Get rid of unwanted back hair

All this settles into me. The daily colors and sensations I often miss. To notice is a kind of centering, a reminder that we’re still alive. Me with my feet up looking out the window and glad for air conditioning, glad for a cold shower, glad for Joni Mitchell and her beret, it’s 1976: too far from the Bay of Fundy. She’s rising higher like jasmine on the breeze, like white lines on the freeway.

I have unwanted back hair (as if there’s a kind you’d want). I have hair in places I shouldn’t and I’m missing it in places I want more. And we’re still animals, we forget. We once needed toes for climbing but now we don’t so they recede and fall off like unused tails. Or in places where the wings or fins once attached they’re now empty sockets. Evolution corrects, but like a big ship turning it takes time to redirect.

Today it is just me and the dog convalescing from a knee replacement with her leg shaved bald as a raw chicken, starting to bruise. Wrapping it with cold compresses; pain pills and peanut butter, naps. Me and my plantar fasciitis trying to build up muscle in my foot by lifting a wet towel with my toes, balling my toes in a fist. We are singularly alone with our pain and that’s probably best.

It’s so hot we had to invite my mother-in-law over to hunker down in the AC for a few days. We water the yard in the early mornings and at night the sprinklers make the earth smell, you can smell it drinking, the birds gather round, the crickets with their guitars and harmonicas, everyone joins in. It’s a good night to be out and I’ve got a large Colman tent with an inflatable mattress, too hot to sleep inside, no need for the rain fly.

We forget how good we have it, we read books about the apocalypse for entertainment. We get a taste of that and the first thing we do is run for the toilet paper. We’re like domesticated dogs, we wouldn’t last long in the wild. Me, barefoot on the leather sectional with my Wi-Fi typing with my thumbs. Buying shit on my phone and then dragging empty boxes up the road come Monday.

It’s so hot we can’t go outside anymore, we’re forced underground to artificially lit cells and canned food. We stop believing in science and follow fools. The West burns, the oceans rise. One day a comet whistles by and if the earth is like a smartphone or wireless device, there’s a magic reset button in the back where you just hold it a few seconds and then everything turns black.

We return as apes with sloped foreheads. We forage mushrooms and discover poetry. We find exotic ways to alter ourselves, to strip off hair from our groins. We invent AI and make robots like Santa’s little helpers. And then we rise up again.

Categories: prose, writing

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25 replies

  1. You do know how to let it all out, Bill! Been wondering about Oregon’s heat wave. Guess I’d take that over a collapsing condo in Miami… lots to wish were other than ’tis! Hugs for your dog. And thanks for waking me up to my relatively mild conditions at the moment (though those heat waves visit Austin all too frequently…)

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hey there! Thanks for this Jazz. Yeah, us complaining about the heat up in the PNW is kind of pathetic, but we’ve never seen it like this, supposed to be 109 or thereabouts tomorrow. We actually live outside of Seattle, though have a good group of friends down in Oregon and get down there often. Happy to be part of your morning wake up routine, that’s cool. “Cool…” be well!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I made a decision to avoid Horror Movies after seeing Silence of the Lambs, a decision that changed me, changed my world.
    And now my world has turned again with a Sweaty Hairy-back knocking at my digital-door on this cold morning – and he is welcome.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A really good wake up piece, thanks Bill.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This one reminds me of what George Bush supposedly said after listening to Trump’s inauguration speech: “That was some weird shit.” Unlike that speech, though, this is the kind of “weird shit” I like.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Bill, I’ve had chronic PF for four years. It goes away for months at a time and then comes back. I know everyone ‘knows the secret to getting rid of PF’ but here’s mine. It’s worth a shot.

    It’s essentially the runner’s wall stretch. Put your right leg back straight, foot flat on the ground, with your left foot close to the wall, chair or whatever you are stretching against. Bend your left knee so you get an angle on your right ankle that stretches your calf. HYPEREXTEND your right knee. Walk your left foot out to the right and then to the left feeling a good calf stretch the whole way. Switch feet. I do this daily, and while I always seem to have PF brewing just below the surface, it never slows me down form running, hiking and biking.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Wow this was a real sirocco, or simoom, whatever they call those hot winds in the Sahara. The ones where the Legionnaire Colonel at fFrt Zinderneuf goes nuts and starts shooting all the camels. the lights go out and neo-Neaderthals are writing poetry while they forage for fungus, sounds about right! I like the birds & crickets out in the yard, jamming on tiny guitars, cool!
    When the grid collapses, I read that you can count the cricket chirps, and calculate the air temperature, the faster the beat, the higher the heat.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Fragile this, isn’t it? 111 yesterday down south in Orygun, picking the pea pods before they shrivel and watering the garden at sunrise. No hair on the back (yet) though plucked a long gray tendril from my neck below the earlobe that was impressive

    Most will assimilate to hive like Borg I suppose, the rest of us will not be selected for

    Liked by 1 person

  8. I came back for more on this one, and glad I did. The West burns, the oceans rise. A comet whistles by and there’s a magic reset button where you just hold it a few seconds and then everything turns black before we return as apes and start shaving our loins. That’s a whole lot of ground you covered there, quickly, and with accuracy. I think we are in for it, personally. The big reboot is coming, yes? Yes.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hey, that’s great…happy to please with my comic book apocalypso here. Something I haven’t been able to express, what we learned from the pandemic (or didn’t). I guess after the Spanish flu they all just put it behind them and tried to forget about it, and I don’t blame them. Glad you came back. Like that cat that won’t die.


  9. These thoughts are racing through my head at well over a million miles a second. Not sure if it is the heat against the brain or something else. The most bearable times of the day are now well before 7am. I managed to dig a trench in the creek, surrounded by large rocks, to trick myself into thinking this weather is normal. See you in less tepid times.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yeah, the creek must be a godsend for you! I can’t wait to go check it out in a couple months or so. Will be toting my NA refreshments and we can play some Bozz Scaggs perhaps.


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