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Archive for January, 2010|Monthly archive page


In by Michael on January 31, 2010 at 5:11 am

“Mr. Hughes, it was great to – “
“Mr. Hughes? That’s what they call my dad! Please, call me Martin.”

“Martin, it was great to meet you. You’re a great journalist and – “
“Journalist? That’s what they call my dad! Please, call me a blogger.”

“You’re a great blogger and an inspiring doctor, who – “
“Doctor? That’s what they call my dad! Please, call me a healer.”

“You’re an inspiring healer with a lot of drive and great ideas for – “
“Wait, wait. Please stop using adjectives and nouns. People would use those to describe my dad.”

“God you’re obnoxious! Never mind.”
“Obnoxious? Please – post-modern.”


Metaphors For Being Creative Under Time Constraints

In by Chris on January 28, 2010 at 7:36 pm

Squeezing toothpaste out of a tube that has already been curled and re-curled for a month.
Forcing yourself to pee before a long car ride.
Searching for a dime in the street to have a full bus fare before the last bus of the night arrives.
Playing darts while drunk.
Trying to cultivate a palm tree in the tundra of Northern Alaska.
Hoping the movie ends in the next five minutes, otherwise you’ll have to miss the end to beat your curfew.
Guessing the number of marshmallows in a jar in first grade when you can’t even count past twenty.

Alice The Aloof

In by Chris on January 28, 2010 at 6:04 am

Alice held her head high. So high she could see over the skyscrapers. So high that satellites were always getting in her way. So high she ran out of oxygen.
When she woke up in the hospital, she told the doctor to take his head out of his ass. She told him to let her go. She left.
Back on the street, she held her head high. But also ducked from time to time, so she could sip some oxygen. She survived a lot longer this time, until the lack of ozone did her in again.
At least for now.


In by Chris on January 27, 2010 at 6:56 pm

After he wrote the last of his gifts, before he fell into a Christmas Eve slumber, it was still raining.

The next morning he arrived in the town square and began to distribute his gifts. He gave away everything. Every possession he owned, then talents, his interests, his ideas, his heart. Last of all, left a shell, he gave his memory to a stranger, a foreign woman who had no knowledge of Christmas.

And then he received; he was rebuilt by generosity. Like the rain that had somehow built into snow, the people reassembled themselves; each walked away a mosaic.

Notions I’d Like To Challenge

In by Chris on January 26, 2010 at 9:19 pm

That life ends in death.

That people are inherently anything.

That nothing can be written any more without the taint of irony.

That life passes in a blink of an eye.

That the present and the future are different things.

That the sounds of music are more beautiful than the meanings of words.

That a good life requires enough money to ensure stability.

That our faces tell all.

That there is no adjective for the noun integrity.

That war and poverty will always exist.

That the best way to eat cereal is to pour the cereal into the bowl first.

Crumpled Notes Found In Desks After Seventh Period Today

In by Chris on January 26, 2010 at 3:05 pm

Boy’s: Sketch of a mountain with two stick figures on top.

Girl’s: “are you trying to hint at something?”

Boy’s: “just drawing…”

Girl’s: Sketch of two fish in the sea.

Boy’s: “milkshake today? ruston market.”

Girl’s: Stick figure head with a disproportionately large grin.

Girl’s: “way to distract me.”

Boy’s: “not my fault you don’t know calculus.”

Boy’s: Sketch of an anti-derivative with fangs.

Girl’s: “stop it! ms. j’s onto us.”

Boy’s: Sketch of a dripping milkshake.

Girl’s: “way to go smartass.”

Boy’s: “she’s just jealous cuz she’s single.”

Girl’s: Sketch of milkshake crossed out.

Boy’s: “really?”

Boy’s: “hello?”

