Connecting the dots: Pynchon and 21st Century Muted Horn

Just finished the movie " " by Thierry Pierre? French guy who came to the United Sttes
to document some of the more well-known street artists such as shepard Fairey and
(also known as Space Invader") and Banksy (whose given name is not known). To hide
his identity *(assuming from officers enforcing anti-graffiti laws) Banksy
conceals his voice and body in a darkened room. the darth vader like voice has an effect sim
similar to darth vader binging herrableded in by white soldiers breathing through
wires and tubes and mechanisms strapped or nailed or adhered to his chest. the raspy
robotic voice speaks to the nature of a society that is part human and part robot slash
paranoid schizophrenic. Of course, the paranoia, in this case, is warrented, because
of the nature of his work. It is, most certainly illegal; however, the vast and expansive
body of his work from Paris to Los Angeles, to Italy to Russia, leaves an incredible mess
to clean up that neither the officers overseeing the "crimes" are able to delete or
get there hands around. They are most certainly like the packmen gobble gobbles who try
to follow packman and are only successfull if the yellow man makes a wrong turn-- is not
careful enough, and / or is trapped in a corner where he is inevitably gobble gobbled
by the ferrocious colorful authorities. in this case, however, both Banksy and what's his
name, the guy -- Shapard Fairey are intelligent, careful, and incredibly strategic.
the effect of which, to the observer, is quite poetic, graphicly pleasant and to some extent
an amazing feat of power against the massive "big brother is watching" type of politic. .
For the amount of "pieces" these two have created, (together it follows or shatters the million
number) it is interesting to note that it is not the police who are filing charges against
the two young men, but the Associated Press (allegedly) for allegations that they are
infringing on copyright. it is beyond me what this means for the associated press. I
would have to do some research innto what that means for both the associated press and
the men Banksy and Shepard Fairey. Additonally, I do not know what the outcome of theat
lawsuit is. Whether or not  they settled out of court is something I would have to look into.
furthermore, going back to the idea of hummanness and part media... we are far from the
vader days when man is part machine and part human. we are now in an era,  (enter Facebook, myspace,
and youtube,) where every single individual is, in part, a self created hyper-media
extension. An extension of the self into what is the cyberworld. but now, with both
Banks and the Invader, there is a movement away from the hyper-media somewhat (I'll get
to why later) that we are used to on YouTube, Facebook, and Myspace, Linkdin and
the like. rather, these two men nare moving back to the urban streets where actual
pedestrians pass buy with real shoes, actual backpacks, and an actual physicality to
their bieng. they are not, however, using the screan in front of them . The computeer
is only used as a device as a means to an end. in other words, the computer is used
as a tool--something that can be used to store information, and then replicate that
informatio via printers and presses-- to finally end up with a result that is on the
face of an empty wall of the building. People can touch it and a securtity gaurd will
not take notice of there tiny fingerprint. furthermore, other artists, or criminals as such
would call themp-- even paint over the piece, or add to the piece as if there is a
unspoken mutual understanding that what I do is a communal effort and in no way an act
of vanity or supremacy. shepard Fairey for expample, has taken (in the past) pieces of
his creations, whether framed or stretched out on canvas, under his arm and into
artgalleries bearing teh classic works of artists such as monet, and skillfully,
and carefully placed his own portrature onto the wallls of the pristine gallery.
It is fascination to note the publicity and attention he has created. the new york times
has written an article on him as well as the Los Angeles times. I'm not sure, but I think
his work has extended the scope of innternational lines. for whatever reaoson, he is getting
away with it. He has not been prosecuted to this date despite the fact that he repeatedly
vandalizes bare or not so bare cityscape walls, billboards, and retailers such as
Wally's donuts". I wonder if the wallys donuts took it down or if they left it up. I'm assuming,
that if left up, it is because their establishment now is ornamented with a piece of art
that is gathering the attention of art collectors and curators alike. what was once
an act of vandalism, for shepard Fairey, is an act of creation-- an extension of
his identity. Does he have a Facebooik? A Myspace? Twitter? Probably not. IF he does,
actually, I'm going to look that up right now. As far as I can see, there is no Facebook
page foro the Space Invader. What does come up, however, is the game itself. Repleat with gorgs shmorgs
and splogos. At this time, there are exactly two thousand eight hundred and forty seven
people playing. People who are sitting in front of a screen, much like muself at this moment
and manipulating electronic signals left and right, up and down. I don't really know-- I've never
played. But that's what I imagine it to be. Similarly, Fairey and teh mysterious
Banksy are leaving a trail. The trail, and this has been documented in several sources,
forms what now seems like a modern alien crop circles that has left many people puzzled
and questioning the creators of the markings. Similarly, both Banksy and Fairey
are seen by few, if anyone, at night-- during the act of creation. When the sun rises,
somewhere, somme old brick wall is graffititd  with the face of Andre the Giant. Another
billboard somewhere in Los Angeles shows off the pretty new face of Mr. Brainwash, ,repleat with
tinker-toys gun in hand--a fuck you to the establishment that so powerfully seems
to control our thoughts and actions and behaviors. I believe that this is part of the
appeal for the artists--the glorious, momentary thrill of power. doing what yo uwant
when you want to--regardless of what authorities say. Regardless of what authorities do.
Disneyland, was a close call though, it seems. Pierre, after staying behind to filmthe
remains of the guamtamino bay instillation, found himself at the mercy of four mickey mouse
securtiy officers. Who knew disney had an interrogation room? So the paranoia continue:
at night these guys slip through the darkness of the night, avoiding cameras, avoiding
security, avoiding people who "look like" they might report supiscious activity. That's what I thought
it would be--and at times it is. But at other timmes you see the boys or rather each
one respectively working in dickies uniforms, sporting orange reflection vests, and they look
like theyre doing exactly what they're supposed to be doing. On closer inspection though
it is clear from the marks or their work, they these are not men assigned to clear up the mess
of graffiti, but the boys themselves creating it. Over a million "sites". If you follow
the trail of the marks or "sites" one will discover that they are involved in the art piece itself.
Once every mark has been followed in its specific location (ie. Los Angeles, New York) what is
left is a blueprint of a little pixilated alien body representative of the 1980's
video game. the spectator traces the marks, matches mark to mark as if connecting
dots, and finally, without being aware of it, is part of the piece-- is, in fact, an
accomplice.

