Vague Insanty 041

There is a large, tall tree near the field where I can't go. It's so far away, lost in childhood memory. There's no way to reach it no matter how far left or right or up I go. It's just a shade, a shadow of a memory with sunshine and happy times and lots of sickly sweet candy that's melted on the bedpost of my house consumed in flames.

And the smell of the burning, charcoal remains of my childhood left on the apartment lawn with coca-cola memorabilia lost in smoke and tiny battery operated fantasies of vehicles of valiant noble war.

And so I walk across the sand dunes which I now know is a Wal-Mart but it used to be such a wild rugged place, with dirt and grime and buried soldiers made of plastic and then, I ran with plastic guns and bows and arrows, but there's nothing like that there now.

There's just the memory of the things that were, and the knowledge of the things that be, and I am walking memory of yesterday and its land.

But I guess I should not bother with these idle fantasies, because somewhere out there is a garden where Zorro and cowboys live together in perfect harmony, shooting aliens and Indians and laughing in a bloodbath of plastic army men, and what more could I ask for as a memorial to my childhood than the re-enactment of massacres that I would re-enact?

I need a coke and a smile.