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Dream of you in a house filled with skeletons
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1548
It was night, your house (but not YOUR house, dream logic...), 2 stories cut away in the front like a child's doll-house set into a dark hill...All the rooms are lit, a cosy, inviting warmth, there are strangers and men there, they all seem friendly enough and I can't tell if they're boyfriends or lovers or just friends...
I can see you through these two skeletons, artfully posed as if they were lovers sharing a toast, or Siamese twins, their bones are stained deep brown as if they've been long in the ground, deep brown and polished...
I ask you "What's with the all the skeletons?" but you pretend not to hear me...they're everywhere I look, one is a tidy white with bleached, dried brains piled above the skull like a giant papery balloon, another with a cone-shaped head, others in different poses, all somehow seem a bit freakish, and I try to tell you they probably have great curiosity value, and ask again what's up with all the skeletons...
You acknowledge me this time, but Immediately change the topic, not rudely, you seem glad to see me, but in that way you have of avoiding anything uncomfortable....
And room after room is filled with them, different poses, different skeletons, and you're now artfully avoiding me, flitting room to room, yet glad to have me there and we'll sit down and talk in just a moment....
(I interpreted that one I think, but thought I'd share it with you anyways...)
Forrest Fenn
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Lost
- Hits: 1855
No, not lost in the conventional sense of owner dying and taking the secret to his grave, rather a more curious tale of an eccentric who's organized his own treasure hunt...
177 oz gold nugget found near Ballarat
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 1721
Extra dear to my heart, as Australia is on the tour of prospecting hotspots...
Link: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-21055206, and a YouTube video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=wiAnhfZ9HKI
Wyatt
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1714
He's a bit shorter than me, a bit stockier, twenty-something, quiet, broken-English, Filipino.
He started a few days after me, but not as a temp, full time with the company, and at first he hung out with Joe, them both being around the same age and new hires and all.
But Joe proved a little useless, and Wyatt didn't like the way that Joe tried to boss him around (even though they were peers) and so after I became an employee he started chumming with me. I have a little more of a sense of purpose, and it's best to look busy, he understands.
So he's pretty much my team mate, only he doesn't say much, only once in a while bums a fag (he's trying to quit smoking), sometimes he looks around to see what his old buddy Joe is doing, usually it's not much, and he laughs and points and makes fun of him, or if we're high in a tower talks about how he'd kill him in the Philippines, only here it's different....
He's good to work with. He figures out what needs to be done, doesn't need to be told, he's a good partner. These are things you'd take for granted anywhere else, but in this work environment they make you a bit of a genius.
For the first month he said nothing, then I asked him if he liked Karaoke. "Most Filipinos like Karaoke" I tell him. He denies it adamantly, then begins to sing. And from a nasal, broken voice come the most perfect sung melodies...now we can't shut him up, one song after another as we work, classic American music, from contemporary pop to the Everly Brothers and Elvis.
So we're up late at night, perhaps 8:30, rolling out the tarps on the stairwell, a big job, late pour, that's keeping us late. He takes a break and a drag off his electric cigarette. The moon is full, just rising, low on the horizon, in the west the lights of the city are twinkling, below, a snow covered lake, coyote trotting across, only us to see, he imitates the howl of the coyote, the coyote pauses, returns the salute, then continues.
It's a perfect moment and I wonder what he's thinking. So much hinges on language, and I wonder how many thoughts he has, brilliant, poetic even, that go unarticulated...Everything so quiet, the site empty of workers, cold but still, only us up top working upon the tarps, maybe a missed girlfriend back in the Philippines...?
I don't need to wonder for long. He puts away his cigarette and begins..."Joseph...what a fucking idiot...."
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