August 2009
28 posts
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We sat alert on that hill as the sun came up, holding hands, silently crying, numbly feeling each other, waiting for the fire of Sodom to inevitably consume us and our children.
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Jeff lay there unmoving, awestruck by the majesty of his spinal paralysis.
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“What big teeth you had!” cried Little Red Riding Hood, tasting the grandma carcass soup.
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It seems as if time stood still, as if they held hands forever, those two corpses.
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Too often had we discounted the power of children: their innocence, their beautiful naïvety, their powerful tiny fists.
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“Porridge!” she shouted wildly, she too having forgotten the safe word.
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“What big teeth you have, Grandma!” said Little Red Riding Hood, hungrily feeling her toothless jaws, craving what she could not have.
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One day, Princess Michael Thicklegs snuck outside the castle when her father, the king, wasn’t paying attention, which was always. She found hope and respite within nature’s bosom, as nature continually mistook her thick, hairy legs as squirrels.
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Love is a fickle mistress, like having a secret wife.
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Death is but the final voyage in life, if voyages were permanent and one-way and extremely physically and emotionally painful.
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Persuasion is the act of greatest intimacy, the intimacy of knowledge, followed by totally rounding second base.
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“In closing,” said the counsel to the jury, “I just hope everybody in the courtroom can overlook the parts of the case where I started settings things on fire and browbeat a woman into a heart attack. And if you don’t I will personally come after you with an electric riding crop, SO HELP ME GOD.”
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Violence is never the answer, except in self-defense. Or if the guy stole something from you. Or if he looks at you funny because he’s probably hitting on you, and that’s not cool. That’s gay.
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“So long! So long!” she cried to the lonesome man standing on the platform, as the train pulled away, as she shot him.
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Maniac Magee sure was a hoot to hang around with. Then the stabbings started.
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The tree elves flitted from tree to tree, playfully laughing behind each one as their dewy hands touched the bark and set it ablaze.
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“THERE IS A FIRE IN MY EYES AND HEART AND IT WILL NEVER BE EXTINGUISHED AGAIN, AGONY RUNS LIKE WET SOUP DOWN MY SOUL,” began the middle schooler’s book report on The Lovely Bones.
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Quiet and giggling was the brook as it whispered sweet nothings into the ears of would-be suicide victim Jeff.
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Prejudice is an ugly monster, and probably lazy too.
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The neon lights gently flickered on and off, playfully throwing shadows onto an empty night street, a detail lost on the LA riot mob.
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“She and I, we were ready for second base. They said our relationship was impossible, eccentric, yearning to break free the very fabric of what is moral and immoral; and, as we felt our bodies become one, we knew they were so so wrong especially after we started using the second base canvas bag as a spanking machine,” Jeff read aloud to his drivers’ ed class.
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For Jeff, the dictionary seemed to hold all the wonder and mystery of the world. For the dictionary, it wished Jeff would at least browse with pants on.
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Jeff drank to forget the pain, which he remembered by eating. Turns out, Jeff has Crohn’s.
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The hieroglyphs seemed to shimmer in the night light, quivering, as if waiting for a preternatural force to infuse them with light, as if a fat enthusiastic man was holding it and jumping up and down.
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In retrospect, “Saints: Martyrdom or Delicious Death Fetish?” was a poor choice for the preschool’s Christmas play.
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“It was like taking candy from a baby,” the doctor thought as he walked down the infantile diabetes ward.
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Princess Michael Thicklegs got tired of giggling courtesans and gossiping jesters. “Is this the life for me?” she thought, as she massaged her hairy, thick legs.
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So began his thankless investigations here in this dingy, littered gas station perched on the knife’s blade between road and desert, civilization and chaos, sobriety and insanity, where he quietly pumped premium deluxe gasoline into his Miata.