I sat buffing my monument of nobility that appeared in my dreams. A mirror shine, as always. A faint buzzer went off in my room. The walls were coated in morning light. The radio clicked on and (as it turns out) I interrupted a major turning point: "Time of death: 7:20AM, Cause of death: 'Weather-related electrocution' - well that's it doctor, we did all we could - you should be commended for your effort."
The doctor hung his head and closed his eyes, his hand still holding a bag of oxygen - he felt as if he had given up. A nurse reassured him that this would not impact his status as chief resident. "How does she know," he muttered as he pulled off his gloves. He had flashes of nature in an overexposed state: blades of grass poking through the soil, butterflies emerging from their ugly wrappings, a bird diving down and gliding for the first time, an apple falling from a tower. Image flashes such as these propelled him forward forcefully. Call it 'delusional' if you must.
"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special announcement from the Coast Guard: As of 0730, gale-forced winds may shake things up near the gulf. Clipper ships, consider yourselves warned!"
I stepped out onto the deck, I noticed some of my crew had eaten breakfast already. "Good morning you wild taxonomists of the Southern half of our earthball. Did we name anything last night?" I looked around and no one really noticed me. "Yeah we actually saw a two-of-sixteen trichordate and named it." I thought of Gaia and knew she'd be pleased, so I guiltily filled out some forms for her and filed them away. Gaia was simply stunning, long hair...flowin' down, on the ocean...waves splashing down (against an enormous land mass).
"What did you name it?"
"Luana."
A sharp wave crest slammed the side of our ship, and then a few smaller ones followed. We really took off after that. Blazing down the shoreline, a powerful, frothy wake erupted behind our clipper ship. In a display of unanimous strength, the bow raised slightly out of the water and the wind whipped in then around the vacuum and howled so loudly men working on the docks stood up and shed tears of awe. I cried a little too, but mostly I gripped the wheel with one hand and held her steady. I pushed the throttle to its limit, knowing full well that any added velocity at this point came from the whims of the winds, tides, and fortunes.
Below the deck, I scribbled some personal thoughts on a notepad I bought back on mainland. Sheesh.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Cheap Buttons
Three years ago there was at the very least a hope, an inspired confidence that at the very least enabled the ability to hope, even if so recklessly. Now we have an uninspired gig offering a paltry wake. It's a shame...it's a boomerang feather. This has happened before, in the desert with the shades, in the jungle, in the back garage! i wonder if you'll think of me, holding you tight in the hall, at the back end of an awful gathering - prodding you on.
When I see I thought it, I thought it, I dreamed, I listened and we kept talkin' and on...and on...and on to the dreams to the reckless dreams of their ancestors between worlds, every family had been known for every virtue, for every vice. I frowned. I felt fine, but I was not smiling. Hey, I lost my place. What's it like? Probably when people keep it clean and don't bring up it's verb half-sibling. It's a loft isn't it.
"Yeah, Long Island City, it's dope man."
"Dude, I hear it's really inex...inex...chchchchc..."
I am anxious. I'm rattled now, Rhesus. Cuh cah. Juhjeejee oh ahead. Carbon. Sinister. Fula, prepare for the end of days. So I said, "Haha, the real end of days?"
"Dude, this is retarded."
And it was, it was inane. Especially since one of the closest members of the inner circle had fallen like this. I ripped the foil off the food. Oh god.
When I see I thought it, I thought it, I dreamed, I listened and we kept talkin' and on...and on...and on to the dreams to the reckless dreams of their ancestors between worlds, every family had been known for every virtue, for every vice. I frowned. I felt fine, but I was not smiling. Hey, I lost my place. What's it like? Probably when people keep it clean and don't bring up it's verb half-sibling. It's a loft isn't it.
"Yeah, Long Island City, it's dope man."
"Dude, I hear it's really inex...inex...chchchchc..."
I am anxious. I'm rattled now, Rhesus. Cuh cah. Juhjeejee oh ahead. Carbon. Sinister. Fula, prepare for the end of days. So I said, "Haha, the real end of days?"
"Dude, this is retarded."
And it was, it was inane. Especially since one of the closest members of the inner circle had fallen like this. I ripped the foil off the food. Oh god.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Beside the Promenade
The fire in their hearts sm[o]ldered to mutilation, and I watched it from the fire escape. I literally saw everything, it was an afternoon of clarity. So all the animals got really scared in unison. It sounded quite heinous, as animals yelp at different pitches. A tint here, a slap and a dab there, a few goodfellas wherever the lovely ladies were hiding upstairs. Everyone was about sixteen 'cept the late summer babies. All the chaperones had driven pastel-colored Cadillacs down the road in front of the city centre, the towl hall - beside the bell tower, where the future socialites had their first co-ed dance - to drop their packages onto the streettop.
Sitting....over there, next to the fire, I heard something real Classical come heat-seeksliding through the satellite bases into my ears. So I turned to it and paid it its due attention. Overloss post-syndrome - arrowshot hits the board but bullseye umbrella held by the Caribbean pirates. Slip me a crystal, I cried out. The tall man with the dark black hair leaned over and breathed a mighty salt-water breath: fffuuuaaahh. So, dignified.
Sitting....over there, next to the fire, I heard something real Classical come heat-seeksliding through the satellite bases into my ears. So I turned to it and paid it its due attention. Overloss post-syndrome - arrowshot hits the board but bullseye umbrella held by the Caribbean pirates. Slip me a crystal, I cried out. The tall man with the dark black hair leaned over and breathed a mighty salt-water breath: fffuuuaaahh. So, dignified.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Centurion
The LED flicks on for a second, "there are hundreds of good lawyers out there." It snaps to half-power, and then it quickly shuts off. And until it flicks on again, good night...good night. Good night orange and lime lights, good night camera shutter. The noise subsides for a time. "The world will do without me for a while." For now...good night. Clasp again to will a new message. Till it comes again...good night. Neck swivel left eye shiver, arpeggio after arpeggio after hours...have a good life.
"Settling in I see?"
Why yes, Ma'ma! Spike spike river flow river flow river flow spike bridge spike river flow, instructions: say goodbye. It's special for us tonight. Good bye. Mute mute arpeggio downwind. Mute arpeggio whistle flourish whistle flourish! The joy the joy the joy neck swivel, resolve. And resolve. Good night. T-t-t-t-t-take your time. For now...have a good life. And then, stay right.
"Sounds a bit tinny, no?"
Certainly! So blow some air into your upper lip pocket and clench your lips around some crossy eyes, then close them. See what I meant about the noise? Rest your weary head, my good friend. Down eye-liner on the river tonight. We all stay awake all night. Wood floors slow ship driftin' down the wide windy river. Got my arms over the rail limp like a doll, blowin' air into my upper lip and twisting my entire leg, a little river jig. A little river time. A warm...river night. Steeply up - leisurely down, if your heart's right. If your...mind's fine. Sleep it off, fill it up, but on our side. Say good night. For now...good bye.
"There's a treasure here for you tonight!"
That's. That's just fine. I continued to let my body spasm with every note in the score and tried to assign each instrument a different muscle group, together it was very relaxing even though to the outsider it looks like I was having a hard time. It was relaxing because I wasn't thinking. Time enough...good night. Time's right..."good bye."
Fire.
"Settling in I see?"
Why yes, Ma'ma! Spike spike river flow river flow river flow spike bridge spike river flow, instructions: say goodbye. It's special for us tonight. Good bye. Mute mute arpeggio downwind. Mute arpeggio whistle flourish whistle flourish! The joy the joy the joy neck swivel, resolve. And resolve. Good night. T-t-t-t-t-take your time. For now...have a good life. And then, stay right.
"Sounds a bit tinny, no?"
Certainly! So blow some air into your upper lip pocket and clench your lips around some crossy eyes, then close them. See what I meant about the noise? Rest your weary head, my good friend. Down eye-liner on the river tonight. We all stay awake all night. Wood floors slow ship driftin' down the wide windy river. Got my arms over the rail limp like a doll, blowin' air into my upper lip and twisting my entire leg, a little river jig. A little river time. A warm...river night. Steeply up - leisurely down, if your heart's right. If your...mind's fine. Sleep it off, fill it up, but on our side. Say good night. For now...good bye.
"There's a treasure here for you tonight!"
That's. That's just fine. I continued to let my body spasm with every note in the score and tried to assign each instrument a different muscle group, together it was very relaxing even though to the outsider it looks like I was having a hard time. It was relaxing because I wasn't thinking. Time enough...good night. Time's right..."good bye."
Fire.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Structual Integrity
In a distant land that was equally (if not more) civilized than our own, a wise old man tripped down the stairs of his apartment and broke his neck. After surgery and the physical therapy sessions with Sumako, he promised himself to think about his youth more often and write parables for his children and grandchildren. Below, please find a passage from his writing. As you will see, his writing has been affected by the trauma he suffered when he fell down the stairs. Still, the man's wisdom is quite evident, through the rhetorical spasms and mangled prose:
...for in this impossible period, which the doctors told me came from my relentless cognitive dissonance, I was unable to channel the vivacity of my earlier years. Still a young man combing the darkness, I was unable to reach the stop lever, I was unable to stop - utterly helpless. Inert for what was then the foreseeable future. Livid inside, hearing my body's sirens yet smiling on sunny days. I knew how to rid myself of this awful addiction, there were substances. So on the outside, I stopped everything, and started telling the inside: "we must stop."
It is hard to imagine a more elegant expression of the hopelessness of addiction. When I read this prose, it throbs within me, and my mind is blown.
...for in this impossible period, which the doctors told me came from my relentless cognitive dissonance, I was unable to channel the vivacity of my earlier years. Still a young man combing the darkness, I was unable to reach the stop lever, I was unable to stop - utterly helpless. Inert for what was then the foreseeable future. Livid inside, hearing my body's sirens yet smiling on sunny days. I knew how to rid myself of this awful addiction, there were substances. So on the outside, I stopped everything, and started telling the inside: "we must stop."
It is hard to imagine a more elegant expression of the hopelessness of addiction. When I read this prose, it throbs within me, and my mind is blown.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Cracked Steps
Yoão met up with Charlie at the ballgame and they met Ingrid (Joanna). They hung out together in the peaceful times, and, innocently, Yoão fell in love with Joanna, and Charlie had to watch that shit. So they walked, no, let's be clear, they strolled down the street: they saw some blonde skinny ostrich of a lady walk by wearing one of those flat shiny fabric coats in old-person beige, and they overheard: "Yoaoh, Clement man, you still high?"
How can they serve that stuff on the street isn't it illegal to sell - wait, it's not really liquor it's just those pourer caps on some working-class, ethnic juices. We waited to cross the street because a car got stranded in the intersection but some bright light with flattened black hair and a blue blouse decided to scamper across and fuck the whole scene up, because then the floodgates opened and the car actually got stranded and all the way up the bridge honks reverberated and shook the girders as the afternoon sun split, centered, and eclipsed the massive rigid structure. Her whole body seemed flat now like a blue cracker, she couldn't be less of a Cracker but in terms of two-dimensionality, let's go with "cracker."
So the yesmen followed the leader and the leader had money on his mind. They could probably take a shortcut but let's not tell them about it - it distracts from the point of the story, which is that Charlie fell in love with Joanna but Yoão did too - only Yoão was more forward about it. And while Joanna wasn't exactly available, the advantage on this one had to go to Yoão, because his desire had contaminated his body language and released all kinds of mammalian particles into the afternoon air and maybe everyone got a whiff.
Maybe the blonde starlet on the billboard with her legs spread open caught a little whiff, or maybe some yesmen thought about the shortcut for a second. Either way the gasses found their way to Joanna from Yoão, like pollen finds its way from stamen to pistil or whatever. So while all this stuff was swirling around, a train emerged from the tunnel and lumbered over the bridge, and at the same time the girl wearing blue caught up with the leader and his yesmen and she jumped up and gave him a smootch. So the yesmen said something to each other along the lines of, "yeah..."
When Charlie got home it was Night. He went to his room and turned everything off and realized that he felt a little dirty. The sheets were just washed, he thought, so he went to the washroom and splashed some water on his face and rubbed some soap on his hands and gave each side a thorough once-over. He kept thinking about the sheets and how clean they were. The coarse city kept at its howling, and the bridge girders shuddered as cars passed over beam intersections. We closed the door to his room and felt much better. He was ready to retire.
