Endless Shifting Sand 1: In the Wind

(c) Michael Steven Platt 2012 : Camel Sand Imprint:  Undine Press

Dear Readers,

When last we met, life was a turmoil of things I have forgotten and things I remember but don't know what they were related to, and other such important issues, I'm sure. Stuff happened and I haven't been writing much. But now, I finally did find my way back in to this blog after some years of frustrating inability to do so.

That's the Grand Explanation as to How I've Done and Where I've Been. I wanted to keep it from getting too confusing.  I'm glad to be back... I missed you, too. (The applause is thunderous)

New effort coming through, looking for readership. It follows here:

Endless Shifting Sand 1: In the Wind

I am going to post excerpts from my book, 'Endless Shifting Sand' ... thinking that, perhaps, someone else might enjoy the offbeat humor in the surrealistic flow of smoothly chaotic imagery. Different. Wildly different. I do hope you might give it a whirl... you might enjoy it. Thank you.

Therefore, I put forth the entire Table of Contents as introduction and beginning of what ESS is. Cheers!

(Pardon the quirky alignment. The draft does not match up with the actual posting and this creates some interesting configurations of order)

(All copyrighted, of course)

This Page

Endless Shifting Sand

(or Keeping Score in the Big One)

~ Disclaim Maintain Refrain: Page Numb Baring Approximations ~

Table of Contents …………………………………………………. This Page

Chair of Intents …………………………………………………. Under the Table

Visual Selection ................................... (Under the Chair and Under Construction)

Introduction …………………………………………………….. How do you do?

Opening : If it’s time to get up this must be Monday ………...…….. 1

Part One – Part Another: Take the Wrong Way Home

Chapter One - Greetings......................................................... ..........  3

First Hourglass Spill ………………………..……………… 3

Deal With It ........................................................................... 9

Tracking Treats and Nervous Noise: Answering the Call ... 14

… tock ……………………………………………………. 18

Chapter Two (, Too)……………………………………….....…… 22

Chapter III: Growing Older in the City …………………………... 23

Pardon Yourself and The Great Peanut Butter Caper ….…. 23

Harken to Thy Will ……………………………………….. 24

A Chair is Born …………………………………………… 26

A Neu Firing Line ............................................................... 30

Which Way Do We Go? …………………………...……... 34

Nothing but the Best ……………………………………… 36

Watch Your Hat and Head ………………………………... 39

I Never and A Message from the Stars …………………… 42

This Page, Too

I Retire Undefeated ......…………………………………… 45

Feeling Game in Florida ...…………………………………47

Have a Pleasant Flight ……………………………………. 51

Scientific Announcement ...………………………………. 53

Score and First Kiss (Yes, in that order) ………....…… 57, 58

Intermission ……………………………………………………….. 65

Continuum ………………………………………………………… 65

Break Time and Cryptaxidgience …………..…………. 69, 70

Chapter IV (Intra-Vacuous) ……………………………………..… 73

The Ins and Outs of Communication .................................... 73

Apologies Not Necessary  .................................................... 77

AI: AS: The Phantom Cub Scout …...…………….……….. 79

The Story I Don’t Tell .......................................................... 81

Let’s Go to the Cemetery! ………………………………… 81

Household Hints …………………………………………... 85

A Solstice Celebration Entwined ………………………….. 88

Giving at the Office (or Where am I now?) ……………….. 91

Family Branchings, a Grandfather’s Tale …………………. 93

After the Party Party (or Just Where Have I Been?) ………. 96

Summer Job Farm Adventures ............................................. 98

Go Fish …………………………………………………… 103

AP: SD ……………………………………………………………. 107

Time to Relax …………………………………………….. 108

The Very Next Chapter …………………………………………... 111

This Page Three

Prognosticating Reminiscent Sand Piles ...…………….….… 112

Inspiration Calls …………………………………….…..…… 115

(I Forgot … um… ) ………………………………….…..…... 117

Drink This Book and Like It ...………………………...…….. 119

Sip on This, Two………………………………………..……. 120

Prognostication (Part Duh), “It’s Obvious.” ……..…..……… 121

In Control and Lost for the Plucking …..……………..……… 123

Community Services Announcement ………………..……… 128

A Stoic Pause Orchestrates the Usual ..................................... 130

Amazing Facts …………………………………….………… 133

Lunch Time, (try and) Take a Seat ………………….………. 134

In Cattus Requiem ………………………………….……….. 135

(Further) Into the Fog ………………………………………….……. 137

What I Haven’t Written Yet …………………………….…... 137

(While Waiting) Time to Think About the Passing Time:

