Hey Chief (4)

   
   "Hey Chief (4)"
   
   Maxine, or "Max" as she was called, worked the night-shift at a Waffle House in El Dorado, Arkansas--a modest city in the Hog Heaven State.  Max was a welcoming waitress, having a butterscotch nimbus fashioned by way of a pixie cut, and was as pretty as pearls.  
   It was just another mundane night of county cops, miscreants, and your garden-variety vampires; however, one tall, wiry man sauntered in, and he was all mustache--a total cowboy-styled dirt squirrel or cookie duster atop his full and kissable lips--if she would have been the neurotic George from the 90's show Seinfeld, she would've blurted:  "LOOK JERRY!  HE'S ALL MUSTACHE!"
   But she wasn't neurotic, into the paranormal, nor had any affiliation with organized religion--just a young lady attempting to get by in this sometimes cruel America.  So, she gently approached him with a sparkle in her emerald-green eyes, asking:  "Where would you like to sit sir?"
   Paul immediately felt the electricity of mystical love pulse through his thoracic cavity, feeling like he was going to have a panic attack upon viewing such an "up close" beauty, but kept his composure cool; next, calmly said:  "I'll take a booth."  Then, Max elegantly turned and led him--Paul's eyes glued to her golden legs steered by Reebok sneakers.  

Better To Be Cool And Died Than Uncool

Hey Chief (3)

   
   "Hey Chief (3)"
   
   Paul was over at Trevor's trailer, the interior decorated by pin-ups of toyland babes in pumps, doing the half-naked body stretch over fancy automobiles and crap like that, but hey--Trevor owned it; on the flip side, Paul remained a bit stoic, having held onto his dandyism, not shaving his gentleman-era mustache, though held a cold Bud in his hand; plus, had a mouthful of mint chaw, but paid no attention to Trevor's perversion with the world, just needed a friend.
   So, as Trevor went on and on about this hot chick he was banging, Paul was blocking him out, pondering how psychiatrists and others attempt to hide the truth, labeling some psychotic, when of course they totally are, yet then those brilliant madmen, seeing into the Otherworld with surgical precision--even better, and knowing they're not mad, but enlightened, holding onto the enchantment that drives them, while the normal folk, like Trevor, are all about the cold six-pack and crummy cable shows, never displaying the true theology of man's mystical intercourse with the unseen, though seen by many, yet only the steeled can handle it, and Paul was about ready to write a letter to the Corinthians, allegorically.   

Jango Fett vs. Obi-Wan Kenobi HD

Hey Chief (2)

   
   "Hey Chief (2)"
    
   Paul piloted his CRF 250 Honda, a dual sport cycle to the edge of a cliff in his native Arkansas; next, he cranked the motor off, unseated himself, and looked around at the animal-haunted nature of his woodland scenario, spotting the Totem of a fleeing skunk.  A lonely barber, having embraced dandyism, yet as redneck as they make them, putting some chaw inside his oral cavity and giving it a big spit, wishing he had a bottle of Southern Comfort; also, the respect of people--well, at least Mexicans hadn't thieved away his job; still, nobody respected a Caucasian barber.
   He figured that he should lose the mustache and shirts with a collar, unless they were flannel, but that would prove only the regularity of normality.  After all, what do they say in these back-wood hills he knew: "It's freaking Arkansas fella--same shit happens."  

The Man from Laramie (1955)

   
   "The Man from Laramie (1955)"
   
   Snowing in Nashville/Franklin area today--a dreary day; thus, just watched The Man from Laramie starring James Stewart with Mom and step-dad--it was awesome!  Double talk, repeating rifles, Apache, a mystery; plus, a beautiful girl that never gets kissed, for Jimmy Stewart is a true gentleman--he's got couth.  
   Having seen Day of the Evil Gun (1968) starring Glenn Ford at my Pap's house when I was a teenager, I figured there could be no better Western; at the same time, when I saw Silverado starring Kevin Kline in 1985  during a vacation to Colorado years before, I figured the same thing, at that particular flux of time.  Next, Tombstone starring Kurt Russell lit me on holy fire, but truly--The Man from Laramie is the freaking metaphorical bomb concerning an unwanted anti-hero doing his best to solve a crime, stay alive, and remain as innocent as a dove.  It lassoed my lonely heart.  

Cloudsong