Yoão and Joanna went to Joanna’s together, they exchanged smiles over a conversation and a sleeve of crackers and Yoão even invented a game where he would play a ringtone on his phone and say, "guess" and she would curtsy her perfect little face (in profile) over to the speaker and shout the name of the song with a big smile. This went on until Yoão ran out of songs, he played every song he had except the song he used for when his old girlfriend would call. Yoão was one of those guys who came out of womb on a sunny day.
"Tomorrow morning, everything will be different."
An arrestingly attractive woman dressed in a silver suit and a light purple blouse flicked her tall black sunglasses down onto her eyes. We never got a look at her eyes but if we had to guess, they shone. Her dark skin precluded her from many conversations, and that really got us thinking. "Well, does it?"
"Once he passes you, I want you to get ready for the next guy aight? You put your hand under your shirt and hold the handle of the gun, show him that you for real. The man walked innocently by the kid and the kid showed him his gun. The man stopped in his tracks and stammered backwards, his life flashing before his eyes, his organs collapsing within; his vocal chords scrambling around trying not to be fried by the nervous frenzy his brain had showered upon them. The kid laughed and the guy played it off like there weren't that many feces in his pinstriped pants. The guy turned away and started taking longer strides towards his front door. He saw two men strolling towards him across the street and he looked to their faces attempting to use them as rear-view mirrors.
"No, no. Back...then...things like that...didn't...."
All these people think the same thing when they walk into a fast food place, am I going to go all out or am I going to just put it off until the next time I go all out. The dark-skinned girl in the silver suit thought something along the lines of, "chicken $6.49 that's a little steep for fake chicken." I want to emphasize something - she is the be all and end all. She makes Joanna look like Charlie's trembling heart.
The clean man climbed into his clean bed and the moon shone through his light curtains and illuminated the nighttime and the bedroom with shadows and a wise white light. He spread his legs out to the sides and folded his hands on his waist as he lay on his back. He thought about death. He thought about how everyone's plans, especially Yoão's, could be brought to a grinding halt if any of the universe's fluctuations left him out of the Mission. He could be murdered in an alley, for instance, or he could develop melanoma. His parents could die or there could be a natural disaster. A train could derail or he could reverse over a little kid with his Audi. Anything could cut short his life and he doesn't even have a will or a note, all that would be left of him would be varyingly intense (mostly) fond memories by the people he interacted with while he was alive, or rather, while Yoão was alive because Charlie was really pondering his friend’s death, not his own. Well, in terms of carpe diem, he thought of himself, in terms of "reasons and treasons" he thought of Yoão.
Through it all he thought of Joanna. In conversation, in bed, in marriage, in parenting, in old age, at the wake, standing over each other's corpse, saying "thank you for coming." Maybe they'd die together in a car filled with CO - wills on the kitchen table and suicide notes in the mail.
Yoão and Joanna didn't do anything, so he walked home, and Joanna thought about Charlie. Joanna thought of Charlie, "Why does he seem so weak?" She thought of the pyramids and the heavy white marble stones. She thought that with patience, she could extricate herself from Yoão and Charlie, and maybe move to California - clean slate, men with some well-directed testosterone, not to mention the weather.
"Squint a little harder, maybe then you'll see how selfless I am."
He sat there thinking about Joanna. The wind swept on inaudibly - a comment on Charlie's thoughts. The darkness you know? All that solitude before bed with the pressure points caused by metal springs can’t be good for the heart. How can "Gold" be the middle, shouldn't it be the top? Yoão had struggled to compose a very serious e-mail message to Joanna, something similar to: "Hey, tonight was really great. I really enjoy spending time with you. I hope we can hang out together again sometime soon." 23 words, 23 minutes. The "I hope" construction is essentially an expression of self-doubt, but in this context, it is the least presumptuous phrase he used - an effective counterweight, a charming touch. She removed one of those black hair ties from her perfect ponytail and went to bed. She hadn’t washed off all the makeup around her eyes.
Charlie rose. He put on some music. “Eight Miles High,” The Byrds – Fillmore East, New York, NY, 1971. He leaned out his apartment window and looked down at the street. He saw an engraving on the lamppost. It was white. In the shower he remembered one of his dreams from the previous night. His mouth was open and he was rocking downward, sort of shaking his thighs rolling his eyes back a little…getting lower as the bassist raised his hand higher.