Encrypted Dream  ......................................................... 137

Interred Mission to Post Mission …………………..….. 141 - 142

Change the Subject (Please!) ……………………….……….. 145

A Study in Situational Ethics and Karma ………….…….….. 146

Are You Done? …………………………………….………... 150

The Reluctant Snowflake …………………………………… 154

The Pause that Refreshes …………………………………… 156

Waasa Matter? Choke on This Paragraph .................………. 158

A.E.: I.O.U. (and sometimes ‘Why?’)…………..................... 164

This Page Four

Willow and Grayswandir ........................................................ 169

If You Do It, Mean It! ............................................................  171

How God Saved the Little Boy ……………………………... 172

Scorez-vous? ........................................................................... 177

Nope ........................................................................................ 180

This Ain’t Ravinia .................................................................. 181

Do it (to) Yourself Chapter: Fill Your Own Space …………………. 185

Back to My Chapters (Yours is Boring) .......................….................. 186

Dosewallips Coming Down..................................................... 186

Invitation to Imagination and Actual Party Mode................... 187

Happy Returns the Day ……………………………………... 189

(The Preceding Day) Fathered Attentions for Lunch ............. 192

The Lonely Puddle ………………………………………….. 194

The Next Part (Lost In Toxic Subsidy)………………....…………… 197

The Other Next Part and Courting Dreams ……..…………... 198

Birthday (Maid) Service …………………………………….. 200

(Sponsored Inter-Mission) and (continued) ............................. 201

The Offer of a Strife Time ...................................................... 204

Trains Passing in the Night ..................................................... 206

The Philosophical Limits of Imagination ............................... 209

Knock Yourself Out (Please)................................................... 213

Close the Window, Mon Ami ................................................. 214

Politics in Chicago: Snow jobs ............................................... 216

This Page Five

Part Two – Experience Expands

The Following Chapter: Let’s Spend a Day Together ........................... 218

Think Green and Pick a Day ...................................................... 218

Smoke This ................................................................................. 222

Happy New Year Connections ................................................... 225

Where Was He When We Needed Him? ................................... 228

(Pointed Pivot On To) Dark is Where the White Out Finds It ... 228

On Call: The Situation is, well, In Hand ................................... 229

Taco Time Juggling ................................................................... 230

From Small Chunks Break Bits and Pieces ............................... 232

The 4 R’s and Sunday Morning Pounding Down ...................... 235

A Call Up Wake (or Finding The Big Thrill) ............................ 238

Moral Sport Dedication ............................................................. 239

Chapter On or A Pocketful of Mondays ................................................ 241

Adventure, Mystery and Romance (Maybe Not) ...................... 245

May Day and The Tube ......................................................246, 247

Juggling with Words...... (Every Page, but Specifically)........... 250

Page Two-Hundred-Fifty-Two ................................................. 252

A Grade School Lesson in Neanderthal Humor ....................... 255

Morphalexic Daydreams ........................................................... 257

Wet, Wild and Swinging (This is Ravinia) ...............................259

My Other Foot Steps Out (or) Two For One Camel Magic ..... 261

Letters to My Daughters .......................................................... 268

Chapter Next ........................................................................................ 270

This Page Six

Talk about a Character and Vocabulary Check .......................... 270

Festive Land Gluttony Day ........................................................ 272

Did You Hear Them Say It? ....................................................... 273

Random Page Number Winner! ................................................. 274

Written Memory Test ................................................................. 279

Perspection ............................................................................................. 284

Everybody’s Got to be Somewhere ............................................ 286

My Grandmother’s View of Life ............................................... 289

(I remain sleeping for the duration...) No Return ................290, 291

My Daughter Supplies Another Karmic Lesson ........................ 291

(Retroverbalizations) Intersmitten Blast from the Passed by Past.......... 293

Job Responsibility and My All Over Twist Request ................. 295

Memories in the Dark or Serving a Long Sentence ................... 296

Getting Organized ...................................................................... 298

Reminiscing the Toxic Heir ....................................................... 300

The Great Missing Page Caper ................................................. (???)

