ForestWayneTrain.com - Forest Wayne Allen - Creative writing

Sometimes

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 00:00:00 -0800

Sometimes, somebody moves into a town and charms them with the promise of loving the people and the music of that small town. Sometimes, they start by playing the music from the people of town, and develop the love and support of the people. Sometimes, then, they start playing everything but music from that town, and use they're arrogance to "rise above". Sometimes, they use they're inheritance to smash and discourage the people and the singers and songwriters of that town, and attempt to make them feel small. Sometimes, they charge venues lots of money to advertise who's playing at they're venues. Sometimes, they use favoritism to pick and choose what's popular and only broadcast it. Sometimes, they attempt to choose what becomes popular. Sometimes, one person decides everything, and DJ's have no say.

Sometimes, there's a big radio station, owned by a big corporation in a bigger city. Sometimes, the DJ's do everything they can do to promote the little guys. Sometimes, they have a station with at least 10 times the listeners. Sometimes, they have an evening show devoted to the up-and-comers. Sometimes, they don't claim to be the #1 (genre) station in the country. Sometimes, they listen to the records that are handed to them. Sometimes, they mention who's playing where and don't charge artist or venue for the good of the scene. Sometimes, they haven't been seen throwing records away in front of other people. Sometimes, the DJ's shake hands and show up at charity events. Sometimes, they play music not pushed by expensive promoters. Sometimes, they're a part of the solution. Sometimes...

A letter from a loyal, but not so recently-amuzed candy fan

Fri, 13 Jan 2012 00:00:00 -0800

Dear Ferrara Pan Candy Company:  
As a long time, passionate consumer of your hard, yellow candies, I have noticed some 
shocking new discoveries with your product.  I recently was sent a care package by my 
mother due to the fact that she loves me, I live far away, and the unwritten, social 
adult law that I am too old to tricker-treat. In the box, I was delighted to find tiny 
packages of Lemon heads. I think this is genius, mostly because of my uncontrollable 
need to finish every item of food, drink or candy I begin to consume within minutes. 
I will now switch to present-tense dialogue to allow for greater emotion and imagery.
 
While struggling to open the tiny package, I expect to be rewarded with hard, tiny, 
mildly-sour lemon-flavored candies.  However, I am both surprised and a bit angry, 
I must admit, to discover three red and five green candies. As I place one green 
morsel into my mouth, I notice a shocking discovery, and it is that the package reads 
Lemon Head & Friends. And though I understand the friend part, I ask you, where is 
the original Lemon Head?  Since "Lemon Head" is singular, I eagerly expect at least 
one yellow candy. Is He a friend, or could he shockingly and unexpectedly be a foe? 
Could it be that He invitedHis friends to my mouth party but failed to show up?   

As this information shocks my brain via messages from my tongue, I can not help but
notice that the consistency of the green impostor has not the consistency of a genuine 
Lemon head, and that what I am truly snacking on is a green jelly bean!  I find no 
humor in the incident.  

As I stare closer at the disposable, mostly YELLOW package, I now notice the 
adjective "Chewy" above the original Lemon head candy-brand specific title. 

I must also inform you of the inconsistencies of the characters on the front of the 
package. Only the the grape and apple have vegetation growing out of their heads, 
however, the orange and the lemon have their respective colored hair. Also,the 
grape-cluster, which is color-clashingly placed in front of a purple and green 
background, makes Him or Her hard to see. BUT, what disturbs me more than anything 
is that there is no "green friend" on the outside of the package, though 
inconsistently and contrarily, the "green friends" dominate the inside, and therefore, 
the inside of me. There is, however, green in your rainbow which follows a "green, red,
purple, and red pattern, respectively, and makes little sense intwo ways.  One is that 
no color of the rainbow repeats itself, AND that you are leaving out four of the
wavelengths, therefore reflected colors of the light-spectrum, all of which I'm 
certain are disappointed in you and your colleagues. 

To further critique your recent packaging debacles, your warning reads of both hard 
and soft candies, when, speaking of my current examples, there are only soft candies 
in the packages I am consuming and writing about. I can understand that you may only 
use one universal warning, even for the non-chewy, miniature-packages of "traditional"
candies. But could you not save money by being more specific and using less words, 
therefore less ink?

