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Month: August 2014

The flight of small birds

I build mobiles. I dabble in the articulation of lifeless things, not always profitable. Shore birds are on special this month. I’m taking a loss on everything. Yes, taking a huge hit; on the thinly pigmented colors that fade after one summer, on the lidless eyes. On the eye-hook joints, on the whirligig inefficiency. On the discretionary maiming of small birds that get too close. On the predatory preference for brightly colored males. It’s not a blowout so much as Total Inventory Holocaust. I’m taking a huge hit, but there’s the excitement of unconditional ruin. Failure without reservation or limitation- total fucking nonsuccess.

It’s a leap of faith, but inspiration will save me. I’ll be thunderstruck by my own genius. It’ll be difficult to function in the brilliance. All-in-all, a comprehensive gobsmacking. The streets will run purple with the telling of my legend. Observance is compulsory, even the feeble and infirm shall not be excused.

Non-articulation comes in cycles, but the leverage is massive. There is great, patent-able potential in any mobile, as well as in any ignorant thinking. Balance is key, and physical phrasing, as are other notions not conducive to my talents. Still, every client gets a questionnaire. Environment, desired effect, weight, structure, materials (post-consumer, exotic, etc.). Exposure. Propulsion (wind, magnetic, superconducting loop, insect, etc.). How funny to see how little I’ve learned about all of this since I left the flies scurrying all over your inner windows.

I can’t help but think how much easier this would all be if gravity wasn’t dressed in duct tape and plastic bags. Fucking gravity. The ragpicker of physical law. Newton’s anal beads. The thyroid of the known universe. The typing exercise, the individually wrapped cheese. The stage laugh. The bean skin in your teeth. The unrecognizable drip down your inner ass. The dark ‘ that’s just sweat, or…?’ thought. The emergent anal bead now utterly removed from any remembered event. Everything comes full circle, eventually. Even the things you’ve since forgotten. Now it’s all capillary bowl. I still put my pants on one arm at a time, but my hat never comes off.

Name-dropping, after hours



I have bad teeth. Otherwise I am fine condition. I’m so optimistic in fact that I just bought new boots. Leaving the mall I did a survey and I instantly got FOUR FREE GIFTS: an almost new regulation-sized Barbie Princess Styling Head. Excellent toy for the average small girl.   The hair is still really clean and yellow though the deep black pores and skin tone can look weird under the porch bug lamp.  The other bonuses I got are: a NASCAR Needle-point Jewellery Kit. And also a new Troutmaster Microwave Extension Cord. So you can move your microwave anywhere in the kitchen, even to the porch windowsill for popcorn during the street fights.  Anyway, the boots are size 13 and pinch in the toe. I am actually a really narrow 14 so I may have to return the boots, though I may be able to stretch them out like last time with wedges and lots of steam. I won’t say what the 4th gift is because I need you to like me just for me.

But speaking of gifts, I heard a late night kick on my door and went to look and there you were, all tuckered out after the Logger pride festival. I went out to investigate and it was like God had opened your head like a Pez dispenser and filled it with whiskey, ecstasy, and racial slurs, then booted you from Heaven directly onto my porch. You were surrounded by a golden light or pee.  I really wanted to talk but you seemed dead. Dead or stuck-up, not sure which since you wouldn’t even react when I hot-waxed my phone number into your luxurious calf hair or poked you with my BBQ tongs. If you happen to see this blog and remember waking up on my porch this morning, please email me if you felt something too like I did.  Just tell me what your legs smell like now so I will know it was you and not some impostor. I spent at least 15 minutes rubbing 2-stoke oil on your now completely hairless calves and ankles (oops sorry about the hair, that was was my ex’s phone number). Oh shit I just gave it away. Anyway, the oil was only meant as a little waterproofing because I though it might get cold and I stood at your feet looking at you for so long the pee started to flow back towards you and I was out of Crisco.

Anyways, I have seen you once before. You were on the number 14 bus, eating Chef-Boy-Ar-Deeout of a can. You were using a fork. You got manners, that’s rare these days. You left the can on the floor in back and I spent the rest of the ride watching it roll around the bus until it finally got stuck under the brake pedal near the Goodman Mainline.