Tuesday, September 07, 2010

Johnny Rumble:

The question, "Where are you from?" or "What's your hometown?" generally arises pretty early in any conversation with a new person or persons.  I always try to answer truthfully.

"Detroit," or "OKC," or "Iceland," are usually the first things to cross my lips, depending on who I am talking to, what we were just talking about or any of the many thousands of factors that plays through my mind as conversations and lies unfold.  I can't give you a real answer about why I have a selection of "hometowns," but if I hads to venture a guess, it would be all the moving and traveling I did as a child. It never grounded me to one place. I became a gypsy of sorts. Forever looking for something better, a greener grass, never settling.  This has been creeping back into my mind now that I'm back in familiar terrain, looking at familiar faces, familiar buildings, roads.  I haven't been here six months and I'm already thinking about the next location, the greener grass.

I praise my child, and nurture him, with the hope that he may never grow up, to keep looking.  I'm not sure how much longer I can stay a child, to stay with my child hope and my child thoughts.

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child, When I became a man I put aside my childish ways...,"

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Johnny Rumble:
Ordinary World

I can't believe how long this story sat on my hard drive, waiting for me to finish it. I can't believe how long it has been since I've written anything period! Here it is, a Sadie story in the Johnny-verse, heavily inspired by Duran Duran's Ordinary World.

It was Thursday, and the rain was coming down in sheets, to the point that the gutters were over-filled and the drains almost couldn’t handle the influx of water. Regardless, the bus system was running and she didn’t have to walk home the entire six miles. The puddles on the sidewalk were soaking her Vans, and she could feel the squishing that was going on inside of them.

Her apartment complex was looking drab and dark. A concrete structure with no discernable features and looking more like a prison cell block than a home. Looking at the latest graffiti on the concrete stoop, a small smile crossed her thin lips.

Read the rest of this story!
Johnny Rumble