Shutters

Pour some arancia directly into the sauce you'd been preparing, that's what they told me. That's what I had to work with. I figured, "Hey I gave it my best." I analyzed the curve. Indeed, there was a steep scale on which infatuation turned into disrespect, which caused me to open the window over the urban backyard.

I had been thinking of that green hose a few times more recently. I thought about shattering that garage light with the little basketball. I guess that's in my past. What would a mental mirror show? Yuck, I don't even want to picture it - even that's flattering terminology.

So the window opened, and I looked out. Things looked pretty normal. I saw little ants, gravel, chlorinated water, some slick pavement. I saw a barbecue and a ladder, a fence and a man. That's that I thought. My heart felt empty knowing I'd never get to be in that same setting again. That was behind me. That is gone now. It sits about six feet under a nicely manicured lawn. It is sad. I am sad.

It's an odd vacancy because I remember those moments most fondly. That's incongruity. I saw a picture of a girl H.H. who looked great on paper. That is a kick, this is a kick, I don't think I'm flexible enough to kick the window back up. To keep it up without letting it close for a few more years. It is depressing to be honest. It is sick and filled with regret.

It's borne of some kind of resentment for other people. They are on the other side of my forced mannerisms. From them obligation turns to resentment. From the source comes obligation and from me comes resentment and with that the scale. Is everything doomed, am I stuck as a master of white lies and scorecard credit? It's an odd situation. There's so much time? Right?

There aren't many things that could prevent me from the stupid window. But that's a lie and I know it. There are things that necessarily prevent it, and they are pathetic. They are thoughtless and inane. I am a subject on the manor of perception and narcissism. I obey my master, and my master wears boxer-briefs but would like to switch back to boxers in the near future.

That's the way it is. Duh. Seems like a rotten deal doesn't it? Well it's not too bad. It's sort of standard, I can see it dates back at least to Madison Avenue in 1960. We'll see what happens next. I'm sure it'll be a real hoot. I'm sure the window will go up and down and nothing will change. Or maybe they'll stick it to me. Maybe they'll slam the fucking shutter down on my hand and break my bones into a thousand pieces. Maybe they'll take turns turning salt against me and slapping my face. Maybe that's what's in store. I need help I scream out the closed window and the submarine is submerged. Oh it's eternally submerged. Too soon. It's over. The legend has left his backyard.

"They Hadn't Made It Yet"

"Beautiful day out today..."
"Yeah, 73 now..."
"What a good year!"
"You said it!"
It's too soon to have an all-out retrospective - we need a subtle, archival revival instead. Indeed, we should probably shoot for something more low key. What I propose is a web featurette - some nice art, maybe get Missy to narrate over it - and then depending on the response have some kind of user-generated recap in print. It's Tuesday now, we can wrap this up by Sunday. What does everyone think?
I think auto companies should offer gas incentives up front - putting a ceiling on the price per gallon that the consumer must pay given on-time payments or more money down. It's almost like a rebate system, you work it.
It's a balancing act dude, you have to introduce these kinds of initiatives slowly, almost... ... ...silently.
"Softly right?"
"Yeah, nothing big..."
"I need to make some cuts."
"Don't we all!"
The recommended method for cleaning these creatures is to truncate the three-dimensional ellipse around the eyes (the face), remove the two-layered translucent flaps (the gills & testes), and (this is optional) remove the yellowish glandular pieces (hepatopancreas and various cartilages) towards the center of the animal.
Let's have a race! Ok, I will watch a litre of ice melt, you watch 2 sticks of butter melt, and DD (disappointed dunesky) over there will watch some dead grass grow. So we started. The bars of Breakstone stood tall and strong, but my bowl of ice was already on it's way - everything was going according to plan. There was a small puddle of butter forming at the base of the towers; I got a little nervous (and a little hungry).
"I caught one!" - he raised his hands up.
"Where's it headed?"
"Towards New York!"
"Like the other one?"
The smallish man watched his dead grass grow: and through it he imagined glorious fields and blue skies. Who maintains this beauty, he wondered. Who tends to this beautiful natural lawn. The small man stood in a black and white outfit, he uneasily raised his hand towards his foe. Sun glimmered off the crevices of his weapon. It was a classic triangulation showdown, how tense!
"Give me the crane."
"Sir, we're on the crane."
"Then raise it up!"
"Sir, this is not advisable."
Two reckless hawks at full throttle plummeted into the scene. They carried only their maniacal spirits and pointed their talons back behind them to reduce drag. Apparently they learned this technique in the tropics. The three men stood in the meadow, and I was one of them, and you were too.
The small man pulled the trigger first. The bullet flew for your face, it was a remarkably accurate shot - suspiciously accurate. I turned to you (I had been aiming at the small man), and took a shot as well. Impact meant death, and the bullet struck just within your left eye socket, then my bullet grazed your neck and persisted for a decent time. The small man took the opportunity to fall on his back for protection and fire another shot in my direction this time. Your face had exploded and the flap of skin that had come off your neck was relatively pathetic. The dunesky's bullet headed for my face and I crossed my eyes on impact. Certain flashes overcame me in that instance:

The basketball game on that beautiful day...the empty parking lot...pounding the steering wheel, the rain and its discussion...the accident in the snow...sitting on nature smoking...the brick wall painted white...emotion - saliva. It's a little grotesque to compare our deaths to something like that, but that's how it happened.

I had a jukebox graduate for a [first] mate,
she couldn't sail but she sure could sing.