I still love you, Ferrara pan candy company.  I am writing as more of a loyal customer
than a disgruntled candy eater.  I just have two questions.  What flavor is the soft, 
green friend and will you soon begin a separate candy line for jelly beans? 
Sincerely, 
Your loyal Customer;  Ms. Dee Wayne Dickerson IV

How whiskey was made

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 00:00:00 -0800

Whiskey was made from the sins of a con
The barley that grew in an old graveyard
The people who live to drink and yell
The water from a slave-dug well;  
Aged in a barrel from a  hangin' tree
From the rain of a mountain we'll never see
Bottled by a man who was born to die
And taken by a widow who killed that guy
Delivered by a man who was meant for a cage
Bought by a man who never turned a page
Soaked this town from land to sea
Drank by a man called me

Whiskey was made outside of a jar
But we put it in there so we can put it in a bar
So we can put it inside just to get it out
The words we keep inside of a mouth
Burns and bleeds, and makes us leak 
The words of color we seldom speak  
Gets us right to do us wrong
So a hard wood floor made a comfortable song
Everyone's talking, everything's black
Everyone's talking bout' looking back
When sweat is drinking the salt i bleed
It drinks a man called me

Whiskey was made from a coal minor bride 
Who lives alone and alone, she cries
Cause her coal minors' lungs turned black
There's a liver in her called a liquor sack
They'll bury her under that tree 
That drop's it's leave's on barley weed
Just outside of where the prisoners stay
Where they bury the ones who try to get away
At the bottom of a hill, in mirror land
Where there ain't nothin' but a grain of sand
With rusty money, just let me be
While I'll be damned by a drink called me

The lesson

Thu, 26 May 2011 00:00:00 -0700

As I leave the new house I've moved into for an evening run, the first thing I notice is the neighbors. They're showing they're child how to water the lawn; only problem is, we're in one of the worst droughts this land has ever seen. And though it's legal, and though it's evening, I can't help but think about this lesson that's being given. The grass is perennial, and even dead grass will hold back erosion in the unlikely event of a flood. I don't think the lesson had to do with the health of the lawn, but only what it looks like. Much more important, how it looks to the neighbors. I think the teacher attempts to say "We are in control". But life isn't about green grass. It's about the tree that was pulled up from there, the tree that is there, or the tree that that will be re-planted there.
As I continue, I find myself in the only place without sidewalks. Treading through tall grass, I come upon a hill, but it's made of black top. When I hear something in the leaves, i don't think "could be a snake". I miss the primal fear.
I remember when not seeing a deer, hearing a turkey or finding signs of a coyote on a walk were rare. When I could fish from the bank and climb tall mountains without stopping.
To the north and east are other neighborhoods with natural names. But why are we naming these after what we've taken away? Where are the Oaks in "Oak Ridge" or the Quails in "Quail run"? If there's a buck to be made, I'm standing in the future "Grassy Vista". As I continue on, I notice mounds that run almost parallel to the road I'm running next to. They are grassy, manicured, and probably took months to build. They are long and sometimes take a slight turn to the left and right, as to try and remind us that we still do live in the hill-country.
You can imprison yourself in this we call "a housing association". Where at least your neighbor won't have anything too weird in they're yard. And hopefully no one will feel the urge to hop the chest-high fence that runs along your house and their's. Trees are evenly spaced
and edged perfectly inside of perfect circles. Beside one is a water pipe, and I can't help but wonder if the contractor placed it there so that
we could compare the perfect circles. On my way back, I see the only sign of wildlife I've seen yet. Two cotton-tails. Maybe I'll sleep good tonight.

In half

Sun, 06 Feb 2011 00:00:00 -0800

The hard hat wouldn't have mattered. We were just finished on the 14th floor, walking to the trucks. This music thing is going well, but it's the cold season. Beer is more pricey in the cold season, even at the shows. Your tab doesn't get comp'd, your waitress smiles a little less. Everyone's a little colder.

I never understood why hotels, the big ones, don't have a 13'th floor. I hate superstition. A number is a number, and God or no god, it's just a symbol, one or two writings, sayings; like December 21'st, 2012, a number. A rumor.

I watched 12 guys watch me in a split-second of horror. They didn't even have time to yell. That piece of Granite cut me right in half, from the 11th floor they said.

I lay there, one eye open to the ground, one open to the sky. There is a hospital next door to this new hotel, but there's little chance. There's no chance. The EMT's rush over, baffled at the sight. Symetrical, boring to me.

How can you stop the bleeding on half of a guy? They said my heart just kept beating, bleeding out. After a while, they didn't know where the blood was coming from. No one could pronounce me dead, so something has to happen. Do the graft me together again, like Humpty Dumpty? They sure can try. Technology has gotten better since that old nursery rhyme.

This is all I've been told, I don't remember the sounds, the sights. The left side burned like fire. He was pretty, just like the bible tells. Even the bible will tell you that Lucifur is a shade of red prettier than the leaf of a Red Maple in the fall mountains of Virginia. He was receptive, a hard but welcoming handshake. "Welcome my brother, you've got a lot of heart" were his first words. As if he were trying to sell my a gym membership, he shows me around. Not as if I have a choice. He's is going to make me like what I am getting ready to hate, accept what I am getting ready to not be able to change. So deceiving, and not even as if he has to. He likes to be cute, so stylish in his evil.

