Lizard Brain Within The Tassel
The Kraken was released when I followed the tumbleweed from town to town, it couldn’t be set back into place. The fucker would often lie to me, left out to die in the woods until the local moss lead me back to the tumbling weed. Birthed by a military man and a corpse that should have been my mother but the opportunity was squandered when she didn’t make it. I feel like I was ripped off, the military man must have had a bucket list to fulfill before he went away again. The talk of the small town, he would never stop by but his shadow lurks for a couple years. Left with relatives that are aging away, not even enough energy to stay awake so awol I went. The military man’s boy got around when he was still a boy, the town kept an eye on him like a stray cat. A felt fez that was gifted from the military man that is from his travels and tours is what kept him recognizable, a hanging small fish hook like a carabiner on the belt loop of jeans is what kept the fez from flying away. Scraps for the lad, as much leftovers that the front overall pocket can fit. Learning from all the trades in town is what kept the me occupied for the time being. Polishing leather, wood, and metals is all I ever got to do. After a while, you feel like a burden and you can only ride that treatment for as long as it allows you. Once I was old enough to join the army, I had enough and left town. Train to train, I made it far with trades. Traded entertainment for time, it was easy because the fez already had their attention and they were waiting for my next move. Back into a corner they are, what can you do to kill time at the train station? You gotta save the newspaper for the actual ride. With an empty tin of shoe polish on cardboard on the floor for tips, I pulled out everything I knew. Called out for a quarter from the audience like I was asking if there is a doctor in the room. The quarter in my guidance, would roll in circles on the top of my crimson fez. With momentum, it was bunny hop the tassel without hassle. Losing steam, an emergency exit is planned and a leap into where the pocket square should be. Out comes a silver dollar and the tassel is used to polish off the coin to make sure its no quarter anymore. This magic got me through seasons and almost the better end of the decade. You can only keep this up for so long, expecting a new tourist but getting the guy that has been trying to expose you for years. Leading with aggressive confidence, attempting to shut me down with theories and new challenges. I know that look in their eyes, the one that means that they want to feel something. When they want to feel something, I says put up or shut up. I lift the cardboard with the empty shoe polish tin and rip off the extra button from the tag inside my jacket. I place my fez on the cardboard and flip over the polish tin, under one of them goes the berry colored button with the intention of it being found for the right price. Some days, these people that are all fed up just put up everything. Praying that the hat blew off the cardboard and the transaction is voided. I absorbed a new wardrobe and some furniture from these people, using a leather briefcase is better than just the wooden bench with the copper rails. Everything can mean anything but at the train station, that ticket is everything for some. Within those many hurled insults, con artist is sprinkled in. I’m no con artist, the military man was the true con artist. Surviving through trades is all I do, you can’t call me a con artist because you are entertained. You got your money’s worth through your own misery.