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Archive for April, 2010|Monthly archive page

The Hot Dog Stand

In by Chris on April 30, 2010 at 10:16 pm

The hot dog stand shines brighter than the streetlights in this distant Mexican town. Men and women stand around it. Maybe one or two eat, but the rest talk or watch or wait. Nothing moves in the dark side streets of this town until another dark shape separates itself into motion and approaches the glow of the hot dog stand. The hot dogs themselves are shiny with grease but covered in fresh, diced tomatoes. They could be anywhere in the gutters or on the eaves of the dark town, but here they have been gathered to be cooked and served.

Get Ready

In by Chris on April 30, 2010 at 4:45 pm

All right let’s go if you chest bump me I’ll do it back, ain’t no other way to go about this.

We’d best exchange numbers first in case we want to follow up on what’s about to happen.

The sushi’s sitting well – excellent tempura shrimp wasabi glory – so that ain’t gonna be a problem.

My lawyer drives a yellow Lexus, has three dogs and knows his stuff.

Ain’t that a shame? They’ve begun patrolling this street; I surmise it’s for the best.

Are you ready?

I reckon I am.

They say that invisible gas will be our downfall.

First Impression Of Santa Rosalia

In by Chris on April 30, 2010 at 4:45 pm

It feels as if the town itself was once a mineshaft. In the last century that shaft widened, grew thick with wood slat houses, sheltered a succession of dusty characters, and opened itself to the moonlit sky. The great layers of rock around the town are pincushioned with useless tunnels, yet it feels as if the town itself is a gun barrel-shaped tunnel pointing from the gulf into the heart of the peninsula. The people here are rougher than elsewhere, more demonstrative. In the street you hear catcalls from cars with loud music, but above the slumping hills are quiet.

City Stories

In by Chris on April 30, 2010 at 4:44 pm

“Hey! Hey! Who the hell is a storyteller in this plaza! I’ve got a hankering! Who can tell me a story with a funny moral!” The man looked around expectantly, his cowboy hat tilted on his head. “Hello!”

People chuckled under their breath, as they do, and looked at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. A little boy pointed.

The man wasn’t really expecting anything. He was just bored. In this city he felt he was forgetting the stories of his youth, and no new city stories came to replace them.

“Hey! Ten cents for a story! I’ll listen!”

La Plaza Nueva

In by Chris on April 30, 2010 at 4:44 pm

Hay gente en la plaza nueva. Los funcionarios están reunando las poblaciones de los pueblos para dar un espacio nuevo – y también a darlos un mensaje viejo. ¡Desarrollo! Con el apoyo de la gente y los gobiernos quien trabajan sin parar. El mensaje es tan viejo como los pueblos. Con dignidad se presentan más planes para la gente. Y la gente adora los funcianarios en las celebraciones. Pero después, cuando la gente regrese a su casa sin el dinero para comprar una cerveza celebratoria, hay palabras sin adoración. La gente cansada pregunta contra los dignitarios afuera de la plaza nueva.

Row!

In by Chris on April 30, 2010 at 4:44 pm

Row row row your boat, gently down your dreams
Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is made of streams

Grow grow grow your goat, feed him lots of hay
Verily verily verily verily, milk him every day

Mow mow mow your lawn, make it nice and clean
Carefully carefully carefully carefully, neighbors judge your greens

Stow stow stow your junk, hide it fast away
Probably probably probably probably, you’ll need it all someday

Fro fro fro your hair, look like such a G
Scarily scarily scarily scarily, we’re all the same to me

Your boat will row, your goat will grow

The Naturalist And The Anemone (IV)

In by Chris on April 27, 2010 at 7:51 am

Encased in the warm, clear water, the naturalist could gaze at the great orange anemones for hours without thinking of anything else. Even the creeping realization that it was time to search out new creatures in new seas could not penetrate this state of his heart. Each night in his bunk, he resolved to cut off his experiments and move on, and each morning he stayed.
His whole life might have become enveloped in this pattern had the ship not run low on provisions. They finally sailed one bright morning, and the naturalist thought sadly that he never would return again.

The Naturalist And The Anemone (III)

In by Chris on April 27, 2010 at 7:51 am

For several weeks the naturalist swam to the anemones, studied them and tested them on his ship.
The first time one stung him it shocked him; the little arms were worse than hornets.
He ground up the stinging cells, made them into pastes and powders, and tested them on every ailment he could find among the crew. Daily the compounds showed new aspects, new hopes, and daily they disappointed, sometimes disastrously.
The evidence of the anemone’s uselessness grew in his mind, yet each time he swam down to one he became spellbound, as if experiencing it for the first time.

The Naturalist And The Anemone (II)

In by Chris on April 27, 2010 at 7:50 am

The naturalist knew when he had arrived. Throughout the voyage he had speculated as to what might occur when he returned to the orange anemones, and he had resolved that he must simply go.
He slipped beneath the sparkling surface of the sea and entered a world pregnant with unknown creatures. Slowly he swam, savoring the life all around him but only searching for one thing.
He found it. The thick anemone was orange like a crystal sunset – strong and content and mesmerizing. He gazed at it until he was sure the creature accepted his journey to find it.

The Naturalist And The Anemone (I)

In by Chris on April 27, 2010 at 7:48 am

Since he had first encountered the great orange species of anemone in the distant reaches of a hidden sea, the naturalist had dreamt of them constantly.
He toured his mother country searching for support for another excursion and convinced many men – including himself – of the miraculous healing power of the anemone’s stinging chemicals. Scientific curiosity, however, was only a small factor in his desire to return. His memory of the first moment of discovery, of swimming solitarily up to the great, supple anemones, grew into longing nostalgia in his heart.
In nine months, his ship sailed for that hidden sea.