A Poem

In by Lara on January 26, 2010 at 7:14 am

Take my heart

Yes, please take it
It is not soft
Nor malleable
But it beats
And it beats well
It beats like rumbling
And rumbles like roaring
Take my heart
Yes, please take it
It is strong
And it will endure
Its rhythm stays constant
and its passion, too
and it can wait
It will wait, for soon
it will no longer be theirs
Take my heart
Yes, please take it
It is all I own
It is all I’ve known
It is the means of me
it is the means to see
Take my heart, please.
Take it.

Trapped on a metro car alone

In by Lara on January 26, 2010 at 7:13 am

She looks up from her book. There is no one around. Unnerving? A bit. Fascinating? Maybe. She glances at her wrist watch. Stopped working. Great. She stands up. How long has she actually been on this one car? She doesn’t know. Ten, maybe twenty minutes? She doesn’t know. Her eyes trace the familiar graffiti lines on the door in front of her. Possibly an hour. She looks through the hazy windows of the car. Black and grey passing, swooshing by. There hasn’t been a stop for awhile now. And now signs of slowing down. She goes back to her seat.

Birthday Post

In by Wyatt on January 26, 2010 at 3:44 am

You look into a cardboard box that feels warm. It has traveled a long way and so have you. You both share this in common: you are here now.

Inside the box it is dark, quiet. You share that in common too. You’re standing in a softly lit colourless space holding this box. Play along, now.

You raise the box to your head. It is not very hefty, so must be empty. There is a hole cute in one side just big enough for you to see in with both eyes at once. You place the box against your face.

How to Lose an Argument Over Whether or Not You are British

In by Michael on January 26, 2010 at 2:10 am

“You’re British, right?”


“You’re British!”

“No I’m not.”

“What? Yes you are!”

“Do you hear me talking? I don’t sound British and I’m not British.”

“I thought you were British.”

“Look, listen, here’s me pretending to be Bri’ish: ‘ello, I’m ‘ere from Lon-don… There’s no way I can be British with an accent that bad.”

“But you told me earlier that you’re British.”

“We just met.”

“No we didn’t. You walked here with me.”

“Nope. We just met. What do you think my name is?”


“No, Michael.”

“Quit fucking around!” she said, and threw her drink at me.


In by Chris on January 25, 2010 at 9:16 pm

The next morning, he awoke and walked into the street to gaze up at cavorting seagulls with a deadened expression. His face had lost all feeling the day before in a matinee showing of Othello. Just as he suspected, the traffic didn’t slow to look at him as he crossed the street, lips hanging lifelessly. Only when he tried to buy orange juice did he realize that not only could he not smile good morning, he couldn’t say it either. Troubled, he waved instead. Drooping over the incessant fire in his eyes, his eyelids dragged like shackles on the street.

A Pretty Hip Restaurant

In by Chris on January 24, 2010 at 10:56 pm

Would you like a brain tostada, a brain empanada?

Our special today, make you specialer today.

Crispy fried, your brain inside, succulent spices and spiciest sauces.

Cheapest price for you and me, my brain surgery you provide the meat.

Who tastes best to you? Why you of course!

So don’t delay, consume your brain, we’ll cook it up just right.

Come right on in, a napkin for your chin and complimentary Sprite.

Happiness here, have no fear!

The sale’s today, tomorrow, the next, as long as our customers crave.

Thousands, millions all satisfied with eyes closed and bellies all full.

David Icke

In by Chris on January 23, 2010 at 7:25 pm

I went on with BBC again today. The arthritis came up in my back as I was speaking. I just stopped talking mid-sentence, and that’s when the idea was revealed to me. As I write this tonight, the most secret truthful thing I will ever write, the night of my life until now is over. I will become a crusader dealing in conspiracy, revelations, and reptilian aliens. It will be the biggest farce, but it may as well be real. I can’t explain, even to myself, how I know that this transformation will give my life the meaning it deserves.