The Latest Word ......................................................................... 304

The Low Down .......................................................................... 306

There Really Should Be ............................................................. 309

Welcoming Prologue ................................................................. 311

A Child is Born ............................................................…. 10-18-79

Marriage and Diapers Leading to (More) Snow Jobs ............... 313

Part Three – I’m Looking Up So I Must Be Down

Part To (Otherness) and Ivory Tower Dreams ....................................... 315

This Page Seven

Quixic Tandal ................................................................................ 315

Decide What I Mean .....(every page, but confined here to:) ........ 321

Self-Indulged Food for Thought et Progress in the Job World ..... 322

Winding Down Watch ............................................................................... 324

Special Poetry Section ................................................................... 324

Pertinent Questions and Check Your Scorecard............................ 326

Cheesy Target Practice................................................................... 328

Clear Cut Scoring the Whole Caboodle .......................................  329

Minimalistic Excess and Silent Landing ....................................... 332

Vision Doomed ............................................................................. 335

“     Dimmed ............................................................................. 338

(Invisible Chapter) ....................................... (Your guess is as good as mine)

Final Chapter (SODI?) .............................................................................. 341

Psidereal Matrix and Garden Delight ........................................... 341

Captain Naptime Wins a Gain ...................................................... 344

Scoring through Noblesse Oblique ............................................... 347

Communication Shakedown ......................................................... 351

Am I Supposed to be Here? .......................................................... 353

A(nother) Hollow Weaning .......................................................... 354

I Digress and Hit the Bottle on the Head  ..................................... 356

Is it Ever Not Monday? ................................................................. 360

Torquellipsis .................................................................................. 361

My Aim Keeps Wandering and Missed Her Tame, Boring Man .. 363

Prologue and A Stray in the Life ............................................................... 366

This Page Eight

Epilogue ......................................................................................... 377

What Remains is Gone ................................................................... 378

Narrowing the Way .................................................................................... 379

My Magus Opium .......................................................................... 380

(Further) Winding Down and The Curtain Falls ............................ 382

The Final Score and I Would Say................................................... 384

Final Chapter (Encore) and Final Word...................................................... 385

Closing ....................................................................................................... 386

Son of a Beach …………………………………………………………… 388

And so, again, I am washing over your eyes, sifting the written word across the perceptions of your awareness. I offer you my other way of seeing life in a big city:

(next posting)

I hope to see you there (I'll be the one looking over my shoulder at you)

Thanks.and Cheers

Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 6, conclusion

(Episode 2, Part 6, conclusion)

Greetings and welcome to the conclusion to Episode 2 of Withering Flats! We left Nick standing dejected at the door after the trick-or-treaters laughed as they thought his prideful declaration of villainy was all part of a Halloween act. Poor Janee has been wrapped in copper wire for quite some time (especially since I have not met a timely production schedule) and is patiently sleeping while waiting for Nick’s return. Let’s not keep her waiting any longer and we present the exciting conclusion to our tale...

“Ha ha, thanks Mister!” and they turned and went on their way, as Nick lowered his arm and looked rather deflated.

“Kids nowadays,” he lamented, “No respect...” and he closed the door.

Then, seeing Janee still trussed and asleep, he shook himself, growled, cocked his head at the sound, growled again, and then smiled his old evil smile once more. He waved the plunger at her and said, “Now it’s show time for you, my sweet!” He put the plunger back between his legs, pulled the goggles out of his pocket and pulled them on so that the elastic back was against the back of the helmet, took the gloves out from under his arm, pulled them on, grabbed the plunger from between his legs and strode over to where his helpless victim stood propped against the wall.

Janee’s rhythmic snoring had caught the interest of a fly that was now buzzing in and out of her mouth with the vibrating tides of her breath, but otherwise showed no awareness of what was transpiring around her. Nick knelt at Janee’s feet, picked up the two ends of wire and...

Ding-dong...

“What?!” Nick Cried.

Ding-dong...

“I don’t believe it!” Nick denied.

Ding-dong...

“I don’t care!” Nick belied, and he stuck the wires into the socket, causing Janee to jerk and clamp her mouth shut with a “WHOOP!” just at an influx of breath (much to the consternation of the fly), then he got up, picked up the plunger and stormed over to the door.

He flung the door open to see a person standing there who was dressed in a blue and green striped jacket with matching trousers, a yellow shirt with purple polka-dotted red tie, a pair of red, white and blue gym shoes, a straw hat sporting a plastic daisy from its band, and who held a large bunch of oily looking tulips in one hand and a box of candy in the other. Nick stuck the plunger under his arm, glove handedly fished in his coat pocket, pulled out the box of foil packets, stuck the whole box down into the flowers, grabbed the plunger again, waved it threateningly and said, in goggle-eyed frustration, “Trick or Treat yourself!” then slammed the door.

