11COTJ Tale of the Two Volcanos

7/30/2019 11COTJ Tale of the Two Volcanos

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Mischief that boys get to

Rogi agreed for our model town the offside right corner in the rough vegetation, where the whitedriveway ended. Me, with a town planner determination, I laid-out streets, and choose districts to

velop and landscape properties. The white grit apron opened-up with blurry curbs to merge with ack street surfaced, thick on a bed of sand across the ancient lave flow. Pitch black as the wings of thews flying against the sky, over seeing our every move. Rogi stood by the corner with sight on the

pending front yard, with his suckling thumb in his mouth, until we crawled, hands and knees up theap of a sandy sharp bricklaying sand.The next day when we returned to the spot, where grandfather Sremos, in business with a

debaker dumper truck that unloaded the sand. We stood by stunned by the fragility of our roadnstruction. Gazing at the previous evening rains that had washed with revenge the heap of sandooth and flooded the flat land. In a land slide we found a Dinky Toy. The car forgotten in rush againstnset, for our bath time.

e writer expresses an esoteric detailed chronology of psychic experiences, through the thread of a down to earth story on how thend functions. He is committed to improving readability and understanding of such a controversial subject that is a lifetime thesis to

show the interactive shadow of the living against a background of immaterial with the aim to reach the 7 to 77 old.

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Reckoning, with a volcano

My brother and me, we didn'tspare much time to our sorrowswatching the damages of the tropical

downpour. the silt that poured andwipes our town of the previous dayclean to a terrace of sediments.Realizing this was a part of playing.before crouching we picked from our

arms the Dinky Toys. These cars and trucks that we placed on our construction site, from whereto drive off, for the reconstructing of the town streets,

We were at an age when the surroundings of our playground had a tendency to vanishinto nonexistence. The task in reconstruction was restraint to a few blocks in the immediatevicinity of home. I was determined to replicate with exactitude the suburb. Realized we weregiven a second chance, at rectifying a previous mismatched, while the heel of our hands were

scraping a street block in the vicinity of home. Heading east we traced the parallel arteriestoward school and coming round around at realizing the traffic circle. While behind at the otherend, in mind I mapped, the intercepting angle width of the street from downtown to the harbor.Feeling inefficient against the giant tires of the Caterpillar grader that passes by in the streetslike a street-sweeper. We mimicked these massive machines, and there, at the school circle wedug with fingers and nails our excavator buckets the road rising left with a hairpin bend. Wecame to stand bridging over our creation, feet spread wide apart on the suburban plots. Ourhands, one resting on the side of the heap of sand, the other continues cutting the embankmentand leveling the surface for our vehicles. We proceeded right, and away from the face of thesuburb. Spider crawled while tracing a great around about circle to the north face, withoutregard at that time of our youth, for the existence of a quarry entrance .

Grandfather's dumper truck at the quarry

From a glass ball spatial view into the future, reflecting a display window'sdepth, the furniture of a reality. Time will tell apart Sundays without a diesel blacksmoke billowing into the atmosphere. From nearby bushes metallic screeches ankleshackles a chains driven monster machine, which rose our curiosity. Our fright camefrom the background. There where the bushy hillside slope gently leveling out asavanna spread toward distant blue-gum trees. There, the flat landscape of a horserace course, which white circuit picket fence ran away at length with a straight of

jacaranda trees. Trees planted in the midst of a flourishing, the blues jingle bells, of apurpled tropical division to a pair of white grit lanes. In the far distance across the way,reflected the bright white strip building with its silver T-shaped saddle roof. Ourelementary school, where disciple reigned, teachers as stone faced as our father, who

Proportion of a child's Perception:Proportion of a child's Perception:

The native operator of the excavator,The native operator of the excavator,

Grandfather's dumper truck,Grandfather's dumper truck,

The moving boom from afar,The moving boom from afar,

In situ lava hillsideIn situ lava hillside


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instilled more fear than the wild animals of the jungle.Rogi and me, hid and watched from behind bushes the ghosts of shifting

booms against the open pastel blue sky. The many arms that dug the bucket in situlava. A boom that hoisted, swiveled around, lowered, and opening a bucket trapdumping its sand.

On that day, we had spotted the out-of-the-way rusted tubular frame with wire

mesh. A farm gate hinged through a pair of rusty eyes, and pushed back against thewayside wild bushy vegetation. We took as an open invitation from the luring blackroad, where a blade of grass didn't survive, which slipped its black shadow down andturned away out of sight. We checked the opposite planted and lopsided girder thatsupported a few flimsy posts. Chain wrapped, and newish, locked like slave on astake. That didn't wrap up the haunting sensation, which grew form the low andwarped wire mesh fence on our way earlier up to the spot, with wayside bushes andtall grass meddled in a fence-less silent re-claim.