What I Say Is What I Say

In by Chris on January 22, 2010 at 6:22 pm

I said something today that I’ve said before, and it surprised me. It came out naturally, as if, though I had not thought about it beforehand, it was the Lord’s truth coming out through my lips. This happens from time to time, but what was strange today was that I suddenly had this remembering moment where I knew that I had felt and said this before. The parallel was so strong it started in me all kinds of thoughts I’ve never had before, for I’m always saying everything spur of the moment and contradictory.
What I said was, “Thank you.”

They Say Change Is Inevitable

In by Chris on January 21, 2010 at 6:51 pm

Like everyone else, my head is just about bursting leaks with all the sayings I’ve memorized. My biggest interest lies in physics, and fortunately physicists are good for some pretty good adages. My preparation may not be as diverse as a lot of people’s, but I’d say I’ve got just as good a chance of surviving as they. When the world changes, the only way we’ll be able to find our way is with the wisdom of our forefathers. At least that’s what they say, and they are probably right. So we spend our lives searching for sayings to remember.

Coffee and a Square on a Rainy Day

In by Michael on January 21, 2010 at 5:42 pm

It’s practically biological, the way that rain makes me crave cigarettes and coffee.

Of the three, rain, cigarettes, and coffee, none is particularly enjoyable or good to me.

But they match: rain is messy and miserable, cigarettes’ll give you cancer, and coffee’s basically lightweight heroine. And hell, if it’s going to rain, it might as well pour.

It’s sobering, how the buzz of caffeine and nicotine cut through the strange silence of a rainy day. Makes me alert to all the nothing that’s going on.

Look out the window, take a sip and a drag, and the world is good.

Lake Villarrica

In by Chris on January 20, 2010 at 10:54 am

Dear Lover,
We are either as far apart as we have ever been,
Or closer than I imagine.
I sit on the shore
Of a great southern lake
And wonder why it is that to love a place,
I must know it and think it mine.
There is a forest of monkey puzzle trees here somewhere;
I think it would remind me of your hair.
Is it because I am alone
That I feel you?
Are you
Who I think you are?
Or is my memory of you
A mere key to reenter myself?
Where I am lover
And loved.

When You Try To Pass A Normal Day At The Mall

In by Chris on January 20, 2010 at 10:45 am

You. Looking in the window with the grayish moustache. Yes, you. You are chosen. It does not matter that I have looked down and you are no longer there. I have captured you in my mind, and in short seconds you will assume a new life on this page. Leap up in response to my inferences! If I think you’d break that window and steal a necklace, that’s exactly what you’ll do. Your story is beyond your power; with the death of your independence comes the birth of my purposes. Your reality is substituted for another. Which is more real?

Sifting through the venetians

In by Wyatt on January 20, 2010 at 12:38 am

It’d been a week, and still nothing. Jeff’s pencil stub ate into his damp pad. Damn rain wouldn’t stop, and then there was a complication. Shirley’s dead.

The servo was out of Tally-hos. How was a guy supposed to roll a smoke without Tally-hos. This dump got smaller every day. The city too. And more bloody. Jeff spat out his night’s oral detritus and creaked to his feet. Whiskey and OJ. Breakfast of champions.

The Roberts case had lasted too long. Soon they’d all be dead, and he’d be left with a cadaver to sign his checks. He needed answers.


In by Chris on January 13, 2010 at 7:05 pm

pinwheel rock stop we’re jerkin we’re jerkin shut up man and parkour that shit yo man who’s this guy in the convertible oh what’s crackin father smackin you wanna get off with this you gotta walk like this jerk like this man drop it spin record i got at that spot what’s the name celine dion fuck you man you’re insane man this fire hydrant’s insane don’t talk to me about it who’s a jerk you a jerk who’s a man look at this bank what up piggy what up freakin bank yo how bout this parkour jerkin jumpoff shit


In by Chris on January 13, 2010 at 5:28 pm

We got lucky today – a seat on the subway. She sat on my lap.

Then I saw him again – bedraggled, studiously taking notes, occasionally glancing over.