The door re-opened immediately, Nick reached out, grabbed the box of candy, said, “My treat this time!” and, as sparks flashed behind him, re-slammed the door.

The door again opened, this time with smoke accompanying Nick, as he said to the person, “And that’s the silliest costume I’ve ever seen!” and slammed the door once more.

The door opened still yet again and, as smoke billowed out, sparks shot from behind him and a sizzling sound grew louder, Nick added, “And my costume is not a costume at all, it’s my working wardrobe because I’m a scientist and I’m getting mad! So don’t bother me, we’re busy!” and with that he finally slammed the door for the last time, leaving Clem Clump standing there in great confusion in his Sunday best suit, wondering if perhaps Janee is busy for the evening and can’t go with him for a walk in the moonlight to watch the fireflies at the city dump.


Well, that’s (fianlly!) the end of Episode Two of Withering Flats. Will Janee survive Nick’s shocking intentions? Will Nick get the deed signed over? Will Janee agree to marry Nick? Will Clem find someone to go watch fireflies with? Will the Trick-or-Treaters find a good use for the foil packets? Will the toilet plunger become the new weapon of choice for magicians? Tune in again next time to see if these questions are answered! So for more action, suspense and romance be sure to return for Episode Three of Withering Flats!


Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-17-09

Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 3

(Episode Two, part 3)

Hello again, folks! Well, we’re back at Withering Flats ready to find out what nasty Nick wants with sweet Janee’s Father’s Tulip Ranch. He seemed very intent on finding that deed and Janee was rather taken aback by it. Let’s pick up the action right there and see where it flies us...

“Not the Tulip Ranch!” she cried out, then queried, “Why ever would you want that worthless place?”

Nick gave her a puzzled look, asked, “Worthless?”

“Of course,” Janee replied. “The tulips don’t grow any more since the accident that killed poor Daddy. Didn’t you know that?”

Nick evidently did not know that, for he stood there and repeated, “Worthless?” looking at the now less enticing page of dirty paper in his hand.

“It was in all the papers around here,” Janee rambled on, “about how poor old Daddy was digging a well to get fresh water for the tulips because he was tired of having to truck it in, you know, with the lake being so far away and all, so he just thought he’d dig himself a well and fix that old tulip ranch up right nice,” she kept on as Nick was shaking his head in disbelief, frowning at the deed in his hand, “...so there he was just digging away and he had himself a hole about twenty feet deep when alluva sudden, there was this rumbling and shaking and I was just over by the shed and I could hear it and it scared the dog right bad ‘cause I saw him run and hide under the porch, which I didn’t think was a good idea seein’ as how that’s where the skunks had dug themselves a burrow...” Janee had a head of steam like a run-away semi- trailer truck down a mountain road, “...he was runnin’ hard and we ain’t seen head nor tail of that dog since, but we’re not feelin’ too bad about that on account of the smell, y’know, so anyway that’s when I heard this loud whooshing sound and looked to see this big, smelly tower of wet black stuff just gushing out of Daddy’s well stinkin’ up the yard and no sign of Daddy and I was wonderin’ where he might have got to and we never did find him, of course, which I thought was strange seein’ as that was the same time that the dog had run off smellin’ pretty bad himself, but I didn’t think of that until later on the next Tuesday, or maybe it was Wednesday, but anyway...”

Nick pursed his lips, stroked his chin, knitted his brows then suddenly looked at Janee again as she said, “...so even though it’s all spoiled and oily and worthless now that the tulips won’t grow, I won’t sell the ranch ‘cause of the memories of Daddy and how he used to love the place so much, at least when he wasn’t cussin’ at it and complainin’ about all the stinkin’ manure and the stinkin’ flowers and how they was drivin’ him to a early grave and all...”

“Did you say you won’t sell the ranch even though it’s worthless?” Nick butted in, knowing he’d never be able to speak otherwise.

“What’s that?” Janee came out of her monologue.

“You said you won’t sell me the ranch even though it’s worthless?” Nick asked, hopefully.