lanceleaf dudleya

Lanceleaf dudleya or lanceleaf liveforever is a fleshy herbaceous perennial growing to 24" high from a short, erect caudex, with a basal rosette of pale green, lanceolate, glaucous leaves that are acute to acuminate-tipped, usually curved upwards, and from 2" to 8" long. The flowering stems bear smaller scalelike leaves that are alternate and sessile-clasping. These stems are stout and pinkish to reddish. The flowers are on terminal, slightly coiled clusters on pedicels 1/4" to 3/8" long. 

Lanceleaf dudleya or lanceleaf liveforever is a fleshy herbaceous perennial growing to 24" high from a short, erect caudex, with a basal rosette of pale green, lanceolate, glaucous leaves that are acute to acuminate-tipped, usually curved upwards, and from 2" to 8" long. The flowering stems bear smaller scalelike leaves that are alternate and sessile-clasping. These stems are stout and pinkish to reddish. The flowers are on terminal, slightly coiled clusters on pedicels 1/4" to 3/8" long. Each flower has a five-cleft calyx made up of deltate-ovate sepals and five pale green elliptic to oblanceolate petals that are waxy, tinged with orange-red, and slightly fused at the base. Lanceleaf dudleya is very common on dry and rocky slopes to 3500' in coastal sage scrub and chaparral from Santa Barbara and Kern Cos. to northern Baja, and in the desert mountains, blooming from May to July.

Lanceleaf Dudleya: The "Live Forever" flower

Lanceleaf dudleya or lanceleaf liveforever is a fleshy herbaceous perennial growing to 24" high from a short, erect caudex, with a basal rosette of pale green, lanceolate, glaucous leaves that are acute to acuminate-tipped, usually curved upwards, and from 2" to 8" long. The flowering stems bear smaller scalelike leaves that are alternate and sessile-clasping. These stems are stout and pinkish to reddish. The flowers are on terminal, slightly coiled clusters on pedicels 1/4" to 3/8" long. Each flower has a five-cleft calyx made up of deltate-ovate sepals and five pale green elliptic to oblanceolate petals that are waxy, tinged with orange-red, and slightly fused at the base. Lanceleaf dudleya is very common on dry and rocky slopes to 3500' in coastal sage scrub and chaparral from Santa Barbara and Kern Cos. to northern Baja, and in the desert mountains, blooming from May to July.

