I want to abolish literacy tests. And I want to file suits against people speaking a few lines of Homer from time to time. I will also make it illegal for the denial of spitting on a silver coin. The effects of these changes will cause dust to rise on roads where cadavers are hidden.
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In the evening I tried to take a picture of myself. I wanted to know my future, but there seemed no way to interpret it from the present. I got to my feet and took some water from a pail, and caught sight of a pink floating object. The smell of bitter jasmine and coffee filled the air.
She was targeting my emotional response to material for a short story. I was in London unveiling a plaque to commemorate a white floating object. When the UK government said there was a “high degree of certainty” that this object was not pedigreed, she stirred an infectious air of satisfaction. If I had known better, her flowered kimono could have revealed the answer.
I suspect she knows I have a love hate relationship with her. I love the access she gives me to all sorts of parts of her body, and how it connects me with feelings I would have never been able to have before. I hate how it also contains spaces for her to easily abuse and harass me. But I have failed to buy her trust with a light wind siphoned up the river.
These are some of the today’s characteristics. The morning started and moved with a freshening wind. The laughter of the afternoon had no cynicism in it. Evening proceeded as a packing-case broken open with the contents fluttering upward like a great grey moth.
My pet tiger sleeps on the floor next to my bed. He will devour anyone who comes near. When he is thirsty he drinks from my glass. Usually grape-flavored Kool-Aid. Those who approach may lose beauty in terror. I have lost my passion, deftly and quietly.
What could very clearly be a great tomato may not be. I am randomly swimming in circles thinking about this. Why worry about the color of brickdust? Watching my tomato makes me very excited and delirious. Two things I try to avoid in my life are stethoscopes and mushrooms. I also can’t bear looking for camping-sites. For some reason it always involves a lot of tension or awkward humor. And nearly every tomato I have tasted lately has caused a terrible illness.
She adores dark, handsome strangers. The men who keep machinery running and lift women onto their rearing horses are her usual choices. She begs them to protect her from a vast complex of analogies. Idolized by some and despised by others, a whole collection of contemporary heroes return her gaze with their coat-tails flying.
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September 2017
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