“Well, after what Daddy went through and it being the only thing of his I got and the fact that we never did find him, no I won’t sell it because it’s like havin’ Daddy still around when I go there, but of course the smell is different, not that Daddy smelled much better y’know, but at least I was used to it..” she continued until, smiling in renewed glee, Nick casually stuffed the rag back into Janee’s jabbering mouth.

“Mmm mnnng nmmm nnn...” she continued for a few moments until the jawing action segued into her chewing on it again and her eyes closed contentedly.

“Wonderful!” Nick chortled and rubbed his hands together, “Now I can force you to sell it to me, just like I planned!”

With his evil scheme back and ready to be put to action (”He’s not a bad boy,” his mother said of him, “it’s just that he has some social issues.”), Nick grabbed the ends of the heavy copper wire trailing down from the now lightly snoring Janee, and was just about to plug them into the wall socket when the doorbell rang.

“What?” Nick cried.

Ding-dong...

“Drat!” Nick scowled.

Ding-dong...

“Curses!” Nick cursed.

Ding-dong...

“Oh, ...oh ...oh phoeey!” Nick blubbered, then dropped the wires and told Janee, “I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me,” then waddled to the door, still reflexively holding the forgotten plunger tightly between his knees, waggling back and forth.

(“Maybe it’s Mother,” Janee yawned into the rag.)

Nick stopped in front of the door, composed himself, licking his hand and slicking back his jet black (dyed) hair, twirled his moustache, put on his best pearly gray smile (he’s so bad his teeth show it), and swung it open, politely saying, “What can I do for ...” then suddenly was struck dumb in seeing right there in front of him, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, the Wolverine, Harry Potter and a Cheerleader.

(end of part 3)
Oh my goodness! Have these brave Super Heroes arrived in time? (I think it is in their contracts that they do, their agents wouldn’t want them to look bad for the folks at home by being tardy.) Will Nick’s plans for Janee be handily foiled by this impressive group of Do-Gooders? Does Nick have a trick up his jet-black sleeve to treat these characters to? Will Janee stay awake to see what happens?

Tune in again tomorrow for the next exciting installment of adventure, drama and romance from Withering Flats!


Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-12-09

Withering Flats, part 2, conclusion

Yes, Folks, it’s time again for Withering Flats, the small town in the Heartland of Decency and Family Values. Tonight we conclude the episode we started last night, when our hero and red- blooded boy, Clem, went all over town looking for his steady girl and heartthrob, sweet Janee Trubloo, who was last seen in the company of the villainous bad boy of town, nasty Nick Nak. Clem had just come from Mr. Woodinpate’s saw mill and had decided to go see Sheriff Blyndors. Let’s pick up the action from there...

Walking back into town, Clem was at a loss as to where to try next. He thought, that since Mr. Woodinpate had mentioned him, to try Sheriff Blyndors and ask if he had seen Janee or Nick. He was beginning to get worried that his searching would get him to the subjects of his concern too late!
He started running so that by the time he came up Main Street and stopped in front of the Sheriff’s Office, he was out of breath. The Sheriff was sitting out in front, in the shade under the awning, seated with his chair tipped back whittling on a stick. When Clem ran up out of breath he dropped the stick, jumped out of his chair and demanded, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Is there trouble? Is there a fire? Has there been an accident? Are those danged hippies coming around again?”

Clem caught his breath and said, “No sir, I’m just looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak, and it’s really important!”

“Eh? What’s that you say?” Sheriff Blyndors blustered, “The hippies aren’t back in town? Well they better not be or I’ll knock 'em around and lock 'em up again. Can’t have people who disagree with our way of life running around loose! You never know what kind of crazy ideas they will put in people’s heads!”

With that he pushed his big Western hat back a bit, bent over, picked up his stick and sat back down. He pointed his Bowie Knife at Clem and warned, “Don’t you go getting me all riled up, boy, you know I’ve got to keep the peace here,” and went back to his careful strokes against the wood.

“I’m sorry Sheriff Blyndors, but I really need to find Janee and Nick,” stammered Clem.

“Now Clem, you’re basically a good boy and have never given me much trouble. Although,” he mused, “you did go off to that Yooneeversity in the big city and you know I don’t cotton to the crazy ideas they put into young folk’s heads. All that eddy-kashun ain’t good for a body. People get too much of that kind of thing and they start wanting to change things and it just ain’t natural.”

“I know, Sheriff,” agreed Clem, having heard this same things many times over the years, “but have you seen Janee and Nick?”