Turkey Chili

Prep Time:
15 Min

Cook Time:
55 Min

Ready In:
1 Hr 10 Min

Servings (Help)

USMetricCalculate
Original Recipe Yield6 servings

Ingredients

• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
• 1 1/2 pounds ground turkey
• 1 (1 ounce) package taco seasoning mix
• 1 teaspoon ground coriander
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1 teaspoon chili pepper flakes
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1 (14.5 ounce) can beef broth
• 1 (7 ounce) can salsa
• 1 (14.5 ounce) can crushed tomatoes, or coarsely chopped tomatoes packed in puree
• 1 (7 ounce) can chopped green chile peppers
• 1 medium onion, finely chopped
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 3 medium zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced
• 1 bunch green onions, chopped
• 1 cup sour cream
• 1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese

- I add one can of kidney beans, one can pinto beans, and one can mixed chili beans

Directions

1. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large stock pot over medium-high heat. Crumble turkey into the pot, stirring with a wooden spoon to break apart as much as possible. Season with taco seasoning mix, coriander, oregano, chili flakes, and tomato paste, and mix until meat is evenly coated with seasonings. Continue cooking, reducing heat if necessary, until turkey is well browned.
2. Pour in beef broth, and simmer to reduce liquid slightly, about 5 minutes. Add salsa, tomatoes, and green chilies, and continue cooking at a moderate simmer for ten minutes. Adjust the thickness at any time you feel necessary by adding water.
3. While chili is still cooking, heat one tablespoon of oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook onion and green bell pepper, stirring occasionally for 5 minutes, or until onion is translucent and bell pepper is lightly browned. Add onion and bell pepper to the chili, and continue cooking at a very low simmer.
4. In the same skillet, heat the remaining tablespoon of oil over medium-high heat. Add the zucchini, and cook stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes, or until lightly browned. Add the zucchini to the chili, reduce heat, and continue cooking 15 minutes more. Again, adjust the consistency with water as needed.
5. Ladle chili into serving bowls. Top with sour cream, green onion, and cheddar cheese, and serve.

A Poem for the Leopard Princess

Expensive Mistakes


One repaired pop-up sprinkler head
Three prickly pear bushes and one eucalyptus tree
An hour’s worth of cable towing to remove a cheap jeep in mud
One snapped cable (and (almost) one life-insurance policy)

Seven plastic doo-hickeys that hold the jacuzzi cover
(They were removed and replaced improperly—let’s not talk about it.)

 A basket of pillow covers—
Not-so-white after a faceful of nightsweats shmere the makeups off.

Replaced keys-- lost in the fountain
Replaced shoes-- see above.

A ten day stay at ten-thousand a night
May 25th: Cranial Hemorrhage
I missed your wedding
(Most expensive of all.)

 Costumes:

1 Nurse
1 Marriachi
Two Power Puff Girls and one furry pimp
One red Mercedes Benz
One dent
(Oops! We’re not listening! We’re not guilty!)

Two bounced checks, Nordstrom of course!
1 for me, 1 for you
Nantucket Sand for me, a lighter shade for you, and
Bronzer for two.

Two lollipops and one black Cat-O-Nine Tails
Five pairs of sunglasses washed away at sea
"La Playa Negra," of course, of course!
Aloe and Vera for steamed lobster and crispified peeling skins
Fortified and la de da da
Between you and me, a bottle of gin
Fortified la de la da

Tickets:

A ticket for illegal parking
A ticket for speeding
Another ticket for speeding
A ticket for flying off the road
A ticket for not using the dog's seat belt…

And yet another ticket for speeding.



A ticket for "I-didn't-see-a-stop-sign.”
(Believe me, ‘twas covered by trees.)

A ticket for not "clicking it."
A ticket for your thoughts
A ticket for cell-chat-phone-talk --- I had to make a call to Golden, CO
Just cuz I gots the blues.

Someone got arrested at Encinitas Beach
'Twas Dr. Kush in the parking lot with a lead pipe!” says I.
"Dont you worry a wink, Mr. Officer Shat; I believe, in my bag, there’s a card for all that."

Expensive Mistakes in Provo:

 A trip to Rite Aid to pick up a
"First Response Rapid Results!"
Just to be sure, and
A tank of gas for cruzin' the highlands
Squealing and squalling, "We found her!"
"We found her!"

Always, for always just one soda orange,
For shakes on the go just a coffee with cream,
But Sundays are different; we eat as we please,
In the kitchen of Ram Bam—meats, taters, and cheese!
So many mistakes, so many repairs,
But it’s hard to believe
It’s more than just shared.

 Just us—witty you, funny me.

