The Narrative Image

  Photo Credit: Kip The light from another morning begins gently assaulting my eyelids, so my comatose body instinctively begins to burrow like a worm, forcing my face into a loose amalgam of swaddled-up fleeces and t-shirts - the makeshift pillow I build every night (because I forgot my pillow). My liver has never really had to metabolize alcohol on a regular basis, so feeling ambushed, it grudgingly does its work to restore what passes as my typical chemical balance, asking only that I be still and unconscious. A sort of peripheral consciousness jury-rigged by my ears informs me that Kip and Rico are rooting around in their vehicles for implements of destruction, lug nut wrenches, jack handles, hammers, and pry bars, anything that might steal a geode from the grasp of its mother. My liver is not the only organ of mine that is being taxed. Evidently, a significant portion of my neurons were slaughtered near the end of yesterday and synaptic first responders are desperately trying ...

A sign (or portent) of things to come? My uncle Rico, brother Kip and I escaped from work early on a Friday and headed south as far as Eugene . Turning east, we made it as far as Oakridge before we found it necessary to stop for beer. The Union Brewery features beer, of course, but also a menu uniquely accented with Spam entrees. Curiously, there is a chart over the men’s urinal that details the thermodynamic conductivity of several types of wire…and Spam (surprisingly, Spam holds up pretty well). Uncle Rico Deb : Okay, turn you head on more of a slant...   Deb : Now, make a fist. Slowly ease it up underneath your chin.   Deb : This is looking really good.   Kip : You can say that again.   Deb : Kay, hold still right there. Now, just imagine you're weightless, in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by tiny little seahorses.   Deb : [ takes the picture ] That was the one. I think that's gonna come out really nice.   ...