Gabriello “the Beau-est Hooter” Sancto
Caza “Buckets or Bust” Zooweiler
Saragina “Love me Like a Rock” DeSoto
Four drawings – one for each of the Four Fiends. I mean, Friends!
Artie “Artemis the Blendman” Blend
The Rainbow Horizon – A
Tale of Goofy Chaos
By Karen S. Cole
Ghost Writer, Inc. | Rainbow Writing, Inc.
Copyright © 2015
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Under the Retro Table of Contents
Imaginary Preface
Imaginary Foreword
Acknowledgements Page
Imaginary Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Imaginary Preface: Five Minutes to Midnight
Welcome…to the fleeting realm of the mystic, sexy, insatiably wired coffee-esque post Vietnam War…Eighties! When long hairs vanished, replaced by helmet heads, colorful mousses and gels, beginner punks and pattern baldness. Where people hoping for change in the world began to freely assemble, and cause…it, or sometimes them. While organic vanilla stick, or real chocolate cacao-flavored Haagen Daaz meltin’ in the sky made the green Starbucks symbol spread her Vulcan tail fan. Wild mermaids swam Puget Sound, as Seafair pirates lustfully waded into warmer-growing summers. Watchin’ Seattle Videos…fading into obscure adulthood, containing hidden gay bars and downtown’s “seedy” porno.
All the DisAbled physically challenged people haunt this book, using wheelchairs, canes and highly technical equipment for the Blind. The Deaf provide signage for those who can afford to pay them. They work in the backdrop as support services; many have jobs – eatin’ inexpensive Chinese food. Honestly!
Well, take it for granted there is still ten cents of welfare. Back in the 80s in the Seattle region, there was a lot of hope for independent living. Nowadays, due to the economy, it can be touch and go for the poorer, less thriving ABs…Able-Bodied. As in able-bodied Seamen, originally worshippers of the Goddess Oceana, then of the God Poseidon. I was a third-class such seaman, of the “local” US Navy, in 1987, one year after I helped save King County, Capitol Hill and the Arboretum from a fire, one which would have spread from someone’s house after she died. Of being brutally raped and killed, indecent fare for a middle-aged Black lady.
I used to be a nurse aide, home health personal care attendant, live-in for the denizens of Center Park, first apartment building in the country (maybe, the entire world) made specifically for those who inhabit Wheelchairs. Everywhere you can think, there is a screaming need for accessible (WA) housing…listen, they hire “you folks” as helpers! You may work live-in, staying with someone who needs you, in a wheelchair accessible unit that could be yours someday. You think you’re healthy now, but down the line you will require some medical assistance.
Accidents happen, y’know…signed, “M.”
WHO’s the Mystery Lady of the Night?
Every Zircus Krone needs a
Tri-Nightie, Betimes.
Four CIRCUS CLOWNS saw…
Is that a weird Period, si? *
T’WAS 8 PM ONE BREEZY, sultry Sunday evening, ‘70’s "Yes" style (I'll be the Roundabout, the words will make you out 'n out, I'll spend the day your way, call it morning driving through the sound and in and out the valley!) Early in August, midst a vintage ‘n recent dry year, Saragina DeSoto and Caza Zooweiler met to kibbitz at the peeling pastel yellow-walled, well-worn, and bedust-bunnied achoo-lintied Late Night Laundry. Said establishment nestled fortuitously near homes. So’s to blaringly sparkle its fluorescent brilliance, greater than any inn, within the Spartan outer circle of the tiny, spired-in-chunks by apartments and offices, laid-back, and balefully moonlit night-time farm town of Rama, WA. Whilst their second-hand or so solid, drenched and important clothes slushed and gyrated, our duo of demi-dames mournfully attempted a serious intellectual discussion. Of their ‘80’s atavistic, highly complex, delectable and moralistically socialistic Dilemma.
They did this to best beside enjoy their maximum peace, security and conversation, and caffeine-free soda pop, in feminine alone company without violence. Without fear, even sans smiling. Never-ever. Ever. It’d probably use up water.
Well, ‘twere an in-depth, unextremist, politicized and mysteriously relaxing (those two icy-cold bottles of soda being clearly involved) supranatch’ral lady talk. If’n that ain't right, what is, while so abstractedly, discolorlessly and thornily, and lecherously but significantly wearing wheat-toast brown, beltless, seatless, fathomless malaise and whalebone-wired disintegrating in sweat French Medievalist—or is it Latin Chic? —red, blue and green-lace panty hose. Hidden under their summer clothes, flat and motionless as the sky in thunder, and worn only in their hastily wildest backyard dreams… captivity is bad. You get the hint, you do! For they were but merely visiting, and with a well-defined purpose, involving the singular atmospheric Force called Water. Namely, laundry. In machines that churn it, like smelly corn-chip butter…