The concert violin never did it for me, my aural palette isn't very refined at those high pitches, you know? Maybe I should sharpen it; maybe I should listen to Top 40 songs with melodramatic violin lines in the background. Or maybe...I should just skip all that and just give up altogether.
From afar the car moves very slowly but down where the radio fills the cabin we're flyin' down a desert highway with nothing but nameless California desert plateau ahead of us and a dusty road and an iPod shuffle with not enough songs but a mess of style, a crash of silver. We're not terribly agile these days. Kinna in the groove, kinna inflexible...a healthy serving of rigor mortis for the "living." I'm reminded of my giant map and its icon language and those 2.5 lines and the bold colors. Sucking melting ice out of a clear plastic cup; the wind drowned out the solo acoustics, which suck.
She and I are headed to a desert lab...this is an epilogue. I've never been a mortician but something tells me that some ginger finger maneuvers will come in handy. Sandy sun palace, you could've been a haven for some Japanese 8-bit developer.
Intent technicians, huddled around a roulette wheel waiting for their next project. Another human, oh awesome, give it to Claire over there. Claire took a stack of chips and took the black playbook binder. Black X's and bold dashed lines all over the place, an icon that signified her laser pointer, greyscale gradients specifying atmospheric conditions. She would hold one of the chips tightly between the thumb and index finger on her weak hand, then she'd flip to a page in the binder. Mind you, Claire didn't track some national ideology index to pick the page in the binder, though she would tour the country in way too methodical for MTV, too blunt for PBS. After picking a design, checking the quota (that she modeled at rest stops), she picked up the laser and dug transistors into the chips with femto-granular precision.
Argue with me on this one let's hear it I want to swallow your argument, pulverize it and puke it up. Electrical outcry, brassy headaches maybe some jammed fingers. Pick you up by those precious legs throw you over let you go, dreamin' throbbin' electrical outcry. Slap you silly slap some sense into you I bet you'll take it huh, it'll run out huh nothing about interest didn't you learn about interest do you have any interests in allowance calculations too? Singin' my song cloaked in your pathetically unmasked scorn. Love it: "lawsuits remain rare because of a cultural aversion to litigation."
Jigadeejig hee haw hee haw no loose no loose. Can't. Immanuel skyline developments, coming soon, negotiated thoroughly in a tangled web of metal and other instruments. Tappin' up and down reading about the Haitian Revolution, rubbing the back of your scalp and the beautiful bird imagery on your light-weight polo. Managing latency from behind a giant medieval wall, climb to the top and between the tall posts looking out at the horizon...recalling the power struggle in Ravenna.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment