Hero’s Journey of Jettisoning the Cellphone
By Don Tatum
I kept searching in quick, socially- isolated furtive attempts to cover, swipe away, the klutzy (such an early- 80’s insult!) digital imprints of text (oh no), voicemail (oh please no) or the idiotic, damn, dumb-ass impulsive vain, (I really f**d up) Stuff that an honestly empathic compulsive liar says when having been under the influence of vodka, knowing cunningly (too late oh no!) that, oh, f**k it, now I’ve said it! …and the only damn recourse left for me to use for a toolkit is an essence and an iota of a memory from conversations with Guatamalan insurrectionists whom I met hiding in some forgotten Pleistocene remnants of crag and stone intruded through extensive eruptions of volcanic rock, tucked deep within an utterly inaccessible dark river canyon…I went around a round raging current bend, voyageuring in a dugout teakwood canoe, and, “Ohhh, F**K! It’s a Verizon cell tower!” I smashed my phone under the blade of a hastily-seized machete and tossed da crumbs into da river.
Tales from the Little Shed 