I can’t escape him. He is omnipresent and shifty; I have concluded he is divine. Hard as I try, I cannot lose or ignore him.

Every time I see him, I try to catch him – today he slipped off the train between stops.

Someday I will grab his notebook. I will read it through, though I am afraid of what I will learn. I have a feeling the revelatory memories are unbearable.

Guest Author: Molly Moody

In by New Author on January 13, 2010 at 5:14 pm

Sin of indifference
unable to care, yet no remorse
ease of indifference
Focusing on what is eternal, so is the present real?
superiors to those entranced by the false promises of religion

Relationships are unworkable
commitment is weakness, independence is strength.
A once joyous adventure, now only a mirage

trying to dig my way out
wanting to call it a day and give anxiety a rest
sleeping fitfully
fragile hope becoming a survival strategy
wanting to fast forward
paralysis of soul

recognizing the pain, not giving a damn
emotions long since suppressed, do they exist?
we’ll get by


In by Chris on January 13, 2010 at 5:12 pm

A stray dog awoke, saw he was in a park, and let out a defeated yelp. Another dog answered; a bus honked. The dog lay flat on its back and howled. The single-stranded sound was joined by dogs from every corner of the park and by honks from more cars than you could see. Teenagers ceased kissing and screamed; thunder shook the foundations of the sky. The cacophony reached an unremitting pitch; any noise to be made was finally, desperately being made. And in the perfection of absolute noise, silence was found again, and the world could continue as before.


In by Wyatt on January 12, 2010 at 12:59 pm

Light divorced from object is invisible.

We might as well see nothing.

Filtering through our soft heads, light is conscripted by millennia of biological adaptation to perceive the dangers and opportunities in front of us. But we don’t always need to see these; we’re opulent enough that we have the privilege of simply seeing. Seeing nothing but light. To know nothing of form, object or nature or intent; but open the eyes and observe only pattern and color; to step away from your eyes and consider their input as arbitrary and beautiful…

To see only light is to be reborn.

The Statue

In by Lara on January 11, 2010 at 3:32 pm

I cannot feel my fingers. I cannot feel my toes. It is cold outside. Yes, it is cold. And I do not see anyone. I cannot see anyone. It is too dark. And no one can see me, probably. But it is okay. But it is not bad. It is okay. Yes, it is okay. Today, a man covered my feet with a small scarf. I thought, that is nice. But the wind is strong. Yes, it is strong. But I will endure. I will outlast. I will stand. Even when it is cold. Yes, even when it is cold.


In by Wyatt on January 11, 2010 at 12:48 pm

There lies tree. There has always lain tree. Tree has existed here for time. Around tree is nothing. A vacuum surrounds tree. For tree is so much something that anything around it is nothing.

Here lies good. Good, unlike tree, hasn’t existed for time. It has existed for human. And likewise, so has evil. Only a directional, goal-driven entity could fabricate such broad concepts and simplify them effortlessly in the context of a righteous cartoon battle.

But tree cares not. It is non-teleological. There is no direction for tree that is better than another. For a tree, shit just happens.

The jetty

In by Wyatt on January 11, 2010 at 12:31 pm

Underneath the jetty inky water sloshed vigorously against dank poles. Susan climbed down gingerly from the firm wooden walkway above. A mother walked by with her son in a blue pram, already engraving gender notions into his soft head. Susan’s left foot slipped a little on the algae scunge but her chipped fingernails had a firm grip on the wood. The grey sky loomed like a self-righteous parent, but she was here.

No sooner had she sunken her bottom into the wet wooden crossbeam, mere inches from the top of the soupy waves when a dolphin rose from the murk.

Fall And Catch

In by Chris on January 10, 2010 at 8:08 pm

The rock turned and her ankle was pinched between slabs of granite. She fell and felt a crack. In an instant, before the pain came, she maneuvered herself free.

