THE BAZANE ADVENTURES OF Amos Bard
Every year I have to remind myself of why I hate summer. I hate the heat, I hate not being able to sleep, I hate laying in bed awake until red-eyed madness yawns me into subjection. I just looked at the clock. It's only 10 PM. I just don't feel it. No words in my thought factory, no music in my chord mill, no voices reciting ancient verse to the lonesome gypsy in my heart. I'm hot and I can't blues my way out of it. Maybe I'll tie myself to my to the pillow and pretend I’m in Spain. I can't turn on the TV, the thought of hearing one more politician say anything is enough to make me want to boil myself in alligator fat. The only choice left to a chunky old guy like me is to lay in the dark and swelter. HELP!
Fear not ancient bard, autumn is on its way. Sweet moody Fall, lying in wait for fools and dreamers. So rest your body and hold on to the promise of the harvest moon peeking through dusty clouds on its way to who knows where. Until then your hairy can is just going to have to sweat it out while you watch the clock rape your last hope of ever knowing the sweet cobble stone streets of misty dreams. Lying there like a pig in the mud begging for a cool breeze, softly lilting over your massive disgusting butt as you heave through another night of sleepless misery. Begging God for death or cool air, as you ponder the soft gentle winds of October beckoning to your heart, calling you to pathways clothed with oak leaves. You wander through dreamscapes as a way to escape the bone wrenching horror of hot blankets scratching at your skin, murderous screeching crickets scraping, pleading against your sanity in the court of sticky armpit injustice. So just lay there and wait with your legs glued to each other in a twitchy dance of humidity, Hmmm I think I'll have some roast beef on a cheese bagel with a dill pickle and peanut butter. Topped off with a big glass of spicy V8.