Random Scribbles · writing

Here There be Dragons



I don’t typically offer up unsolicited advice. I don’t usually tell folks what I think they should do, unless they ask me.

Work hard.
Play hard.
Be passionate about both.
Find a vocation you love and become the best at it.
Discover an avocation that pulls you in.

Find someone to love.
Love them tirelessly and completely.
Share with them, everything.
Listen when they speak.

Nurture your creativity.
Make things.
Do things.
Take photos
Make films
Do what makes you happy.
Share your creativity with others, loved ones and strangers alike.

Care about others and look out for them.
Care about yourself.

That’s about it!
No, wait! There’s a little bit more.

Never play cards with a man called “Doc”.
Never sleep with anyone who has more troubles than you do.
Never admit to being intelligent or having a driver’s license.

OK, that’s it.

Random Scribbles · writing

True Love

Salvador Alejandro Casanova del Barco removed his tool belt and hung it gently in the back of his Telephone Company van. His touch lingered on the soft leather pouch and he caressed the pocket that he reserved for his wire strippers. The tool belt responded to his touch like a lover; slowly rising and moving in synch with his caress. He leaned in close and inhaled her scent enjoying the sensuous aroma of saddle soap.

“I love you,” he said and she responded, without words, in kind. He knew that she wanted him, but they both knew that now was not the time or the place.

Reluctantly they bade each other adios and he closed the rear door of his work van. Longingly gazing through the window he placed the palm of his hand flat against the glass. She raised her needle nosed pliers in reply. It was obvious that she was broken hearted. He selflessly, and rapidly, moved to the driver’s seat where they could not see one another.

Sal started the engine but before he could check his next appointment his fingers brushed the steering wheel. Unable to control himself he grabbed it at 10 and 2. Then, he ran his hands gently along its curves, feeling the hot, sun-warmed plastic that had been yearning for him while he had been inside the Johnson’s home, installing their new extension. The steering wheel leaned into him, making its desires known. He resisted.

“I’m working now,” he said to her, “I’ll call you later.”

“You won’t,” she responded, “you always say you will but you never do. I spend my life waiting by the phone but you never call. I’ll keep waiting though. I’ll wait for you forever Salvador.” He knew that she wanted to kiss him. Perhaps she even wanted to know him, in a biblical sense, but he stayed back – aloof and unreachable.

He spent the day fighting off the advances of his steering wheel, who was just too needy; his clipboard, who had a beautiful soul but seemed a little flat and one dimensional. That day though, his clipboard was like a siren that called to him, lured him. He almost gave in to the bench seat too. She was soft and supple and he loved to lean his head on her and nap at lunchtime. Today she seemed to have spent extra time preening, making herself look good – look good for him. Her stitching seemed to glow.

He was proud of himself that evening when he parked his work van in the Phone Company yard. Proud that, though his name was Casanova, he had not succumbed to the carnal temptations manifest in a normal day’s work and he drove home. He was glad that his car was old, too old for an active libido and she tended to leave him alone for the most part. Sometimes she would get a little frisky, like on her birthday or if she was idling at a light and a young muscle car pulled up in the next lane, but for the most part they had an understanding that allowed peaceful coexistence, and a good working relationship.

He parked in front of his apartment. He knew that Lupe, his esposa, would be there and that she would be in a miserable mood. They had loved each other once, but now they only stayed together for the kids. Next year though, Mariana would finish high school. She would move out. He knew that he would leave Lupe then. He could be happy with his tool belt. They understood one another. They communicated on a whole ‘nother level.

OK, this has got to be one of the most bizarre things I have ever written sober. I’m not sure where it came from, and I probably don’t want to know. I may never hit the “Publish” button, but I think I covered the requirements for the challenge. I wrote this for the Mutant 750 challenge #40 at Grammar Ghoul Press. Go check it out – write something and enter, if you dare. There are good people there and you won’t be sorry!