She pushed the hut’s door open at midnight. Her husband was pacing. She collapsed into his arms, finally allowing herself to scream in pain. The shriek wouldn’t end until he had set her down and twisted her ankle back to its normal position.

While treating her, he knocked over the basket that she had somehow carried back. Fat blueberries rolled in every direction.

“I went two miles for those,” she said.

The University Zoo, continued

In by Lara on January 10, 2010 at 1:05 pm

Ah, yes, we now come upon the Greek students. Notice that metal bin with a hose like structure that resembles a garbage can. The “keg” is one of the most important enrichment toys we have provided at this facility. Don’t be alarmed. These very social creatures may try to get you to hang upside down and partake in their practices. For your safety, please do not accept their invitation. Let’s skip the next exhibit. The English majors just write and read in their chamber. Not very interesting, I’m afraid. Onto the gymnasium to see some more enrichment toys, yes?

The University Zoo

In by Lara on January 10, 2010 at 1:04 pm

Welcome! Please drop your cellular phones at the reception desk, for the students recognize them only as enrichment toys and may try to take them from you. Our first exhibit is the Computer Science wing. Their environment is adjusted to perpetual nighttime darkness with LCD monitors for lighting. Their primary form of communication is digital. Next, we have the economics department They are currently interacting with a simulated stock market enrichment toy. There is a small fountain of coffee to the left for adequate nutrition, but this makes them easily agitated, so please don’t disturb them. Any questions so far?

In a yard covered with yellow leaves

In by Lara on January 10, 2010 at 1:04 pm

In a yard covered with yellow leaves, an old man sat with his dog and read the newspaper. The newspaper spoke of the horrible happenings around the world: terrorist attacks, crumbling economies, and unchecked environmental destruction. This must be why the trees are weeping, he thought. As he was lamenting the state of the world he now lived in, his granddaughter toddled out the door.

“Why are there so many yellow flowers here, Grandpa?”

She sidled up to him, her little feet dangling off the bench. He smiled.

“They are just so happy they are here for you, my dear.”

Guitar Hero

In by Lara on January 10, 2010 at 1:03 pm

The broken guitar sat on the table, now shaped more like a bow-and-arrow. It bent back in the middle, strings pulled far off the frets. Yes, he could imagine it now. A broken guitar, once a musical disappointment, now a weapon of destruction. He picked it up and held the bent part in the crook of his elbow. He plucked the strings as if to aim at the vase across the way. Twang, it went. He would be a musical assassin, killing those who did harm to his guitar first, and then on to fight in the name of justice.

At a phone store

In by Lara on January 10, 2010 at 1:03 pm

Bonjour, j’ai une problème avec ma téléphone. Puis-je continue en anglais pour eviter la confusion?


It’s not working.

What? Your phone or your service?

I’m not sure.

Well, what is exactly the problem?

You haven’t called me.

Yes, I called your number, 45. You were the next person in line, after all.

No, that’s the problem. You haven’t called my phone.


I bought a phone from your store last week and a SIM card, so you had my phone number.

I’m sorry, I did not write it down. I’m not sure I am understanding correctly.


Next please.

The Last Frontier

In by Lara on January 10, 2010 at 1:03 pm

Just bomb ‘em. Dontcha think that’d be best, Earl?
I dunno. I heard that they’re gonna keep on tryin’ that diplomacy gig.

Hah, that oughta work! They been tryin’ that bullcrap for the last century, at least. I think we shoulda invaded their dumb butts thirty years ago. For chrissakes, it’s 2010!

I dunno, Uncle Ben. I feel like there’s gotta be a reason they didn’t do that yet.

Earl, the only reason they haven’t gone and done it already is ‘cuz they’re yella.

I figure they don’t wanna start a war they can’t handle, ya know?

No, Earl. They’re yella.

