stories. untold and otherwise.

thudding sounds are always dull or heavy,
but never sharp.
it implies a weighted, round-edged mass making a single impact.
blurry, almost, if a sound can be so obscure and indistinct.
it's a huge contrast to the everyday cracks and creaks;
those incisive snaps of a settling old house.
you know the ones that peal and whinge, all whiplike and angular,
the aches and pains of the elderly,
plain-spoken and easily dismissed;
and the other,
well,
the other seems to have the knack for going bump in the night...
what i mean is;
there's no mistaking one for the other,
so when a bass-heavy, percussive, definite, muted-yet-solid thud sounds,
you just know something's amiss.
during the daylight hours, it could be anything,
but it's almost always accepted as innocuous.
(the province of bears and burglars is not the sunshiny afternoon)
not so much so in the dark, however.
then,
every audible instance becomes pervasively sinister...
what fell, and why?
where did the seismic epicenter originate?
downstairs?
in the study?
was it colonel mustard, in the kitchen, with the candlestick?
before you realize you're wide awake,
you've already worked your way through ten
different compositions,
ten composite combinations.
a game of clue, taken in myriad directions
before the sleepy sands even clear out of your head.
it is, of course, standard procedure then,
to sit up for a moment,
listening.
secretly hoping to hear the heaviness hit down again-
if you can hear anything over the marching-band drumline of
aortic muscle spasms creeping up your neck,
to take up the beat  behind your eardrums.
***********
awwwwwww, man.
i mean, c'mon,
what was all that about?
well,
sometimes it's a little scary in the woodsly goodness.
...take it easy.
we all already know i will shoot the ever-loving sh!t out of anything
that encroaches critically on the crucial castle of co-operative creativity.
after all,
i AM armed to the teeth,
and even have a few caps busted on those, too.
it's part of my martial, impartial, proactive positive outlook.
dental, and otherwise.
like i've said before,
it's all really happening.
i can't always write about F*ing and A*s and muthab!tchbaggery-
...right?
so once in a great while,
we'll change it up with a little refinement,
or just some mundane real-life reality.
truth tellers can never stop.
a girl i know told me that a long, long time ago.
it only gets more accurate as time passes.
word.
and duders, don't worry,
the noise?
it was only the garage door bumping shut-ish in the wind.
that m-F*n' wind, my ninjas-
the answer was blowing in on it,
of course,
it was also what caused the problem,
but that's what wind does, yeah?
that's important to think about...
it just does what it does.
tornadoes and kites and seabreezes and forest fires.
tomorrow, y'all.
tomorrow,
we'll return to our regularly scheduled litany of
lethargic illiterate alliteration-
but for today,
let this be a lesson to you:
just because i don't write like a writer doesn't mean i forgot how to;
never quiet, never soft.....