Skip to main content

The eventuality of dissipation and Thursday

fig.3ish) (Colour) Swed subs 06:00 Min Run Time

"Our's is deep and manic as the bottom bait in the depth of a half tub. The day will calm and the wind will finally die in it's own way, flat. There's water that will fresh itself to no end, no more salt or piss to taste," It should be higher still but this is where we're at. An east coast flavored dog whistle in a haircut flavored love suit wearing a clipped tie under his bold chin swaggers by for a drink, "Hmmm, it's ornamental, tastes like an arrangement of cranberries folded into dry-goods, patient dry-goods even. There are hints of ash in the back of it, they surrender quickly to a spry lavender that's easy if a little wan. I like it. How much is the bottle."

A woman in coveralls arrived early on the 10th. She unpacked slowly, inspecting every piece in turn. Then we skip ahead. Everything is suspended from the ceiling, free from all concern. Then the team leaves the park. The goodbyes are all warm. There's a lot of hugs going around in sudden circles with the echo of jerky sobs bouncing off the impromptu ceiling. There's even something for the kids, Barks the shaggy dog comes out for awhile. But Elliott's still sad when it ends.

"Let's be as plain as possible. Let's call it, Alex and Elliott reveal the distance between one fence and the next by using something like space." Feeling crazy ass at the loss of his time, his practice and all of the momentum that he's been accustomed to, Elliott spends his day out in the hallway. He counts the gray tiles and wishes for a shorter ladder. He mumbles and worries about things that Alex told him, "funding and programming have to change the way that they think about each other. It's their relationship to the worker, the provider, the maker of math if you want get fucking enlightened, this is what's been called to question."

"The creation of wealth is relief from the friction of ownership, we're still writing down names," her clip board shifts and Alex clicks her pen. "This is what distribution will look like in the future. There'll be 3 guys stapling banners on top of a satellite and someone will be late but that's okay. It's open mic night and everyone gets to sing. So wait for it, this crazy model of cultural dispersion/diaspora whatever. Does it resemble our current neoliberal economic construct?"

Alex picks at the back of her ear. She shifts before saying, "Go ahead, just walk it back around that little circle and bang, there it is. The Drive-In, the creepy Chevy in the mud by the fountain under the tree. I keep saying it because it's truth, not poetry. It's all here Elliott. The sourcing of so much wealth, it's application to the greater purpose of making things that are even bigger then this. Things that can make people think even more as a result, it's happening."

"Alex, our abilities to observe and catalog have deteriorated. They've shriveled right up into themselves. There's nothing with which order can be approximated." The ladder is good for leaning on as he's saying this. It feels authentic, actionable, just right in this plain space of a hallway. The lights aren't switched on. Elliott's arrangement of frames is quite candid. All of their colors are on display, hanging on like frozen fish under the seam of the wall and the heavy crossbeam. The steel and the gypsum were scootched into proximity and then glued into place above the ladder. "There are no values to be set."

"Oh, did I fail to mention that Alex and Elliott are penguins," The girl in the popcorn booth shouts after me as I make my way towards the front of the lobby and the great golden doors.


Popular posts from this blog

Got a dog in my earring (an instance of 3)

H' after everything is a mailbox stamp knows. Don't, it's all bad. Like a captain bad.

Own Mah Own Rose

What say the fallen in the Vestibule, late to dinner  Warm as a garden chair Yes to that, to tea and all  in the green as pale as peaches will get 

Turd Grinder IV: Keep me in line for a little while longer, just until you have to go again. The dark wave and the first jolt from my morning coffee are elements that have yet to sheep. Looking through a ton of old glass is hard. Sitting down and sifting through the odd bits of sparkle and dust left inside this hidey-hole at the bottom of this calendar. There's almost always more bitter mixed in there then there is the sweet.  Fontso: I'm so happy-happy to see that this work is being edited down. All of it's been sitting on the back of my desk forever. Where plastic gets soft in the sun and the desks window looks out south all day long it's always so hot. Turd Grinder IV: There's safety in warmth, freedom from reprisal among the pillows, in the soft down. The clock inside is as deep as a clouds kiss.  Fontso: Onion thugs, yello…

In fashion, passive is to envy the figure smote.

Juniper, cedar and all that's old tends to settle on the bus in the corner by this door. It's not quick, joints are popping like failure. Left alone in the kitchen, looking for matches until it can light the stove. "There once was a night here," I've said as much before.
Corn conjured syrup from the corn that I brought from the back of the store. The simple pleasure of falling into that warm slip isn't like drying off or tempting the man at all. It's a lottery with pages of never knowing it all the first time that I was there.
A three way intersection where the street is wet. There's shrink-wrap that's been spooled across each of the pedestrian walkways. It's secured with bulky knots to the street lamp, the sign post and the scooter at each of the corners. There's a garage door or something else done up in yellow with blue steel doors. In the street there's garbage and soon enough an umbrella will join your car keys.
There's alr…