Today I Was Robbed Of My Ability To Stand Up For Myself

In by Chris on January 9, 2010 at 10:11 pm

The confused rage building in me was siphoned off by my inability to say anything. I could still feel his dirty fingers wiggling through my bag, and even as I realized that this was a robber, a man who felt he had the right to open my bag even as we smiled together at the bus driver’s jokes, I did nothing but look dumbly at him. “Sorry,” he said. Softly. “Sorry.” Heartbeats thudded past. He said, “No have anything,” as I searched my bag. Of all the Spanish I might have mustered, all that came out was a weak, “Don’t.”

Another Day Of Health

In by Chris on January 8, 2010 at 10:58 pm

For my health, he thought to himself as he chewed the cartoon gummy vitamins with the ridges where his teeth used to be. His wheelchair was decrepit after so many years of use, and it’s off-axis wheels could barely go in a straight line. Still, each morning as he pushed himself over in bed, he had flashbacks of sliding out of the warm sheets into his favorite slippers. He remembered the steam of showers. This morning, like every morning, he brushed his strands of white hair into smart order and nodded to himself in the mirror. Another day of health.

Butter and Marmalade

In by Lara on January 7, 2010 at 11:58 pm

Each day, Robert Pennyworth sat down to a breakfast of toast with butter and marmalade. The butter had to be laid on thick—so thick that it could be seen through the marmalade, which had to be orange or…well, there had never been a scarcity of orange marmalade at the Pennyworth home. When he looked in the cupboard, there was none left. He searched everywhere. Why did he have raspberry preserves, peanut butter, and chocolate spread? He’d never diverge from his daily ritual. Robert Pennyworth stood in front of the cupboard for a long time, and eventually fell into a coma.

Walking, here

In by Lara on January 7, 2010 at 11:58 pm

“Watch where you’re going!”

She almost dodged that one.

Everywhere she went she was jostled around. She felt tiny, insignificant, and unappreciated.

“Yo! What the hell are you doing?”

It was like being in an endless bumper car ride, but she was a bicycle. Small and wiry enough to evade, but under significant numbers, it was difficult not to get harangued by the cars.

“Hey, do you have eyes, lady?”

Oops, bump bump bump.

And as if that wasn’t enough, she was already such a delicate, slight individual. Why was everyone so ornery? All she was doing was taking her time.


In by Chris on January 7, 2010 at 9:51 pm

Right when the men left the house, Rosa approached her new grandmother-in-law with her finger on her chin. For twenty minutes she spoke to the old woman without pause.
“And it is because of your country, your country that things are this way. Would you let other nations steal and profit off your resources? Never!”
Finally the old American woman spoke. “Why do you blame me for what the politicians in my country did?”
“You? You are a good person; you are all good people there. But could you not stop the evil men from doing what they did?”

What Freedom We Have To Do Things In This World

In by Chris on January 6, 2010 at 9:14 pm

The earth burped and it made a volcano. The earth shivered and it made an earthquake. I coughed and no one noticed. You walked and the earth rotated underneath you until you were in a new place. The dictator laughed and everyone else grimaced. The snow fell and turned into wool. I jumped from behind a trashcan and you ran. The event happened and therefore it happened, and also therefore other events happened. The shark thought and therefore it was. The plan failed and it became successful. The angels touched cheeks and we thought about the impossibility of being ourselves.

Honey and Charcoal

In by Lara on January 6, 2010 at 2:27 pm

When she took a sip of the honey-colored wine, warmth spread to every extremity in her body. The sweetness was like that of a sweetness in her childhood—innocent and addicting. It made her think of colored lollipop swirls and butterscotch. But after a couple more sips, the undertones of musk and smoke emerged, painting a darker image in her mind. Cigarette ash and rainy days with wet asphalt. What was this concoction? This mélange of flavors that was combining in a sublime fashion in her body. It was nostalgic and golden, but also hazy and reminiscent of charcoal. Yes, yes.

