This afternoon I
walked two miles in stifling, tropical heat to keep a therapy appointment where
I discussed my desire to develop a new persona. On my way back I ran into my
old friend, Hobble (he has a wooden leg) outside a 7-11. Hobble’s sweaty face
was decorated with silver spraypaint; he had obviously been huffing. He was
enthusiastic and friendly when he recognized me. “Hey hey hey!” he said,
smiling with his silver lips. He was fidgety and stuporous and started babbling
at me. He was mostly incoherent but talked a lot about time-travel, Rita Moreno
and radio repair in Germany. I listened to his manic rap for around twenty
minutes and then told him I had to get going. That it was good seeing him
again. He insisted on shaking hands and then he hobbled around to the back of
the 7-11. I looked at the silver spraypaint on my hand and then headed home. I
started thinking about a new persona again.
Outside my building, down there in the parking lot, I
noticed a man with a bristling red beard and he was wearing one of those big
yellow sleeveless ponchos, even though it wasn't raining (yet—it would rain later that day—the man was prescient!) and there
was a large hump on his back and I figured he had a backpack, like he was on a
long journey or something but then the hump started to thrash and scream (it
sounded like a chimpanzee scream) and he swatted it with a sawed-off hockey stick
and the hump relaxed (if that’s the right word—it fell still anyway) and the
man looked around (real furtive like) and kept on walking (quickening his step
like the guilty do) and I wondered, what on earth did he have strapped to his
What was under the yellow poncho?I
considered calling the police but it was too late, he was gone. It was none of
my damn business anyway.
"This tastes like radishes."
"I know what it is, or what it's supposed to be but it tastes like radishes."
Picked up a box of those new EXTREME "flavored" band-aids. I’m not sure
how they work, but if you place one over an open wound, you can “taste”
the "flavor" of that particular
band-aid. So far I’ve “tasted” coffee, coleslaw, horseradish, Swiss
cheese, grape, escargot, Cola, hot mustard, bread(?), spinach, pizza,
banana and thyme. It’s all very interesting but I’m running out of
discreet places to cut myself.
Donald and Sherri at the Membranous Lounge, St. Patrick's Day
TELEVISION CUT-UP (random words from random channels):
I have freedom to live now. But if you work at it you can find it
again. Plastic preschool and naturally fertile soil. And then off line.
I’m gonna feed him like family. Information as it comes in. One officer
opened fire. So damaged it had to be torn down. Killed while doing his
job. You love your job, right? We guarantee the best prices. Focuses on
machine learning. Epic fun is just a kid-click away. Girls from ten
dollars. I can’t accept that. Trying to get ready for Easter? Under an
early weather alert. That was a mighty nice thing you done, Grandpa. How
many of you are there? For your information I’ve been putting on makeup
since I was twelve. Do not miss out ladies and gentlemen. My
compliments to the management.
Kooky snowbirds Ronda and Lizzy
Carol was poking around in the muddy field behind my house and found my old ColecoVision game console. Inside the rusted remnants, she discovered a tooth (incisor). It belonged to my friend Adam - god rest his poor, tortured soul. He gave me the tooth (pulled it out himself with needle-nose pliers) to seal an agreement we'd made. The deal became null and void after Adam was shot to death in Chelsea on February 4th, 2002. 😊
She is simply there, wearing a
large black hat with an awning. I knew her once, a long time ago. Or rather, I
knew a younger version of her. She’s in her early 60’s now, ravaged and
depleted by a life of raising kids. Her name is Estelle.
We used to work together at Bobber’s Fish Emporium. I can still smell
“Estelle?” I ask her, already formulating what I’m going to say.
She smiles and shakes her head. “No, sorry. My name is Kimberly,” she
“Oh, I’m sorry. You looked like someone...”
“Don’t we all?”
An ostrich walked past us with its muddy dinosaur feet.
I chopped up the Sermon on the
Mount with a razorblade and snorted all the words through a hollowed-out felt
pen. Jesus’s words dripped numb in the back of my throat all day. Tomorrow I’m
gonna freebase some Kierkegaard because snorting Kierkegaard is a waste. In the
meantime, stay hep! because...