Archive for March 2013
All of a sudden Jesus sits down in the other chair and asks if he could have a small glass of Fiji water.
friendship / partnership with a devilish kin. Self – reflection – the reason of approach. Sashimi knife is placed inside a paper bag of immaculate crease and pushed to a disciple accompanying the question “how deep are u willing to go?” Friend draws a gash of monstrous depth into palm and pries open the laceration, then in a hemostatic gesture lays the intricate interior on the leather cover of the book, and silently drags in one slow motion, depositing a trail of viscous threads and nerves. During the party a hatchet is carefully planted onto some poor kid’s spine. despite the obvious panic no action is taken against. Yes, curiosity first. Isolate your vision to the lips , and the eyes. You will hear the kiss of a child and see the ice age of evil. Face Fear and glimpse its delicacy underneath. Cut the poor son of a bitch open, unleash its tender flesh, and do not return to the land of origin. Jesus was a fish.
Daniel’s Vision of the Beasts
מנא ,מנא, תקל, ופרסין
numbered, weighed, divided, perished
SCENE 1
Daniel, sitting at the café- drinking a Fiji water and eating hummus.
It looks like um water
The glass has charcoal ice cubes and an umm umbrella in it, umm like at a Tex mex restaurant, next to the paper, the paper that looks like the water. The glass is a plastic tumbler glass.
Its about, you know the pressures of tourism on you know water filtration and also other ecological issues and you know breaking up the ocean, because they are doing that now, they are divvying up ocean plots as private property. Its crazy right?
Rye
I like it when somebody gets excited about something. It’s nice.
Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.
I don’t exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it.
The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.
The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody’d move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south, the deer would still be drinking out of that water hole, with their pretty antlers and they’re pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be weaving that same blanket. Nobody’s be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you’d be so much older or anything. It wouldn’t be that, exactly. You’d just be different, that’s all. You’d have an overcoat this time. Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you’d have a new partner. Or you’d have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger. Or you’d heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom. Or you’d just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them. I mean you’d be different in some way—I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it.
If you do something too good, then, after a while, if you don’t watch it, you start showing off. And then you’re not as good any more.
If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn’t rub out even half the “Fuck you” signs in the world. It’s impossible.
Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are, then it’s a game, all right-I’ll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren’t any hot-shots, then what’s a game about it? Nothing. No game.
doglairbarks 