My brother short on my heels, and bend low that which quadruplet creatureswere given by nature to crawl under bush. We contoured the gate, and low on bendknees, from bush to bush, prowled in diagonal for the monster of a machine in activity.

Came up to the sheer drop, with a view of the charcoal terrace of a hillside quarry.Feeling exposed by the native operator facing us from the cabin of a rusty

mechanical monster, puffing smoke and squealing a grind. We escaped as fast and instealth, haunted by the idea of being discovered. Red as fire, our grandfather'sfamiliar red dumper truck, which rocked and rolled with our coming, by the suddendump from a hippo's jaws with a grunt, and roaring at us. With that last load of sandand at sight of the truck pulling off, we ran like chickens wild through the bush,meeting the growling engine coming after us. Short of the gate, feeling the red trucksought us out through the wayside bushes. We came to a standstill, and loweredourselves. on our hunkers behind a bush, we watched in fright father's shadowthrough the obscurity of the driver's window. His stone face, thoughtless gaze straight

ahead. The laden truck passed us be, without that our father flinching a squint in ourdirection. We waited though, for the tailgate to turn away at the gateway. Oncecleared, in a slow move, to the sound of an engine purring, riding the downhill bywhich we had come earlier. The purlieu return a silence, bringing us out of hiding. Weheaded up the middle of the wide quarry road, having in sight the ridge at the gate ofthe passing hillside scenic road.

A mere right glance from the bubble of my soul. I'm taken on another scene.Further around to the rear of the volcano, where the sun seems to rise from the wideexpanse of the lake in the morning. Short of the top, hustled by a horde of teasingcrows, claiming a territorial right with a ritual protective dance. There where thesavanna slope slips to the rear of an industrial hideout of shelters ending a street inthe harbor. By then we moved up, to stand in a cycloramic theater of our youth. thespiraling road tightening to a close, at an indentation on the mountain ridge no greaterthan a car's turning point of the leveled-out crater to a view of the cuneiform suburb.


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Smoking hideout

the lip of the crater was the place of aflashback with a native foot path in hiding behindthe eyelashes of tall tuft grass. There, with a

sheer downhill trail through the bushes waitingto be found for a child's mischief. One stoodover the school traffic circle, to the swell of in

leaf canopies in the line of sight that castedin bright daylight. The meager shade of theyoung tree, given the few years the white

grit pair of lanes on either side were laid-out.The section of a main artery that zigzagswith circles breaks from the downtown mainstreet.

a flashback through the course of

my life, to that day's mischief that I was upto with my brother. We came huffing and

puffing climbing the steep hillside straight through thebushes to find a skulking place. on a ledge we seated

behind bushes, believing in Indian smoke messages. facing home'sparallel arteries, the one black the other white, which slipped away into a far distant blurrynorthern circle. There, moments earlier we were in the vicinity of the Danani's Indian store. atthe first occasion in a crowded native market, waiting for a thief's occasion, we bought ourbrand packet of Belga Rouge cigarettes. Then, at the other end of town, we struck match aftermatch. drew hard on cigarettes going out of fashion. Pulled one after the other from the flimsycigarette pack, fire red, over our knees on the ground, our faces in a cloud of smoke, feeling

nauseous rising and grabbing our body to disgust.

Fit for professional BMX rider

With a "Wroom, vroom" here, and a "Wroom, vroom" there. A "Wroom, vroom from mybrother, and a "Wroom, vroom" mimicking engines roars over my lips. Trucks and cars drivingafter the heel of our hands which, graded suburban street with Caterpillar efficiency.

Such moments triggered a play of reality, to a flashback of a daring schoolmate,emotions on fire after riding our bikes up to the crater. He found at the lip outlook post, in the tallgrass the hidden foot trail. I came to a halt and lined-up behind with my bicycle. When myschoolmate pulled away to disappear, without the wings of a paraglider, and in front of me. Ididn't see, and didn't want to know, jumping with my bike after him. No sooner I had sight of himdown the straight, that the bushes came up, crowding with an onlooker's curiosity the path intoobscurity. My worst dare till then, was a flight of half a dozen stairs at the main street strip mall. Ihad that sensation of the bike bolting away, accelerating through shoulder leaf brushingthickets. the flimsy breaks ceased to respond in the silent dive. Then, in a glimpse, I watchedmy friend disappear to the right through bushes. in the nick of time, I leaned left for the barrelvault and cleared my way.