“Say, Clem, why can’t you be more like that nice Nick Nak and do as you’re told?” Sheriff Blyndors asked. “Nick was by here a while ago and he gave me a friendly wave. Quite a nice boy. He knows his place and is someone to make a parent proud.”

“You saw Nick?” Clem exclaimed incredulously, “did you see Janee?”

‘Oh yeah, he had her by the hair dragging her down the street. He said he was taking her over to the old saw mill where Limmbug’s Alligator Farm is now. Yessir, that is a boy that knows how to treat a woman,” as he continued whittling.

Then, “You get along, boy, and stop causing trouble before I lock you up,” and with that he tilted his chair back, tilted his hat down and was quiet.

“Thanks, Sheriff!” Clem said, as he started off at a run.

“Slow down, boy!” barked the sheriff.

“Yes sir,” Clem responded obediently, easing to an anxious amble until he was around the corner, then set off running again, heading for the edge of town.

“I hope I’m not too late,” Clem worried to himself as he huffed and puffed up to the large, dilapidated shed that was the former saw mill and was now the office of the Limmbug Alligator Farm and Petting Zoo. There was a large sign outside the door stating that the feeding time shows were Tuesday and Saturday afternoon at 4pm and that there would be no between meal feedings (“So we keep ‘em hungry for you!”), and that trespassers would be prosecuted.

Ignoring the sign (he’s read it many of times when he came to watch the feedings) and bursting through the door he saw Nasty Nick standing by a long lever, similar to the one Mr. Woodinpate operated in the new saw mill, and sweet young Janee Trubloo (only a few years older than Clem) tied up and lying on the conveyor belt that remained from the old milling operation, although the saw itself was long gone. The far end of the belt stopped over the opening where the saw used to be that was now used to throw dead chickens and other delicacies down to the alligators in the pit below. It appeared that Janee had chewed through the gag, and she was peacefully snoring as Clem shouted, "Stop!”

Nick turned to face him, surprised anger gathering on his features while Janee snorted, grunted and woke with a start.

“Curses!” cried Nick.

“Huh?” blinked Janee.

“Stop!” repeated Clem.

“You’re too late, Clump chump! I’ve finally got her where I want her!” Nick scowled, his black suit and boots, as usual, were impeccably trim and neat, a black string tie dangling sharply against the stiffly starched white of his shirt. (“I wear the white shirt for my mother ‘cause I’m not ALL bad,” he explains to those who ask.)

“NO! Stop I say!” urged Clem, frantically.

Nick reached out, put his hands on the lever and sneered, “Tell me why, just for fun!” His beady eyes reflecting the black of his dark soul, his well waxed handlebar moustache equally black and shiny.

“Oh Nicky, you’re such a tool,” complained Janee. “Go ahead Clem, honey, tell him why,” and she looked at Clem with that sweet grin of hers that always touches him in a way he can’t control, making him blush and stammer.

“Uh... uh... uh... “ stammered Clem, blushing on cue, completely bedazzled by her radiant, gap-toothed smile.

“I thought so,”Nick snorted, and leaned into the lever, starting the belt and Janee toward the dark, open hole at the far end of the shack.

“Uh,” gave Clem one more time, “No... it’s umm, oh yeah!” he suddenly recalled his purpose as Janee and Nick watched him expectantly.

He dug into his pocket and fumbled with something as Nick raised his oily black eye-brows, reached beneath his black coat, whipped out a pistol, aimed it at Clem and took up a defensive posture.

“Here!” cried Clem, triumphantly, pulling his hand out of his pocket and brandishing a small piece of paper.

Nick looked relieved, Janee looked bored and Clem looked quite pleased with himself, continuing, “I finally remembered the punch line to that joke!”

“What!?” Nick and Janee exclaimed in unisoon. They froze for a second, looked at each other, looked back at Clem and then blurted out a harmonious, “Well what is it?”

“No one has told you yet, have they? I’m still in time aren’t I?” Clem asked them, a bit hesitantly.

“No, no one told us,” they harmonized, “Now tell us!”

“Whew,” huffed Clem, releasing his pent up breath, “I thought I’d be too late and you would have heard it from somebody else!” He looked greatly relieved, “Even though it’s only been a week,” and smiled from ear to ear.

“Tell us!”

Clem held up his piece of paper and triumphantly read, “No, it’s the OTHER way!”

There was a moment of silence as Clem looked rather smug, then Janee burst into hysterical laughter and Nick, looking rather puzzled, said, “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get it, Nick?” exclaimed Clem, with a surprised look on his face.