My right eye see's white, but it feels purity. As if a perfect eye drop has splashed into my sight. I don't feel the need to blink, I don't feel the need to drink. Water. What drug is this? What child is this?

Thunder interrupts, and says to me "Blessed you are son, to have seen both of which I have created. You're heart is in the wrong place, but has not felt the wrath. Your eye and your throat have felt but a fraction of the pleasure. You are blessed that you aren't burned".

These are the last words I remember. I wake up to a slew of cameras, but family is all I see. An apparent miracle. No Plastic surgeon needed, I'm sewn back together, and the threads are right down the middle. This will be a scar forever, no hiding this one. Head to toe, back to chest, spine to throat. I guess I've been riding the fence, and now I have a second chance to look perfect.

Trip

Wed, 11 Feb 2009 00:00:00 -0800

I've been inside way too much since I got burned. I've been wanting to get outdoors for days. There really isn't an excuse, I've just been a combination of busy and lazy. Its two in the afternoon, and if I don't get out now, that early fall sunset will decrease my chances of exploration. After dropping off a movie, I head to Pandapis Pond. Nothing even close to seclusion, but it does have some nice bike and horse trails that are rather long, and great for walking and running. I park my truck and take the same trail I took last time. Three weeks ago, I ran 20 minutes out and 20 minutes back, the same way. But I assume that most, if not all the trails that lead out of Pandapis lead right back there. Its mostly filled with families and kids and girls jogging with dogs around a well-maintained gravel trail that runs completely around the small resevoir. I begin running down one of the bike trails, jumping over large roots and somehow pretending to be in the wilderness. I need this. I am graduating in December, and still somehow am not completely motivated to do well in school. A few classes missed and a few homework assignments done half-wa, I'm worried about making the minimum grades. But that was on my mind on the way here. Now, I'm breathing moutain fresh air on a trail in the fall in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I come up on an old man, and he says hello. I stop and chat for a second, and then trot up the hill. The trail is obviously man-made, but only somewhat maintained. At least I am on a half-beaten trail. I walk for about 30 mintues, a slight inclined slope. There are rocks, set by someone else, over the almost non-flowing Poverty creek. I have never come this way before. Last time, I took a right at the split, but this time, I am heading West. The small brown sign says "Snake Root", and it sounds interesting. I don't figure it will be too far, and I will turn around and come back after I find it. Still walking uphill, I've been gone for about forty-five minutes. A slight sweat breaks, and the air is cool, but the sun is shining bright. The trail begins to steepen and becomes more narrow. Leaves are covering the majority of it, but I can still tell that it was made by people. Deer trails are different, and for someone who doesn't know the woods, they might not even be visible. I keep walking, deeper and deeper into the woods. Shots ring out from far away. But this is still all recreational, at least I think it should be. As I'm still walking over the leaf covered trail, I know that I don't have more than an hour and a half before the sky turns black. A slight hint of fear runs through me, but my legs keep moving. My spirit wants to explore. The most dangerous animals in these woods are Timber rattlesnakes and Copper heads, but its been rather chilly the last 2 weeks. I still have to watch my step, because if they are not in hibernation, they would be on the trail, where some rock is left uncovered, and was beaten by the sun all day. My biggest threat now would be the Black Bear, and I figure they are timid, especially with the opening of hunting season and the constant firing of guns close by. The only thing that can hurt me today is myself. I am still climbing, and the mountain is becoming much steeper. The sunset is always either to my right or in my face, telling me that I am still heading roughly Southewest, the same way I've been walking for more than an hour. I could turn back now and certainly make it to my truck before dark, but it won't happen. That thought crosses my mind only once. I begin to see the crests of other mountains off in the distance. The sun is shining in a way that makes the colorful leaves burn to their full potential. It is stunning. If worst comes to worst, I can spend the night out here. Under the stars. But more importantly, under the leaves. All I have with me are my keys, my worn Nike all condition gear shoes, shorts, my hat, an old German knife and the dressings that are wrapped around my left arm and right hand from the fire I tried to jump just 10 days ago. And a sleavless vest with short sleaved shirt. I keep moving. With the sun setting and me climbing higher, the golden rays are at eye level now. It will be hard to see in less than one hour. The trail continues, but it begins to turn back. I am filled with a little dissapointment, but still yet, a little relief. But it only goes toward the East for a couple of minutes, and then continues Southwest uphill. I am so high now, and things look and feel different from up here. It reminds me of when I went hiking by myself in the Great Smokies of Tennessee. The air has cooled at least 10 degrees, and I have to close my vest in order to keep some heat and hydration in. About ten minutes later, I come to a fork. Two totally seperate trails, unmarked. One goes off to the left, back roughly Northeast, to where I think my truck is parked. The other continues on the same path, leading away from my home. The trail on the left is narrow, but still looks to be man made. Although it heads back East, those trails meander so