A burger for two, a shake and some poo (baggies for chandler)
A can of spray for a pesky knat
A tube of "goo" (be gone, be gone, I say!)
A replacement Spalding for a donkey piñata
Over the cliffs of the cove
Lost undies and one spilled horchata!

'twas worth the cost, oh Love, my Love!

 (But since the recession,
Maybe we can find some inexpensive mistakes at Marshall's;
We can always tie 'em up in pretty pretty wrap.)

none that I can think of

Its not until later that I realisze the beats of the drum that were coming from the neighbors party wrere like the sound of his footseteps coming down a hallway that echoes fror miles and that those footsteps that are coming down the hallway will inevitably lead to the door screeching open and screaming ompen and the words open open open  this door up now open it up open it up get out of there come out now come out now and I am pmy heart races as my hands shake and aI hold as still as  can because if I move if my arm of or leg or nhand moves a it moves at all, somehow I will be brought back into te present moment where instead, right now, right now, as I am siting with my hands and feet and clenched and my hands are held together tightly, right now I am allowed to go somewhere else in my heaehead, I am allowed to thing of a wallpaper that is cso neutral that there is absolutely no thought that goes iinto ait it is just the eyes watching the paper and the paper where it curls is something tsomething that my eyes are fixated on so tightly ound wound so inextricably around that tiny spot where the paper is curled bak and how the fleur de lys is repeated over over over over over and over again along the lines in crossword puzzle movmotion that somwhow, for a  sa second and then some seconds after that, some more seconds after that, if my hands shake and suddently I beome aware of the shaking if suddenly I becomeaware of the shaking then at some point, at some point I am forced to hear that yelling, the screaming, and the knocking the pounding on the wooden door so hard that the door shakes, and the bibrations are so hard that they make my heart stu they make my heart and my words and my thoughts all stutter tso that I am forced to re clench my hands and stare ahead and then I stare at the bleached white twowels how they are so white except for a small patch of yellow copper sandy y dyellow beans poopopcorn yellow oil where they are not so white, where they are not white and I know that somwhow this brings me back to the shaking hands and the stuttering head, my head is so clear sometimes and then all of a sudden I can feel my heart and it drums againsg the cartilage of the ribs and it pulls thmy shoulder sforwards in its weins are arteries that force blood at paces so face, the freeways, the freeways they spin, oh jesus I’m dizzy now I’m dizzy why can’t he stop poundin g the door, is he smasmashing it down swith a hammer? Is he going to break through like the guy on the shining with an ax and then pear through with sucer eyes like the dog win the movie that one movie with saucer eyes that grighten and widen my own auntil they are so big that the lids disappear and the black of the iris pulls through the white, and wsoon there is no more white, there is only the toweles and the orchids and the cupborards of the kitchen and the lightbulds lightbulbs of the ceiling with which are white too and the columns of the door that are mathematically engineered to lok so white that the brain only sees white and that means that there is nothing that is black except for the back to black [Amy Winehouse died the day before this was written, on July 23,2011]]  where the iris kind of bleads or melts like a dye like a Chinese [Japanese] liquidye that goes out of the pupils and through the whites of the ey and it spread blike spilled china ink out oand out and out and out COME OUT OF THERE TNOW I’M  GOING TO KILL YOU GCOME OUT OF THAT ROOM UNLOCK THIS DOOR NOW , THO OH MY PLEASE DODONT KNOWCK THE DOOR DOWN.  He’s oing to know the door don and the a showvel is going to splinter the wood and the eyes are saucers the eyes are sacuers and the djaddlkf ta;kldffjfjsad;flkfjd af;kfjeifkc, v the figers are not moving a I mean they coant stop moving bther is so much puling there is so much force behind the thoughts that the body compensates in rigid motions of send sned sned fire fire fire fire the message of pure chemical fear is shot through the blood and the footsteps come closer closer closer and that way I can almost feel the ryrhthms of the ethe feet that are at any minute minute going to yank [wrench, chicken-bend, smash, ]] the door open the light will flood in and the small pieces of light that surrounded the door will be absolutely gone, and then there will be white and screaming that something I did was so wrong that I am bein screamed at anow I am being choked , I cant breathe because I’m coking for some reason I ded something that means I’m choking in the bathroom because the footsteps mean the door and its handle is going to twists it is going to twist and shake and quivere and pull and squeak and sd- 40 until th kingd dom the kindgowm of god is wreching the thunder and lighting through the clouds and thre storm begins begins to fill the tub and the bathroom bloor is so wet because the rain in  inis coing down throught the ceiling and the faucets are closed but dripping and soon the dripping turns to pouring my and my head feels dkind of dizzy dkind of dizzy ind of dizzy and my stomach feels like its going to re throw the things that are in it which is I don’t donw, something that wasn’t so great because it was too great and something that is made to be too great and too perfect somehow in my head doesn’t make it perfect, it sateras sit starts to look really ugly. It starts to look like a sterle scalpel the sterily is white, and the sheets are white and the feet that climp clom p patter pitter stopmp tromp through the wooden brick and marble hallways are louder like drubms the drumbs of mmahler the mahlers drums the cotton tick pitter pick is pounding against the old skin drums of the old drums made of the skin of cats that wawas also used on the PRINCE these oare the prnce tennis rathackets that at once once they workd we wer hitting the yellow green balls that aren’t white, they aren’t white, but they smell like chemical romance, and that smell is relesed when the pin pulls like the grenade, the grenade is pulls and then the racket is pulled pbakc and the grenade drops onto the groudnd the grenade drops to the gournd and it falls towed the grean towards the green that is not clay it is not white and it is not grass, though I wish so badly that it were tgreass because that way the grass willl hold my skin inside of it and I can lok up at the skies and my eyes will wander freely without the black or the iriss meltingng meliting like the ink of the pen that spears them so that I can watchit the cloudn and leave my heart that beats with the sting and an ache away I can put it away in a box for a while and it can stay there so it doesn’t have to hurt so badly the body doesn’t have to pull on the shouldings on the heart, and in the feet in the toes in the ear,s it  at it alls pulls and its cant relese until someone says its ok oit ok nothing is going to hurt you right now, its gjust white is it not going to hurt iyou. Bu tht egrenade dor flourescenet green that smells like chemical romance issinks instantaneously into the tennis courts soft ground and the head is spillsspining oh my god I am so dizzy I am going to faint my head needs to stop my head needs to release and go between my legs so that I don’t thrown  up throw up all over the tennneis oucourst and tehn I pull the cat racket tennis mallet back behind my back and pull it forward so that it strikes the grenade and the grenade goes into the air where it is airborne and thereis a sense of the body releasing because I know I’ve hit the ball and it hasn’t oh my god its going into the hands of the net, falls trapped intot he black sucked down and falls, bounces into the hairs of the court and I am sentenced.