Stopping on the hillside road I began wondering; 'How did I get there and safe ?' I waitedfor my schoolmate, until fright oozed through my skin, by sight picking up the crawling dusk

coming from afar. as a shadow settled deeper into the natives market, a sprawling blackmonster fast approaching bearing father's rising anger. While waiting, I became nervous andimpatient on the hillside road. I couldn't see my way climbing the steep slopes in search for myfriend in the bushes. With shifting eyes from father's menace to the top of the naked


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embankment that broke the foot trail. lined bushes were seeking me, ready to jump down, athearing of my thoughts, to slip off on the quiet toward the dark luring hairpin bend a shortdistance in front of me.

The following Monday on the school playground, after being haunted over the weekendwith the heavyweight for leaving a friend in the lurch. My confusion persisted, as I had whenwheeling off by gravity. I arrived home a split moment before father. The coincidence of laying

sight on the boy walking up the playground. Crisscrossing ways, him an arm in plaster up to thecrotch, while I was filled with guilt. as quick he had entered my life, without a squint he exits.

Toying the street_block

Rogi and me, with a cupped hand mimicking the blade of the Caterpillar that scraps thestreets. Our imagination didn't reach into the history of an ancient lava flow that existed allabout us. as we were in the routines of growing-up the bushes. We were contented torebuilding our town from the point of our street corner by the thrive of a mechanical reality thatwas our genetic fantasy.

Through tall hairy grass that blurred the ankles and legs up to the hip of native crews.These manual lawn mower, were handy at getting into the interstices of the sidewalk curbs withwhitewashed boulders. They moved down either side of the street, and coming from the speedbreak hump, of a ridge under which lies a lava flow between tow terraces. The men with aprosthetic hoop iron blades extending an arm to a crow foot. Who with a golfer's dexterity of aone arm through swing, in the crew's passage clouded with flying long grass stalks. Alongsidewho, a slow moving Caterpillar purring a diesel engine the first pass with a scraper blade, at anacute angled, shifting a traffic wayside spills. And, with a mikado pickup of grass stalks spread,the blade pushed the sand and all back toward the middle. The caterpillar before the men,gradually disappeared being the mulberry hedge on the far property in the opposite corner ofthe T-junction. The caterpillar returns. And, again with another last pass, the blade smoothing a

curious phenomenon of traffic forming a corrugation in the middle of the streets, and with thecrew on the last pass disappeared in the distance.

We were alerted of oncoming cars, by the dull thumping chock absorbers. with mischiefcirculating in our veins, these flashback moments of running out the driveway. Standing to catchfrom a meager passage of traffic, the license numbers that we noted on a block-note pad. aftereach vehicle, and with a sense of culpability, we walked back with shifty eyes seeking outacross the giant parade of thick knitted and in-leaf swell of the mulberry hedge that wrappedthe corner. As no signs of life came from next door, we felt to have come off unscathed, andstarted off running for the next rumbling wheels.

This was a premonit ory sign in the first dimension, and instance of an accusation. in thesecond dimension when Father walked up to me that day, his stone face melting by the

tropical heat with anxiety. And, rather bothered, saying to himself; 'As I don't have enoughproblems?' then diplomatic as he seldom was. he asked me, "Did you slit the boy'' wrist with arazor blade?"

"No," I replied stupefied."I trust you," father said and sudden he had appeared in the street, where we were in

the habit of gathering the neighborhood children and play Hopscotch with my brother andsisters. Astounded after a reflection, I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of fatherwalking away. He disappearing around the mulberry hedge; and left me with the notion of anappearing vision, of father walking through the first of double in-and-out driveway gap throughthe billowing greens. There, where no man dare to enter. Since the incident corresponded,when Rogi and me, we had a mere glance under the in-leaf low hanging skirt where beyond thethick leg of a tree trunk in the dark. In the daylight of the property, the chief of police's boys andus had set eyes on each other.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/117255449/01SOSDIY-the-Moon-Waxing-Eye-of-the-Soulhttp://www.scribd.com/doc/117255449/01SOSDIY-the-Moon-Waxing-Eye-of-the-Soul


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Our father was known to have the longestOur father was known to have the longest in timein time building sitebuilding siteunder-constructionunder-construction,,

Sorry I'm his son, the next episode is up and coming.... soon!Sorry I'm his son, the next episode is up and coming.... soon!

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11COTJ Tale of the Two Volcanos