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Showing posts from June, 2015

Standard Manor at The Groves (The old men at Miss Kitty's)

Ding, Ding, Dang, goes the train. All the way to Narnia it's banner rippled in the wind. While they laughed to laugh. They laughed and laughed again in the limned blue shadows. After that was the long pause when they saw the old hickory cupboard half in it's sweet bed of straw. Then the lamp with it's camphor bulb slumped onto it's side in a pile of wanton forb and hemp twine. The tackle, the bell, and the hook smoldered, puffing mightily. Then there was the deafening clap of old timber cracking, of spontaneity happening while all of the horses screamed at once. It was a blinding blitz of orange profundity.
Safely down the road the 2 men held each others hands. They enjoyed the soft idleness of the others slim fingers. Liquor warmed their insides as they swapped fortunes. The coach bounced along the ruts, bang. Bang, it's leaf springs squeaked. The driver shouted her fevered thoughts out into the pines. Her ass stiff from much too much red rum punch. With a nod it…

GIRL_face

It's the first that Juniper's been this far north. Normally she watches stations that are much closer to home. Not that it’s any different back there. If it’s standing at all it's crooked and it's crooked from age, incompetence, and extreme deselection. As Juniper has come to find recently, things are just stoopid dumb.  There’s glass all around her here. It's like fairies teeth were ground into the cracked concrete. Collage is brutal like this, a simple weapon that's terrible and misunderstood. There's a nearby cornice that's broken and it's parts are strewn in front of the old store. There's a stump from a steel jacketed concrete barrier with a rolled bus behind it. A brown metal bar probably from the exploded apartment across the street went straight through the side of rusted bus like a shot. Weapons framed by the everywhere that's surrounding them, every frame it's own burden of anger and intolerance. Wash and wash and wash some mo…

Bud+LU, Person Vaughn Darling, the Marquee

Person Vaughn Darling wasn't the first fool ever, not even by a matter of days. He knew he could fail. But he only needed to stay ahead of the Table and Monstre’s eyes far enough to succeed. The Monstre may have the Old Man and Lee now. But it didn’t matter, he thought. However this can unfold I’ve got the Sumperan, at least one of them. Person knew Priscilla would come around. Then Chair and that loopy puppy of his will be ground into mustard. This is the Doctor’s doom, he thought satisfactorily. The round candy boy asked for his ticket. He handed it over and was given 2 slips in return. With his buttery jacket pulled tight around him Person walked on into the theater. Despite his attempt to arrive early Bud+LU were already here. A cautionary collection of mounted horns and antlers hangs above the shallow stage up front. The brown curtain opens with the uneven hiss and snap of a needle following a vinyl groove. Person hastens to join the 2 silhouettes. The sound condenses the ey…

Owing To Art As Experience (1934)

The Monstre' robe is wool, it's not deaf. The floor is solid and his shoes sound worn. Still, it's a fine and comfortable picture, a fire casting it's questions on the high wall. Searching for an intentional agent among the heaviest of the low apricots that he's devised. Let's suppose that the certainty of an old brown ladder is equal to the comfort of a well lit room. That the finitude he experiences is not a barrier so much as it's the threshold to a more significant scheme. Let's assume that this is a comfort to the man with his hands in his pockets right now.
Straight lines are what Dewey flirts with. The order that society, or more precisely Dewey seeks within art is an ephemeral ideal. It's easily lost in the ubiquity of a loud culture of hotel rooms and dirty wigs. Dewey's conception of art is that of any ordinary tool. But it's only the wisp of the apricot cast from another means into that end. It's really not a very useful apri…

Virgil and Kat, from Amsterdam

There's no urgency in Washington Square, in Tompkins Square, in Madison Square. Standing beneath the grey frown shaped rainbow pretending that we're getting wet. Manhattan smells like a lobby full of cheap glass and dried funk hiding behind a lemon. New York doesn't even care that I noticed. I check the phone for loose change. C'mon Kat, New York doesn't even care.
Squint eyed, wiping your glasses with the hem of your skirt. The square frames suit your sanguine face. I like their simple lines with that horse patterned blouse. The lobby looks like old should. It lingers like a dented chrome sconce. The revolving door rattles again, Please, please, please? Not here... We'll go up in the elevator. All the way to the top then, Ding...
I go down to the lobby. I call back from the desk. You're naked knackered, My eyes, my eyes... Of ...
Do you have a pen? Take down this number, two-one-two.
I hang up the phone and laugh sweet.
Later on Staten Island, an overturn…

Helen Franklin, at Print-Tartlette

Helen likes mornings they're soft just like her cats, Ai, Ai, and Ai. She thinks that getting to work early helps prevents fugue, that it reduces fuss, and contributes to overall bliss. But since last night she's felt the weight of a thing latched to her back and spitting anxiety at all of the deep piles of sparkle that she's raised her 2 good hands for. She unlocks the office door and opens her heavy morning window. She sits down and spins around while her messages play through. The dandelion out in the corner crook between the office windows is pitiless.
Johnathon Earle Lee was once a young man in black shoes. He lived down the street in the old brick carriage house near the end. Helen Franklin had known him since she was 15. She got stuck in the Widow’s when she missed an away camp that summer. Helen hadn’t known any of the other local kids since she didn’t stay here. Her parents sent her to astronaut school with the other ballerinas and middle men for a reason. At lea…

Nik and Nik and the soo's...

“Would you like to leave a message for her on our trunk-line?”
“No, really. But then, Sorry do you mind if I do?”
“Clearly,” setting the handset in front of me.
“Its John. We had a drink in the bar here and I thought I'd catch you. Anyway its late and I'm heading back. Maybe you're there instead.”
I hand Dot Dot Dot the handset leaving him to his Mah-pong. Tonight had given me the same messianic taste for shovels and spoons that poets held for flowers and swoon. I was bewitched, indented, and underscored by some strange green eyes.
“Clearly…”
The lobby’s stuffed with furniture like a mouth full with aching teeth. It smells sharp and loose in here when the door whistles open. Flattened cans rattle where the door kick plate was. Then the whole mess slaps shut again, then again behind me. Shielding a match with my open hand I light a cigarette. The tar, the acid rich chemicals, I inhale them and they burn just right exactly. I exhale. Outside the wet cast-iron awning overhea…