Riff, and Bell Battle Diagram

(To riff off the other guy. )

He remembers a time when he didn't need to deal with his own soul, his own voice.  No he doesn't. He remembers freedom from thought, from decision, from concern of consequence. No he doesn't. He remembers a time when he didn't worry what other people think, a time when he didn't calculate, didn't sweat, didn't sublimate in an effort to fit in. No he doesn't. He remembers an innocent time before migraine dragons in the skull, distance, distress, divorce, death, darkness, and drugs.  No he doesn't.

He remembers he never really cared, in his caring. Never worried anything was the first or last time of anything. Learned never to take anything to heart, to shield the heart, to maintain the distance from all things, from himself above all…  to do otherwise was to stop breathing.  Yes he does.

He remembers the first keyboard in the house. He remembers the first music he heard, Day Tripper. He remembers the snow storm of 82. The caverns carved in white blanket ice, taller than him. The world made over into a blinding maze overnight. He remembers the towering trees of the backyard, the turns and twists around planted beds and mini hidden forests in corners full of thicket and unreachable. He remembers beating upon an old wood stump near the alley. Suffering four stings from the hornets disturbed. He remembers wearing a Green Hornet sweatshirt, sitting in the sandbox and sorting through the cat turds found there each day. Funny how foreshadowing plays forward. He remembers terrifying gang war in the alleys. Sticks and rocks hurled and returned. The ultimate weapon deployed when an older sister was recruited to hurl worse curses yet. He remembers the private street light that hung in the alley, beaming into his bedroom, burning sleep away. He remembers shooting it out twice with the air gun his mother bought him. He remembers her lying to the neighbor when he came to complain. The light stayed dark after that. He doesn't remember well her face. Some tone of her voice perhaps. He will ultimately keep a cassette tape of her voice forever. Never listened to. Fearing the ghosts trapped within. But that is why keepsakes. For our sake alone.

He remembers the lessons of exception, the wavering pulse of obnoxious presentation, the pitfalls, the slumps, the spikes, the rising place in social participations, the brass ring in sight, and then the loss of empire. Again and again. And this was all before middle school.

An uncaring thoughtless remorseless machine, with hobbies. And this was all before college.

Then Cobain died, and history ended. Planes started hitting buildings and everything has been superhero sequels ever since.

Which of course brings us to the present. Because twenty years is a blink of the eye.

But let us not be maudlin. At least, not remain so. We are here for the present, and the future.

A Bell Battle.  Two clans are moved into a Stand-by Room, to wait until the both the Bell and the Station are sterilized.  Waiting period could equal a full 24 hours perhaps?  That would give time for a lot of interaction between clans.  A lot of fighting, and a lot of tattooing.

But something about this setup bothers me.  It seems overly contrived.  But at the same time, the essence intrigues me.  So I think that means we're on to something. But it isn't purified yet.

Thank you for playing.