week.
i know that it’s still there, though buried by the sea.
the water acts strangely in the middle of the picture here, leading me to believe that it’s still visible and not buried in sand.

i hope to myself that last week’s sighting of the big tire wasn’t a cameo appearance.
i would attach extraordinary significance to this some thirty-six hours later when my friend was released from the anchor that held her in the present tense.
she was supposed to drift on to where i could find her – there, sparking and fizzling in the tiniest of molecular explosions out where you know (but would no longer have that much in the way of phone or e-mail access to her), but she had learned to tread eternal waters and resurfaced the next day, just as the big tire had done the day before.
maybe i could call it the coincidental magnificence of the big tire and little knuckles.
she and the big tire are inexorably linked for me.

i retreat from the shore and walk on the long path/road where i first met bernie madoff’s son just before his luncheon appointment with that lizard who was waiting for him in the parking lot last year, the first time i saw the end result of their extraordinary handiwork.
thinking back to that day, all i can say is “wow.”
if you’re new here, you ought to scroll back a ways and read this blog from the beginning.
but i digress.

for a while i can walk with my eyes closed and count my steps while maxx leads me.
last week i did this and counted 154 steps. i would think to myself that those three digits are a combination to the birthday of a girl i was in love with while still in my twenties. i would think about how long ago that was and marvel at the thought that love could be like clover, returning yearly as a reminder of how, for better or worse, it once was.
today i would try to best that but i’m caught up with a series of false starts or finishes.
maxx tends to gradually pull me toward either edge where my feet would identify either sand or soil. i would try to get back to the pavement or cement but have phantoms organize in my mind in the shape of automobiles that would honk justbehindme, causing the heart attack that toast was trying to give me the day before.
i would concentrate and take small, measured steps.
i would stop occasionally to listen for oncoming or passing cars or bicycles.
i would walk 184 blind steps but not be able to connect the numbers to a birthday.
i would open my eyes and look left at the path that leads to the scrub that leads to the other path that leads to the opening in the fence that leads up the incline that ends right here;

i’m at the sentry post of the old missile site.
i unhook maxx and he runs off. i decide i’ll immortalize the moment and call him over after setting the timer on the camera. you’d almost think we’re good at this;

in a conversation tonight, i felt the weight of ill fortune visited upon a friend.
friday the 13th indeed.
i found myself saying, “you’re young and….,”…and as i said this, i found myself feeling the walls closing in on me a little.
this IS a young world and i’m from black and white television.
i found myself connecting with she who did the breast-stroke in eternity last week.
she sent me a note recalling an episode when i love lucy was in italy.
“hey! it’s-a my birthday too!”
that notion settled on me for a long moment before i continued to write……but instead of writing i grabbed maxx’s leash and off we went……

About stephen trimboli

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