Word: desertion
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1980-1989
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Nirvana several thousand moments ago in California, back there in a distant space before the angry pumped up reds-speed-and-Jack-Daniels buzz twisted, writhed and plummeted into the mellow blue-black of sweet Colombian dope and then, groggily, awoke into a bright new day of desert sunshine, cocaine and, lest we forget, as its undeniable, irrepressible tendrils finger their way into our minds, Queen Acid, begging, declaring, forcing us to recognize that the black spot affixed near the apex of the road, the dot at the edge of infinity, has no, not four or 20 but a human...
...minute, my heart no longer beating, there is calm, a gap in the excitement as the still motionlessness of the early morning desert thrusts its awkward head in the side door of our mental tree house, a pause, a break--and then the moonface puts his hand on the front door passenger side handle and the realization hits me that this man is the governor of California, this man is Ronald Reagan, and I turn slowly towards the backseat, toward the agony of truth, for I know this implausibility can only come from within, that the exterior world however cruel...
...pulling it out and waving its resinous perfume beneath the moonface's nose, which raises in haughty shock as his jaw drops in horror and I sense Ginsburg #2 has made a mistake, for the governor is grabbing and clawing in my direction, shouting vague absurdities into the dry desert wind and, groping with his foot, finds and attacks the yacht's brakes and, spinning desertward once again, mortified terror replayed afresh, we reach a dustcloud stop...
...onward we spin once more, glory of youth, until one nosecount later we realize that Ginsburg #1 had jumped out in an acid freak at the moonface's first arrival and, now wandering in the evil endless desert all alone, had missed the whole weird entirety...
Cynthia Cohan, 39, a Los Angeles lawyer and mother of two, tolerates her Cherokee's inconveniences in return for the advantages it gives her in negotiating war-torn freeway lanes. Its "macho presence," she says, keeps snippy sports cars from cutting her off. The desert-fox image holds little appeal for Cohan, who uses the vehicle as an updated substitute for the hopelessly unchic Country Squire station wagon. But she admits to her own jeep fantasy: "When the big earthquake comes," she says, "I'm going to drive up and over the rubble...