Celery Shtick

In by Chris on January 6, 2010 at 10:41 am

She sipped her water furiously and held a stick of celery upright like Hitler used to do with his finger. Her tirade was nearly as impassioned as Hitler’s, but here the metaphor ends because she was Jewish. He couldn’t help thinking about how funny a manifesto for nutty health freaks might be until he remember seeing that in Barnes & Noble the week before. He pushed remnants of bacon around his plate with greasy fingers like the giant bulldozers in strip mines. As the one-sided debate spun out of control, they of course forgot about the quiet air between them.

To Vancouver, Please

In by Lara on January 6, 2010 at 6:39 am

A man got into the cab.

“To Vancouver, BC, please.”

The cab driver stopped the meter.

“Sir, we’re in Seattle, Washington. I’d rather not cross the border.”

“I’ll pay you for your time of course.”

“That’s not the issue, Sir. It’s company pol—”

The man waved his hand and brought out his checkbook. He clicked his pen by tapping the back of it on the checks.

“How much?”

“Excuse me?”

“How much? I’d like to go to Vancouver, and I’ll compensate you off the record for your time. So, how much?”

The cabdriver pondered this.

“Keep your money. Get out.”


In by Wyatt on January 5, 2010 at 8:24 pm

Everything in the world changed when he stirred his milk. Tiny brown mountain-scapes floated calmly across the top of his glass but they would not sink. Around him were an open cupboard screaming to be closed, a rack of dishes whining for a bath, a bread bag suffocating laboriously from the dry air flowing into its unclasped top, and a toaster oven groaning under the weight of a club sandwich and ready to call it quits after this one, final DING; but he was stirring his milk, and everything was silent. He was engulfed by the mountains, in another place.

Graphic Designer

In by Chris on January 4, 2010 at 8:49 pm

A helicopter rose up in his mind like the proverbial light bulb blinking on. Inside the cockpit was an idea, wearing aviators and ready fire away. Missiles rocketed out, he opened his eyes just in time, and they sped out of his head. They looped up into the air above the crowded street, barely visible, and exploded onto a billboard. Paint dripped into glorious patterns, creating a new graffiti logo for McDonalds. See, he was a graphic designer, and his ideas were deadly. To him, the world of advertising was a war zone and he seized any chance he got.


In by Chris on January 3, 2010 at 6:44 pm

The airports are stomp-rocketing metal projectiles all over the world. The tubes blur the world around them like the scenes in Pokemon where the trainers fly with faces agape across scintillating backgrounds. Believe it or not, there are real life human beings condensed inside these tubes, strapped in like the proverbial beetle who happened to climb onto the falling bomb. The metal creates a time-lapse geodesic dome around the world, and the bars filled with human catch the clouds like a spider web. In the spirit of the capitalist world, the whole network pulsates to reggaeton, in honor of flight.

Opening Words Of Books

In by Chris on January 3, 2010 at 11:50 am

Of all the things that drive men to sea…
What about a teakettle?…
They say it came first from Africa…
When I set out…
The first time I saw…
The notice…
The cold passed reluctantly…
I have no reason not to answer…
The soft summer wind…
The poles of the earth have wandered…
I have begun this…
There were all kinds of stories…
I’ve watched through…
There is first of all…
The river…
If you go to…
The Colorado River…
You have seen…
Moderate and fair weather…
In a far corner…
Tush! Never tell me!…
You don’t know about me…

Inspired By Three Songs

In by Chris on January 2, 2010 at 12:44 am

“Put me in that place. Make me sway, baby.”
Sax liltin up and over notes. Bass could be playin itself.
“Yes baby, I’ll take you there. We can swing through the air.”
Dusty lights packed together tonight.

High school lived through grainy musicals. Greased hair and cigarette sleeves, and girls sing alone in their rooms at night. The picture quality makes no difference. “To know, know, know him is to love him.”

The Christ child threatens to burst in dark undertones shock-waving through the forests of history. A flash of starlight unfolds. A melody. A moment of rapture lost again.