Wednesday, February 18, 2015


Recently I saw a photograph of a man holding another man and the first man was holding a cigarette and the second man was holding a beer. I was struck by their youth, by their excitement, by their sneers, by their tipsies, by their lips, by what their lips might have been saying, by how they knew how to hold a beer, how they knew how to hold a cigarette, how they knew how to hold each other – we forget that as we grow older, and then we grow old, and we smile about what we forget.

Monday, February 16, 2015


When Susan asked Bill what he thought of women, he replied, “I killed the only woman I ever loved” and then broke down and wept. Susan did her best to comfort Bill – but who will comfort Susan? Susan still does not know what Bill thinks of women. She decided that she would would reword the question, and ask him again. “Bill,” she will soon say, “why don’t you love me?”


David once said that people think “motion” is a noun, but a noun is an object, and how can you objectify motion? You cannot draw it, or touch it, or hold it, or make it into something else. You cannot put it into a box nor can you embrace it or slap it in the face. You cannot put a hat on it or have sex with it. Motion is neither created nor destroyed. Motion is, or not. How can we possibly understand this noun, this beautiful noun, for a noun is what is is. Let us all, David said, stop moving. Let us cease. We saw his point, we thought it grand, but we did not. But David did, and we, still, we did not.


In the summertime, or close to it, I pick up my heater and I put it in the closet next to my fireworks and Christmas wrapping paper. I don’t cover it in a blanket or anything like that, and I don’t say “Goodbye Old Friend” because the walls of my apartment are very thin. But I do know one thing for sure: it will not always be summer, and yet the heater will always be a heater, that is, until it breaks, and I have to take it to the landfill, but they charge you $45 to do that, and the heater only cost $40, and I am sorry, that is too much. And so I will go to the landfill late at night, in my car. If it is winter, I will turn the heater on in my car, and wonder what the heater in my car is thinking about what I am doing, and suddenly I am singing a song by myself in the winter and the song is by Harry Belafonte and it is called THE BANANA SONG and when he says “Daylight comes and me want to go home” I say Day-O, Day-O, Day-O, Day-O.


We went to a fancy restaurant that served Duck a l’Orange, oh yes we did. And we noticed that also served Duck Hearts Wrapped in Phyllo Pastry, and served Alsatian Duck Paté as an amuse-bouche.

We have seen hunters before, and heard calls. We went to a fancy restaurant and were hungry and ready to eat. 

The waiters crouched underneath the tables. It’s important to use every part of the animal, they say, including the figures of speech.


I once drank a cola that tasted just like Christmas and I didn’t know why. What is Christmas? Pine tree needles, hot buttered rum, freshly baked bread, the smell of cranberries, peppermint, wood stoves, eggnog, maple syrup? Green and red. And cola and things that aren’t Christmas that smell like Christmas which I believe you do - you Christmas, you.


Yesterday she received a book in the mail that she had ordered herself but didn’t remember ordering. It was a lovely book, by someone she had never heard of, and the color of the book was a color she had never seen before. When she flipped to the end of the book, she noted that the page number was a number she wasn’t familiar with, and the weight of the book was interesting, although she wasn’t certain if it was heavy or light. When she closed the book, she was not certain what the best thing to do with a book might be - although she enjoyed closing it, and then opening it, and then closing it again, and then opening it again, and then looking at the color, and the name of the author, and then feeling the weight. She also enjoyed throwing the book, which she did, across the room, into a giant mirror. She liked looking at the mirror because it had a book in it as well, although she hadn’t noticed a book in the mirror before. This mirror usually just had her in a dress in it, and she was smiling and wearing white roses it seems and she would like for somebody to take a picture if they could.

Tuesday, February 03, 2015

I recently bought a book after reading one sentence in it that mentioned the history of the use of umbrellas on stage. Soon it will arrive in the mail. I am excited, but also a little concerned that the entire book might be about umbrellas in different places, which means that I might have just bought my first book that is entirely about umbrellas and their lives And now I am already disappointed, because it occurs to me that it is extremely unlikely that this book will be an umbrella book and about umbrellas only which I began to be excited about, and now, disappointed. More than disappointed, I am disillusioned. That which I feared, I already miss, and soon it will arrive, and when it does, something I will feel.

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