“No, Clem, I’m sorry, I just don’t get it,” returned Nick as he replaced his revolver and walked over to where Clem was standing.

“Well, Nick, let me explain it,” began Clem as Sweet Janee Trubloo reached the end of the conveyor, tipped and plunged into the pit, still laughing hysterically.

And, as Clem talked with avidly grand gestures and Nick listened intently, neither one paying any heed to the loud splashing and thrashing noises coming from the shed, they wander away down the path back to town.

Well, folks, that’s all we have for this episode of Withering Flats, and we’ve been left in a real doozy of a spot. Will Clem be able to explain the joke to Nick? Will they be prosecuted for trespassing? Will they be prosecuted for feeding the alligators outside of the schedule? Will Janee be alright? Will she be prosecuted for trespassing or feeding the 'gators? Will the alligators be all right?

The answers to these and whatever questions you might think of will have to wait until the next exciting episode of Withering Flats, so until then this is your narrator saying so long for now!

Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-20-09

Withering Flats, part one

Today, coming from the storied vaults of Memory’s Old Literary Domain, where the shows of yestertimes just don’t get any better, it’s drama, suspense and romance from Withering Flats, the small town in the Heartland of Decency and Family Values. Yes, dear old Withering Flats, where men are men, women are women, children are seen and not heard (unless written into the script) and tongues (when they aren’t wagging about the neighbors) are planted firmly in cheeks where they belong.

This morning we find our protagonist and hero, down right up right Clem Clum, out searching by the railroad tracks, looking for his sweetheart, the twinkle of his thoughts, the bell of his heart and the apple of his smile, sweet Janee Trubloo. It was very important that he find her for she was last seen in the company of that archfiend, that despoiler of good manners, that vicious and dastardly unsavory character, nasty Nick Nak.

The train track switch house operator, Mr. Wuntrak was sitting outside his little shelter near the big switch that moved the tracks to send trains to the left or right, depending on their cargo.
“Hello, Mr. Wuntrak,”Clem called out in greeting, “Have you seen Janee or Nick about at all today?”

The old man looked up from his dozing focus on the ground in front of him and sputtered, “Eh...huh? What’s that?” And, upon looking closer as Clem approached, said, “Oh it’s you, youngster. What’s that you say?”

“I’m looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak and I was wondering if you’d seen them,” Clem repeated as he stopped along the track bed near Mr. Wuntrak’s chair. “It’s really important!”

“Hmmm,” mused the grizzled veteran of countless decades along the tracks, “Seems to me I saw a couple of whippersnappers this morning. They wanted to know if that silly, new-fangled passenger express was due soon. I told them it had already gone by, off to the left into the city and good riddance. Then they wanted to know about the slow and steady freight that goes right to the industrial mills with all the important stuff for industry, and I told ‘em it wasn’t due until late this afternoon. Gotta keep to the schedule, you know.”

“Was Janee okay, Mr. Wuntrak?”asked Clem, seeming a bit anxious.

“Janee? Was she the one gagged with her hands tied behind her back? She didn’t say much... grunted a lot. She seemed well enough to me. It was the other one all dressed in black that did the talking,” was the answer. “Seemed a nice polite boy,” Mr. Wuntrak continued.

“Did he say where he was taking her?” asked Clem, a bit more nervously.

“Well, it seems to me he said something about Woodinpate’s new saw mill, but I warn’t payin’ too much attention ‘cause I gotta mind the track,” replied old Mr. Wuntrak

“Now you skeedaddle, young man, you’re too young to be playing about these here tracks, it’s a dangerous place,” shaking his finger and standing up to emphasize his point and then over-balancing on his wobbly legs and falling onto the nearer rail.

“Eh?” he grunted, “Where’d you go?” he wondered, as Clem hurried over and helped him back up.

“Oh, there you are,” getting his bearings again. “What was I saying?” he wondered out loud.

“You were telling me I’m too young to be near the tracks, but I was forty-two last October, Mr. Wuntrak,” Clem voiced.

“What’s that? Forty-two? Yessir, that’s what I said, too young to be around here. Now move along home, your mother is probably wondering where you are and I’ve got to get ready for the train... it’s due in a couple hours and the track needs to be switched.”

“Okay,” said Clem, “thanks, Mr. Wuntrak!” as he scurried off.