much that its hard to tell where it will lead. I pick the Western trail. This trail is a little larger, and it looks to have been a road at some point. But it does still continue the opposite way I should be walking. It does turn into a road. You would need a rugged 4-wheel drive to handle it, but it has been recently used. I continue, and finally come to another road which looks more user friendly. I know that this road either leads towards civilization, or away from it, both good. Its not well maintained, but you can see hints of gravel on it. To the right heads dead West, right into the sunset. To the left is back East. I desperatly want to continue to where I know home is not, but I figure I better start moving to as least where I think my truck is. After about one hundred yards, I see fresh oil on this dusty road. I come up to very highest point. The air is noticably thinner here than down there. An enormous bon-fire circle with black coals inside. My friends would love this place...The road leading into it comes to a culdasack, and then points downhill. I see a few unfaded beer case boxes, meaning that someone has been here recently. I begin my journey downhill, still clueless to where I am, and to the right there is an old abandoned house. A V-style roof, almost touching the ground. Kind of creepy. Kind of cool. You can see right through the open door that has been boarded with one skinny two-by-four. I look to the left, and see what looks to be a town. Far off in the distance, I see my college. Virginia Tech, and I see beautiful Lane Stadium. I am tempted to vear through the woods to get there, but it is probably more than 5 miles away, and in the woods, there is no guranteed clear view of the stars. I keep walking. My uncertainty is done, but my journey is not over. I finally see a mountain biker hauling up toward me. I stop him and ask if this leads to Pandapis. He says yes, and to go down the hill and take the first trail on my left. Relief. Contentment. I keep walking and see a mom and a daughter running up the road in my direction. I smile, knowing that I am probably not far away. The sun is barley visible, and I realize that I only may have survivied the night. I see the trail on the left, but I keep following the road. The trail is well maked and would be quicker, but I want to see where this road leads. I want to return to that fire pit. I know Pandapis is somewhere to the West. I can hear constant gunshots coming from the firing range that I've been to twice. The road is longer than I thought, but I am sure it leads right out to 460. Before I get there, I see a powerline trail on my left. I decide to take it due West, back to Pandapis. The power line trail must run parallel to 460. I see the sign for the Jefferson National Forest half-way down, and I know it to be roughly 200 yards away from the Pandapis entrance. I'll be in my truck in about thirty minutes. I come to 460 and walk along the other side of the guardrail for a little bit. To the left is the most beautifully colored tree I have seen all day. I've been in the woods for who knows how long, and have seen thousands of trees. Who would have known that the best tree is right on the side of the highway. Either a Sugar or a Silver maple, the bright orange and deep red stuns me. I can't help but think that God cares about our every needs, and our every pleasure as well. I hear something in the woods to the left, and I see a white figure moving fiercly. At first I think its a family or just a person running or jumping, but then I see her. The biggest Doe I've ever seen, just 20 feet or so from the road. The whiteness of her tail was like an early snowfall. I begin to think that maybe my whole purpose in coming here today was to scare her away from the road. Or maybe it was to find a small peice of this heart I've been trying to desperatly recapture. As I see the entrance in the distance to the pond, I decide to take the woods the rest of the way. No trails, but I know exactly where I am. Highway noise to my right, and remnance of a once-bright sun off to my left. I'm heading back North. As I scamper through the woods, I can't help but feel a little sad about the end of my journey. But that ends quick, and a rare feeling of completeness fills my body. What a wonderful thing when your mind and your body listen to your heart. I come up on the cars parked for the bike and horse trais. My car is another 10 minutes away, close to the pond itself. As I begin to walk along the well-maintained gravel road, an SUV comes flying by and dust blows through my eyes and my lungs. The same dust is on the plants and trees on both sides of the road, something I've never noticed before. I am back in the real world. I am at a constant battle with myself. I love the outdoors, and always have. I was lucky to have grown up on 40 acores for most of my childhood. I came to college in 99' , and soon switched to a Fisheries Science major. Working in fisheries would give me security. But security is something I haven't held onto. I like the road. I love the white lines on a one-way highway. My biggest achievement is my music. I want to tour the country with my band 300 nights per year. I want to move down to Texas and join the music scene. The music there is real, and the people are too. When I'm almost to my parking spot, I realize something. When you listen to your heart, you will never fail. You can never fail. You may stumble, but in the end, you will be victorious. The body is weak and the heart is strong. Your mind can choose to go either way. If it listens to the body, you are doomed. I see my truck up ahead. Only one other car parked in the gravel lot. Earlier, there were 20. I use the last bit of light to look at the map behind the glass. The trails I was on aren't on there. As I sink into my truck seat and turn on the headlights, I sit and listen to the semi-silence for a few more seconds. No matter what happens next; pass or fail, I'm going to Texas. I've got to.