His racket snaps. It snaps as it cracks against the ground after he up chucks the beautiful metel egg oar. It snaps  and it makes a popping sound like breaking bone. Bone is breaking because the cat hyde is pulled so type it collapses, and the inkn in the eyes drips out of the soupy dish and into the cradle of the white, where it is no long a small dot but a pool of lake water dripipin because the darknesss of the lake is deep and the ocean water is full of life, but mostly because all I can hear is what is wrong with you/ why are you such a wussy ?  you’re not even trying…. Do you want to go back? Is that what you want? You want me to take you back? Let’s go. The voice seems calm but it feels as if the veins are going to explode into firewords of blood platelettes. I am terrifred. Fred is not funny now, but that is what I want to hear, hey there its fred,

Oh there’s greg and the net and the broken rackette that is left behnd sunken bitter and sour and repulsive twisted and mangled half in half stuck nail head out where the head meets the eye of the garbage hole. hAnd the hole is black the hoel is stinky like poisen garbage rotting oranges and putrid snails slime and the beer of the regurgitated homeless man whose beard grows ever so sweet like mice meat like the tails growing from the lids of the eyes, the sour fuming alcohol mushrrom and green provolone, snot, uric acid, uranium, dishwater that has been found in the apartment of a murder crime. And the body is in the garbage there with the man who sleeps, who rests his head who cradles is body in newspaper, where are you? The lines of the coke are not coke but the lines of the metal racket, thgouh it would be poetic if it were wood. Its would be softer if it would be wood so that when it strikes my side, my collar, the inside of my knee, the pain isn’t so explosive. The pain is white, and the fire piston fire flies engine reffed and sparks igniting popping light bulbs, buzzed cut filaments gone dark and the grenade was launched poured stick thrown fired and tossed until the town is beaten balk. Black. But still the sheets are white and the towels are bleached, and the linens are wrapped in noisy celephane plastic sheets that could just as easily cover the dead. But its all white, and when its all white there is nothing to take the eyes away from the white, and all the white takes over the sour, the red, the fuscihia , the sandalwood, the chemical romance, the battery acid, the liquid nitrogen sending its wicked steam vat treasure cloud into the blazing fire skin. Burn you wretched wart a thoughsand a thousand thousandth time over so that the frozen dot on the tip of the thumb where the blood blister forms and the bruise of the impact is love. When does love feel like a frozen blister thmb tack? When its in the heal of the foot. When its stepped on so many times that the stepping becomes the foreshadowing of the breaking down of doors, the pulsing of an aching art, and the flinch of the head, the ears, the shoulders when my name is said too abruptly. Be brave yoou little wussy. Be brave you little wussy. You’re oing to have to learn how to be brave. Welcome to the real world. Welcome to helllll…. This is you’re world now,. You’re world is going to be my world. … or at least.. at least the world I wanted you’re going to manifest destiny…. Oh man oh dear god ar you crying? Why are you crying? Why are you being such a god damned baby? I’m so sorry . I’m so sorry I put a hole in the ten thousand dollar painting. I didn’t mean too. I was just playing. I was just playing. I was just trying to be a boy. I was just tying to be a boy a boy in a house a boy who runs a boy who is rosy checked and freckle dusted, but I pulled the ruler too far back and the ripped the canvas through the skin. I don’t want you to see me cry. Yo’re gonna have to learn to be a lot braver. Did you take anything. Listen to me? Did you take anything?

