Sometime late night or early 

            perhaps this needs to go into November 7th

            I end up dreaming. 

            “My Joy” vibrates throughout my small two-seater. It’s nighttime and I’m driving the familiar road back to my apartment. It’s not too late on a weekday night. 

            “My joy. The air that I breathe. My joy. In God I believe. My joy. You move me.”

            I’ve had this song on repeat since picking up the cd single by Depeche Mode on graduation day. Literally. I bought the single for “Walking in My Shoes” and then went to pick up my best friend so he could watch me pick up my diploma. The entire graduating class was waiting for me to show up. I walked in carrying my cap and gown and the Dean of Students said “there he is.” 

            And your girlfriend gave you those rolled eyes and a sigh of relief and then hugged you and then asked where you got the shiner on your forehead. 

            Graduation was several days ago, and the partying has continued. It’s a long day as I was unsuccessful in trying to get a passport for my planned month-long trip to Europe that summer with two buddies.

            Depeche Mode reverberates in my red Honda CRX. I just left the bar after playing about ten rounds of darts and drinking ten pitchers of beer. I feel fine. I feel too fine. I feel great even when I see those flashing lights behind me. I feel okay when I stop and roll down my window. 

            “How much have you had to drink tonight?” is one of his questions. 

            I don’t answer that. 

            “Do you even know what day it is?” is another one. 

            I actually can’t answer that. 

            I’m screwed. My summer is over. My current state of mind and state of affairs have officially changed. 

            It’s the last day for the former administration. 

            A new government will be moving in for a while. 

            My rule and regime are suddenly and completely over.

            Then I wake up and realize I wasn’t dreaming. I was simply remembering. 


            I open the box at work and see the set of CDs. I don’t sell many of them—Fascination Street Records is the place to get music around these parts. I actually tell people about the store all the time. Harry’s a good guy. But I do like getting assorted, eclectic stuff that I gladly recommend. Like the assortment from La-La Land Records. One is the soundtrack for the limited edition for Less Than Zero by Thomas Newman, a soundtrack never officially released and one of the composer’s earliest efforts. It’s haunting and fits the movie. I also see a limited-edition soundtrack for Dances With Wolves. Another classic and favorite from John Barry. 

            How do you know so much about film music, Nolan? 

            Not that it’s weird. I love all art, right? So of course I love music. 

            There is a soundtrack for a movie I didn’t realize I ordered. It just released in October. It’s a haunted ghost story called Things Left Unsaid based on the novel by Mr. Local Author Himself Dennis Shore. The score is by Sheridan Blake. I’ve heard the name before but can’t remember why. I just know I got the CD because of Dennis. People love buying Dennis Shore stuff. 

            I’m curious about the CD so I put it in. The opening track surprises me. It sounds more like a melancholy song by Radiohead than a typical score. It’s piano-based but warped and twisty too. There’s no vocal, however. A few songs in, I realize there must be a couple different narratives in the movie because there’s a light piano based theme and then a heavy, synth-driven theme. Now I have to go see the movie. Thanks, Mr. Sheridan Blake. 

            The door jingle jangles alive (why’d I allow to have those put on it) and Casey comes bouncing in holding her sticker. 

            “Guess what I did?” she beams away. 

            I stare at the sticker and give her my best blank stare. 

            “I have no idea. Shoplifted from Aldi’s?”

            “I voted!!”

            Her response is absolutely double-exclamation-point worthy. And I don’t say that lightly. 

            “I bet you voted for the dude,” I joke. 

            “If that misogynist pig gets voted in, I’m moving to Canada.”

            “Canada might be getting an influx of newcomers.”

            “Never,” Casey says, then stops. “What’s this playing?”



            She doesn’t ever care about what movie or about the artist. Casey is a millennial. She’s all about the experience. All about connecting. Commerce and art and all that—well, she loves it all. She just won’t pay attention and won’t ever buy something. 

            I wonder about the election. I know who I’m voting for, like it even matters. Illinois might as well be California. Blue all the way baby. Which really makes me feel that same way. 