Joanna had gotten up earlier and passed an enormous mannequin in a store window. She had to do some errands. “He’s got it coming to him,” some construction guy said as he motioned with his hands. “Well, Bill told me I had to stay here but he didn’t say nothin’ to Jim so I don’t know why he’s still here.” “I am listening.” “Gimme a scoop of mango and a scoop of cherry,” a hard man asked the ice cart guy frozen in a permanent squint.
Yoao met Charlie at the park around 11:30, “I went home with Joanna last night.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah man, I don’t know she’s all right.” They walked to a bench, Charlie looked up at the magazine store. He wondered where they manufactured the white letters above the storefront. “She’s actually really nice C.” “Definitely.” “Yeah we hung out for a while last night, just talking you know?” “Yeah.” Charlie looked down at the ground and saw an ant that didn’t have much longer to live. “But I think I’m over it dude, she’s no big deal.” “What’s it?” Charlie squeezed the ant’s insides out with his foot. “I don’t know, yesterday I kind of had a thing for Joanna.” “Really?”
How can they serve that stuff on the street isn't it illegal to sell - wait, it's not really liquor it's just those pourer caps on some working-class, ethnic juices. We waited to cross the street because a car got stranded in the intersection but some bright light with flattened black hair and a blue blouse decided to scamper across and fuck the whole scene up, because then the floodgates opened and the car actually got stranded and all the way up the bridge honks reverberated and shook the girders as the afternoon sun split, centered, and eclipsed the massive rigid structure. Her whole body seemed flat now like a blue cracker, she couldn't be less of a Cracker but in terms of two-dimensionality, let's go with "cracker."
So the yesmen followed the leader and the leader had money on his mind. They could probably take a shortcut but let's not tell them about it - it distracts from the point of the story, which is that Charlie fell in love with Joanna but Yoão did too - only Yoão was more forward about it. And while Joanna wasn't exactly available, the advantage on this one had to go to Yoão, because his desire had contaminated his body language and released all kinds of mammalian particles into the afternoon air and maybe everyone got a whiff.
Maybe the blonde starlet on the billboard with her legs spread open caught a little whiff, or maybe some yesmen thought about the shortcut for a second. Either way the gasses found their way to Joanna from Yoão, like pollen finds its way from stamen to pistil or whatever. So while all this stuff was swirling around, a train emerged from the tunnel and lumbered over the bridge, and at the same time the girl wearing blue caught up with the leader and his yesmen and she jumped up and gave him a smootch. So the yesmen said something to each other along the lines of, "yeah..."
When Charlie got home it was Night. He went to his room and turned everything off and realized that he felt a little dirty. The sheets were just washed, he thought, so he went to the washroom and splashed some water on his face and rubbed some soap on his hands and gave each side a thorough once-over. He kept thinking about the sheets and how clean they were. The coarse city kept at its howling, and the bridge girders shuddered as cars passed over beam intersections. We closed the door to his room and felt much better. He was ready to retire.
Yoão and Joanna went to Joanna’s together, they exchanged smiles over a conversation and a sleeve of crackers and Yoão even invented a game where he would play a ringtone on his phone and say, "guess" and she would curtsy her perfect little face (in profile) over to the speaker and shout the name of the song with a big smile. This went on until Yoão ran out of songs, he played every song he had except the song he used for when his old girlfriend would call. Yoão was one of those guys who came out of womb on a sunny day.
"Tomorrow morning, everything will be different."
An arrestingly attractive woman dressed in a silver suit and a light purple blouse flicked her tall black sunglasses down onto her eyes. We never got a look at her eyes but if we had to guess, they shone. Her dark skin precluded her from many conversations, and that really got us thinking. "Well, does it?"
"Once he passes you, I want you to get ready for the next guy aight? You put your hand under your shirt and hold the handle of the gun, show him that you for real. The man walked innocently by the kid and the kid showed him his gun. The man stopped in his tracks and stammered backwards, his life flashing before his eyes, his organs collapsing within; his vocal chords scrambling around trying not to be fried by the nervous frenzy his brain had showered upon them. The kid laughed and the guy played it off like there weren't that many feces in his pinstriped pants. The guy turned away and started taking longer strides towards his front door. He saw two men strolling towards him across the street and he looked to their faces attempting to use them as rear-view mirrors.
"No, no. Back...then...things like that...didn't...."
All these people think the same thing when they walk into a fast food place, am I going to go all out or am I going to just put it off until the next time I go all out. The dark-skinned girl in the silver suit thought something along the lines of, "chicken $6.49 that's a little steep for fake chicken." I want to emphasize something - she is the be all and end all. She makes Joanna look like Charlie's trembling heart.
The clean man climbed into his clean bed and the moon shone through his light curtains and illuminated the nighttime and the bedroom with shadows and a wise white light. He spread his legs out to the sides and folded his hands on his waist as he lay on his back. He thought about death. He thought about how everyone's plans, especially Yoão's, could be brought to a grinding halt if any of the universe's fluctuations left him out of the Mission. He could be murdered in an alley, for instance, or he could develop melanoma. His parents could die or there could be a natural disaster. A train could derail or he could reverse over a little kid with his Audi. Anything could cut short his life and he doesn't even have a will or a note, all that would be left of him would be varyingly intense (mostly) fond memories by the people he interacted with while he was alive, or rather, while Yoão was alive because Charlie was really pondering his friend’s death, not his own. Well, in terms of carpe diem, he thought of himself, in terms of "reasons and treasons" he thought of Yoão.
Through it all he thought of Joanna. In conversation, in bed, in marriage, in parenting, in old age, at the wake, standing over each other's corpse, saying "thank you for coming." Maybe they'd die together in a car filled with CO - wills on the kitchen table and suicide notes in the mail.
Yoão and Joanna didn't do anything, so he walked home, and Joanna thought about Charlie. Joanna thought of Charlie, "Why does he seem so weak?" She thought of the pyramids and the heavy white marble stones. She thought that with patience, she could extricate herself from Yoão and Charlie, and maybe move to California - clean slate, men with some well-directed testosterone, not to mention the weather.
"Squint a little harder, maybe then you'll see how selfless I am."
He sat there thinking about Joanna. The wind swept on inaudibly - a comment on Charlie's thoughts. The darkness you know? All that solitude before bed with the pressure points caused by metal springs can’t be good for the heart. How can "Gold" be the middle, shouldn't it be the top? Yoão had struggled to compose a very serious e-mail message to Joanna, something similar to: "Hey, tonight was really great. I really enjoy spending time with you. I hope we can hang out together again sometime soon." 23 words, 23 minutes. The "I hope" construction is essentially an expression of self-doubt, but in this context, it is the least presumptuous phrase he used - an effective counterweight, a charming touch. She removed one of those black hair ties from her perfect ponytail and went to bed. She hadn’t washed off all the makeup around her eyes.
Charlie rose. He put on some music. “Eight Miles High,” The Byrds – Fillmore East, New York, NY, 1971. He leaned out his apartment window and looked down at the street. He saw an engraving on the lamppost. It was white. In the shower he remembered one of his dreams from the previous night. His mouth was open and he was rocking downward, sort of shaking his thighs rolling his eyes back a little…getting lower as the bassist raised his hand higher.
Joanna had gotten up earlier and passed an enormous mannequin in a store window. She had to do some errands. “He’s got it coming to him,” some construction guy said as he motioned with his hands. “Well, Bill told me I had to stay here but he didn’t say nothin’ to Jim so I don’t know why he’s still here.” “I am listening.” “Gimme a scoop of mango and a scoop of cherry,” a hard man asked the ice cart guy frozen in a permanent squint.
Yoao met Charlie at the park around 11:30, “I went home with Joanna last night.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah man, I don’t know she’s all right.” They walked to a bench, Charlie looked up at the magazine store. He wondered where they manufactured the white letters above the storefront. “She’s actually really nice C.” “Definitely.” “Yeah we hung out for a while last night, just talking you know?” “Yeah.” Charlie looked down at the ground and saw an ant that didn’t have much longer to live. “But I think I’m over it dude, she’s no big deal.” “What’s it?” Charlie squeezed the ant’s insides out with his foot. “I don’t know, yesterday I kind of had a thing for Joanna.” “Really?”
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