Wednesday, November 26, 2014

To the Great Whatever - Introduction


      I woke up with an unshakable concern for the interpretation of dreams.
      What had I dreampt?
      Last night was tarot cards and whiskey in my summer apartment.
 Luke read in his hand of cards that a cataclysm was all but certain and
that he ought to consider sharing his feelings
with that special someone.

       We felt little desire to wash the dishes that were groping their soggy way out of the kitchen sink - so we didn't.
Fruit flies billowed out in a flittering cloud as I lurched groggily over the sink to espresso myself awake.
Drosophila Melanogaster -the fruit flies-
their species name became a song I sang every morning with a side of jelly toast–

I welcomed them,
I fed them the sticky residual rings of mixed drinks from last nights party. Peach Schnapps.

Sudden visions of Biology 200 - the murderous subject!
Discarding tiny heap after tiny heap of drugged up drosophila into their soapy petri-dish doom -
but not before ascertaining their genetic breakdown for science - Eye color: 3/4 devil red, 1/4 purgatory white – Punnet perfection.

Come summer, I was done with death and
I made it law:
No one is to squish, swat, squash, wash away or do any violence of any kind to these benevolent guests.  I was still drunk from the night before.

We didn't have any fruit in the apartment.


       The subway stung my nose of urine in puddles and someone was smoking a cigarette on the platform. It was July, and hot.

The woman sitting next to me was a waitress. She spoke suddenly into my shoulder:

"You ever have these before?" [She handed me an obscenely orange tiny plastic bottle]


"I'm a waitress, so I work 12-hour days & I -
Well I don't drink the whole thing, just this much." [She pointed to a spot 2/3s of the way down]

"Right," I said.

 I got on the train, and didn't see the waitress again.


       I swore this was my last styrofoam cup, paper sleeve and plastic top I would ever send to a landfill.

       I wasn't sure if I even enjoyed my coffee.
The man next to me drunk from a “Giant-Gulp” convenience-store cup – the straw made a hollow squeak as he neared the bottom.
He suckled the last few bits and dropped the cup where he sat - Dropped the cup at his feet where he sat.

His eyes were hollow. The advertisement on the subway wall ahead of him was for a slick plastic cell phone. It was well designed.


The events that followed have been described as our "Neo-Sincerity-Hipster-Cliche-Post-College Adventure."

A baby blue minivan.
Our degrees worth little more than the swank paper on which they were printed.
We were burning - the four of us.
We were certain.  We believed in believing in believing in-
The threat of being ordinary prickled our skin like dried sweat.
It seemed there was nothing we couldn't shake.
Society was a myopic cyclops 
and here we were
scurrying under its nose in sheep-skins.


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