Archbald circa 1892

This is the town. And what wonderful things wikipedia can provide. Olyphant, another town just "down the line" from Archbald has a legend attached to it, according to wikipedia and other sources.

A number of years ago a man came into Borders books and music in Dickson City (another town a hair further down this undrawn line) when I worked there and told me all about this legend. He wore a puffy vest and had a bit of a crazed look about him. I'd see him walking along the train tracks from time to time. Even in the worst weather.

Coincidentally, Shannon and I knocked on people's doors throughout Olyphant two weekends ago, talking about politics. We were relatively well received. Only two doors were slammed on us in this small center of the universe.

But this is Archbald, so why am I mentioning any of this? Maybe that's where the secrets reside...

In a box of paper in a garage in Archbald there is a manuscript handwritten by the man mentioned above. It details the mysteries Olyphant may or may not possess: the sphinx like shape of the Lackawanna river as it rounds the edge of town, the positioning of seven churches --Orion in miniature, the pyramid of culm on the border of Throop and lastly eyewitness accounts of UFO activity. All of this somehow tied to the wife of Harry Houdini, who supposedly was raised in the Queen City.

Two wards (thing get better, we hopes withal)

The death of Paul Newman makes me feel unwell. He seemed a good human. He cared for and against things. This sounds empty, but it's not. The man was charitable and disinterested in what traps fame could set for him. He stood for something and lived his life according to that stance. A lot of the spectacles out there now could stand to at least carry themselves more sturdily. I am not a spectacle, but I could stand to do the same.

This weekend was rainy. Shannon and I indoors for the most part. The assassination of Jesse James and football and caffeine. The high grass swaying and motes of dust. I'm trying to get things polished. Trying to make for a glisten.

Sarah Palin is a nightmare. Both sides are smeary, but I believe in Obama. I've said it on peoples' doorsteps. I say it here.

The next number of years aren't going to be like what we've known, but it's going to take someone who can see around a number of subjects. Not someone who only knows how to attack and attack and attack. Recklessness and aggression doesn't make a good leader, our current situation proves this.

I wish Paul Newman could have at least pretended to be our president.

I've hit a round number

And so my expansion comes in circles. The rings around this township. The county that calls my waistband. You can't fathom some speedos. You and I are like in this matter. No cosmic dispersal. A door to the fight in all of us. There is no need to bear the bells, our country hears what song. Oh, how. Our country taps it out. Fits the valves. Fills the tape and spit. I've hit upon a kind of happiness. I've hit a round edged number and it rings. The register keys are springy. The register itself holds names. None for us it says in numbers. None for this here gathering. None in drawings or in drawers. None with luck or full of champagne.

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Here's what you win: a trophy car to run into the sky!

Here's what happens with the president: da daunh da duhn da deedle!

Here's a courier and his little bag full of important papers: ride the elevator, right. Now the bike!

Here's an x through a number of instructions on a piece of white paper marked to do: X!

Here we are on the labor day. Here we are sitting with our p-word, listening to horns. Here we are making decisions in the water. Here we are and here and here some more.

Here is what you win:

(and beneath it is an american

eagle, gold and bald.)