No.

The door is going to smash open and the veins are going to ignite my throat will squesse with heavy cream sin hands until air is gold precious fuel for the highest grade Beamer. Don’t touh that. Shit. I’m late. Don’t’ tell you’re mom what we talked about. Tdont tell your mom what a scumbag I am. That’s a direct quote from someone. Why are you driving so fast? You’re scaring me. No. you’re hurting me because my throat needs the air. The throat needs the sky and the leaves of the trees, and water and friends, and the scent of bravery. But mostly the throat needs love. There is none here, this is scalding water on open wounds where there is salt that is supposed to heal but burns right through the skin until later in the night, later when I try to pull the sheets over, my side yellow jelly bellow underbea tightens and I’m stung by the garden army of bees. Please don’t let him in. The doors are poison. The white towels are poisen. The orchids are beauful killers. Tricky tacky theifs of life. Leaches of substance green to live a sunbeam. But the white only flashes momentarily and then there is a realization that my shoulders can’t move because the muscles are sending signals to each cell that that cells are in danger, the the skin is in danger, the skin is pink with the rising cost of blood temperature tincture of time cucumber nimbus clouds benaththe  hazel trees where the horses trot by and bring me back from where I dream, where I long to dream again.

White orchids delicately fall, draping themselves over the hedge of the granite-top/ granislab… by the sink, in the room where we sometimes watch a shownow. , in the room where white and black keys are touched to tucker a tune. Tough they grow for an inch for a mile, though they may wrap their leaching burning filaments around my throat until my breath is stuck… while that may happen, maybe, just maybe, there’s a way that I can tell myself that’s its not really going to kills me.  That whatever doesn’t kill me—the white, the broken cat rack line egg, the drilling of the magnificent doors, the ice cream the melting vanilla that leaves the beans behind, the milk, the veins that look like they’re going to suffocate me—maybe there’s a chance that someday my heart doesn’t have to run heated over bone drums. The reaction to pull the shoulders up towards the ears is instantaneous, but for some reason, tonight, I recognize that its just her feet. And she’s walking towards the door. But tonight she passes by and does her thing. Tonight is not all the other nights. Tonight, though it is ugly and screeching, and loud, and very much unwanted, it is very much, absolutely under no circumstance beyond time travel, anything other than tonight. Not the other nights. Not the other days, but the night that is.

Popping filament glow strings

Burn

Snap trap boobie clap ‘’ save us, save us, save us all.”

Tennis ball grenade is launched

And ready to play

Acid Reflux puke star

The dress of a fresh tornado

Dished to the strings

Pierced, pulled, released, the aluminum lid of pain

hisses like a drop of water on iron grill in flames to steam

pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“how great thou art…. How great thou art.”

Its so dark tonight

The Viking hums D4

One of the lightbulbs popped dark snapped to black

Fur – beast—noble – snack—loving tail beating hare stare-fixed horse-wide  eyed with the smell of meats… just now steady breath has found his place of rest

quote from Arabian Nights-- also used in the movie Never let me Go.

From Basrah we sailed, day after day, night after night, over the sea, visiting island after island, and land after land, selling or bartering our goods at each. One day, after some weeks of sailing out of sight of land, we saw an island in the sea with such fair greenery that it appeared like one of the gardens of Eden.

-- Arabian Nights