            As the world watches itself implode or explode depending on what adjective you want to use, I’m drunk watching in amazement and also glued to my cell phone watching reaction. It’s amusing in some ways. Actually in a whole lotta love ways. 

            I’ve been paying attention to Dennis Shore’s tweets. The guy actually has a good sense of humor and even though he doesn’t come right out and say it I know he’s conservative. He’s saying funny stuff but one Tweet is just a link to a blog called The Journey is Everything. It’s got a picture of the presidential candidates when they were down to four. Cruz and Trump and Hillary and Feel-the-Bern. Posted over the box of four is the title for the blog: 

            “Burn The Witch.”

            The Radiohead song, of course. 

            Now I’m really curious about this post.      

Celluloid answers

Speculative cancers

A living disaster

Getting faster, faster to the end

Here to stay now can we leave?

Fear what waits in shadows with grinning deep evil scented so sweet

Hold on hold on until fingers break off to the bitter end

Blue black hope

Epic in all kind of scope

Held with a fist to the throat

Told in ominous overtones

Fear the reaper

Behold the faith healer

Desecrate the Father

Recruit new believers

Nobody can tell can they?

Fear the shapes so long and sleek painted with precious teeth

Take hold of today

Before tomorrow takes you

Take hold of the now

Before we’re all but through

(Inspired by the politics of today and set the new Radiohead song with the same title)

            I don’t check out who the post is by. I don’t think it’s Dennis Shore’s blog because I’ve never seen him mention it. The blog is interesting but I’m not exactly sure what the writer is trying to say. 

            “Fear what waits in shadows with grinning deep evil scented so sweet”

            What the Hell does that mean? It sounds like Jack, The Most Amazing Man in the World, and his babbling from the other night. 

            Blue black hope. Epic in all kind of scope.

            That’s kinda fitting, I guess, thinking of this election. 

            I’m guessing whoever wrote this had Clinton in mind when he said Take hold of the now Before we’re all but through. 

            Or maybe just the election in general. 

            I don’t know if we’re going to be through as a country. But it’s eleven p.m. on election night and it’s sure looking like Clinton is through. 



            When James Carville looks worried, I know it’s over. I’m not into politics but I remember his Pit Bull-like stance and reaction on everything and anything in past elections. He looks pale and lost tonight. Or I should say this morning. 

            Now here’s the thing that’s dangerous and that I can’t do. 

            Share anything about politics or faith. ‘Cause if I do and suddenly take a side, I’m over there. Am I right? What is left? 

            It’s easier if people don’t necessarily share that in some places. 

            Can’t I just stare out of that in order to not offend? 

            Everybody has a faith deep down. They all have an opinion on whether they believe in God. Whether there really was a man named Jesus Christ and if he really was the son of God who died for our sins. 

            There are issues. So many issues. Am I a racist? Am I pro-life or pro-choice? Do I believe homosexuality is wrong or okay? 

            The answers inform who I vote for and what I think about the world in general and now I’m watching this in utter disbelief seeing that the guy I voted for—no, the coalition I voted for—is going to actually win. A recent quote I heard comes to mind. 

            “The person running for President is a public relations agent for the coalition behind it.”

            My vote is one I can’t exactly defend because I understand the PR agent is a creep. But the coalition and what happens—Supreme Court and Obamacare and on and on—is the thing I voted for. 

            Wait, I voted? 

            I don’t think that’s right. 

            I don’t think I really have an opinion and I know I have no idea where the whole PR agent/coalition quote came from. 

            I do know, however, I’m about to crap in my pants ‘cause the guy from The Celebrity Apprentice is gonna be the President. 

            Twitter is going insane. People are losing their minds. 

            Most of the news people—what are they called these days, “anchors” or “commentators” or “pundits” or just “punks”—look stunned and amused and horrified and even sad. I hear one of them talking as if a nuclear bomb just went off in Michigan. Then all of the sudden Trump is giving an acceptance speech and I drift off, knowing I have to be in some kind of strange fairy tale that I’ll either wake up from or realize I’ve written myself. 

Submit a comment