“Maybe I should try Mr. Woodinpate’s new saw mill,” Clem spoke to himself, as he hurried back along the way he came, desperate to find them. He turned down the path through the woods and headed back toward town.

Coming up to the old mill a few minutes later he was greeted by the loudly abrasive sounds of lumber being sawn into planks. Stepping through the open door he was greeted with a spray of saw dust and wood chips as the vibrant buzz of the big blade screamed into a fresh log. Mr. Woodinpate was standing by the long lever that operated the belt-driven conveyor that ran the log into the whirling teeth. The log finished its run through, the newly hewn plank falling off onto the rollers along side of the belt platform. The plank slid along the slight downslope of the rollers as the angle of their plane tilted to the left causing the plank to fall into a large, long bin holding several other freshly cut planks. Mr. Woodinpate pulled the lever, stopping the forward motion of the belt, then flipped a small switch in the box next to the lever and pushed the lever forward again putting the belt into reverse, bringing the log back to the front of the saw once more.

As he stopped the conveyor after the log had been pulled back far enough, Clem shouted out, “Mr. Woodinpate! It’s Clem Clump!”

Mr. Woodinpate flipped the small switch again, pushed the long lever forward to start the conveyor’s motion toward the saw once more then turned, saw Clem, lowered his eyebrows in suspicion and shouted, “Hey there, what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak, have you seen them?” Clem shouted above the shrill whine of the blade.

“Hold your horses, young man, there’s too much noise here,” shouted back Mr. Woodinpate as the blade tore noisily into the log again.

He reached over to a nearby upright beam and pulled off a large pair of sound proofing head gear from a hook, pulled them on over his ears and said, “That’s better,” with a contented smile as the log kept screaming into the saw, “now I can talk,” then he looked at Clem again and scowled with suspicion, “You’re not one of those danged perverted tree-hugger types are you?”

“Oh no, sir” Clem shook his head, “I’m looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak and I was wondering if you had seen them.”

“Confounded tree-huggers,” continued Mr. Woodinpate, not hearing Clem’s query, or anything else for that matter, “Can’t trust ‘em and don’t want to. All they want to do is grow things. If they had their way, pretty soon we’d all be overrun with trees and we wouldn’t have any lumber to build things!”

“No, Mr. Woodinpate,” protested Clem, “I just want to know if you’ve seen Janee or Nick!”

But Mr. Woodinpate was lost in his own musings, and said, “Why just the other day I was out cutting down a prime specimen to make lumber for the new tourist office for the Visitor’s Bureau and some busybodies tried to stop me saying some silly thing about that tree being the main attraction of the town,” he fumed, getting into his subject.

“Well, of course it would be something to look at, it was a wonderfully large oak, hundreds of years old! Did they think I was stupid and wanted to cut down some scrawny little sapling? Sheesh, it’s no wonder those tree-hugger saps are so ignorant and full of ridiculous ideas trying to stop progress,” he was getting more into his story.

“So I told them if they wanted tourists to look at it, then hang up a picture of it in the new building. Then I knocked a few of those protesters down and had Sheriff Blyndors lock the rest up until I was done,” he finished with smug satisfaction. “I showed those wacko’s a thing or two, and told them that when the trees are all gone then I’ll go ahead and stop!”

And with that, he turned and pulled the lever to stop the conveyor, which had long since finished running the log through the saw. He flipped the small switch, pushed the lever once more, brought the remaining log back, pulled the lever to stop it, flipped the small switch again, then before putting the conveyor in motion again, twisted to Clem and said, “Go on, sonny, just like I told that nice young fella earlier today who wanted to cut up his rolled up, lumpy carpet, I’m too busy keeping this place running to be bothered with unimportant, mundane things like anyone else’s problems,” and he pushed the lever forward sending what remained of the log into the hungry saw once more.

“Thanks, Mr. Woodinpate,” shouted Clem as he turned and left.

Walking back into town, Clem was at a loss as to where to try next. He thought, that since Mr. Woodinpate had mentioned him, to try Sheriff Blyndors and ask if he had seen Janee or Nick. He was beginning to get worried that his searching would get him to the focus of his concern too late!

... to be continued ...

Oh my, dear readers! What ever will happen? Will Clem find Janee and Nick in time? Will Nick find a place he can act out his evil plans? Will Sheriff Blyndors see the need for action? Will I stop asking these silly questions? Find out tomorrow in the conclusion of this episode of Withering Flats!

Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-19-09