Tuesday, August 30, 2011


As serious as comedy is knotted together with hands of different sizes and mostly small the very small not too small primally gripping kind that’s funny as well make it last until another thrown from a height is splashing and leaving legs and arms that seem to still move but only on the waves until the wind dies until this story dies until this idea dies do it unto others they say and they say it too much until it gives all food and air a perpetually bad taste smell in the front seat and prospective denial it is run over by another set of procedures processes and regresses and sends the station wagon fishtailing and dovetailing off of short hairs springing back up from a shaving with the blade of renunciation what a bloody blade sprinkled with hydrogen peroxide and an ambiguity medicated for a couple of weeks until more will become used to it used to.

Can’t keep them open as the above and below fight for the middle and shut it all down into a worthless horizon worthless horizon of the same old expressions jolting into the next day of delayed death a whipped up beverage of superficial and feigned enthusiasm. Noxious are the justifications sending them down the steep hill into the rocks and waste on the shore. On the shore on the shortcomings of the shoved and herded to yet another trend of extinctions what rapture what lift what wind shear of raped sadness down down into the dust under the classroom calendars marking off weeks and weeks of the weak.

The dialogue has been choked and swings from an unused extension cord swinging in time to the rhythm of an unheard child.

Nipped in the bud.
Don't pull that attitude.  No more hypnotists!  Crank crank crank cranky bitch fuck chewing on knuckles knuckling down knuckle down hunker into it if that makes sense to you slap him in the face that smells of arrogance dangling the hair off the cliff the long shimmering hair like a been there before drowsy with repetition and poetry in the cracks and crannies and nooks are they nooks believe so so believing no more hypnotists damn the whole lot of them of every variety every shiny flavor and color tasting and sticking the tongue to the flypaper of decaying parchment recycled reboxed and repeating the stomach emptying and refilling emptying the head out the back and quite a bit out the front.
A front he was a front for generation the next generation the last generation the previous generation regenerating tired out ideas and dangling long hair shimmering out over the ocean so ready to swallow the head attached to the long hair letting go the surrender routine routine surrender.  A front he was a front for generation the next generation the last generation regenerating tired out old ideas of violence stapled to decaying parchment recycled and expired medicine and the matter floating in it the matter the damaged and experimented pieces of questions little questions floating in the syrup stuck in the syrupy answers.
Girl: I see the ocean.
Man: Not much longer for for looking for for looking.
Girl: Can't see the end.
Man: Smash my lids together to bring the end into focus.
Girl: That must hurt.
Man: Don't know the meaning of the word.
Girl: I can put it in a sentence for you.
Man: Growing old with sentence after sentence.
Girl: You have grey hairs on both sides now I can see the stuff on the left side more now.
Man: Stop seeing and look at the ocean.
Girl: Stop seeing and look? 
Man: Turn back towards it.
Girl: We're kind of close to the precipice.
Man: Precipice? When did you learn that word?
Girl: You taught me that word.
Man: When was that?
Girl: When you used to use it.
Man: Used to use it used to be used used up up and out.
Girl: Put me down. We're too close.
Man: Haven't put you down lately. You're new smell is too close for me.  You're right too close give me room and take your new smell and new skin out there where your new voice will be drowned in the storm on that side that side far too many on this side with your new voice and its range that wants to newly wed new things to discover then discover them out there.
Girl: You'll put me down again after you dangle me long enough over the abyss that is more open than whatever happened to your eyes those smashed lids that talk themselves into the immanent end that never comes let me go put me down let me go put me down dangle me over the abyss of your gaping all your gaping indecision you call repentance.
Man: Tell me more tell me more want to know what's between your words between your eyes between your steps.
Girl: I've told you every who every what every where every when every why and you've produced more pus than anything else you've tried to muster.
Man: Muster.
Girl: My nose.
Man: What?
Girl: My nose is between my eyes.
Man: It's bleeding.
Girl: It's always running.
Man: Your feet are pretty useless to you now aren't they?  Go ahead I want to see them do their usual dance.
Girl: You're making me look down on you during these near death experiences that don't change anything.
Man: Guess I just don't have your new smell I'll hold you out a little far out than usual so the salt air can upstage your strawberry shampoo. 
Girl: The ocean would be downstage of me.
Man: You're just not letting out the usual reaction anymore. Like you used to.  Shifting from abuse to dependency what a world.
Girl: It was watermelon shampoo I used last night after I did my math.
Man: Your new smell your stamina doesn't come from me it just rings in my ears like tinnitus all the talk all the speaking all of it don't have the strength left.
Girl: Then let me go.
Man: Why? You want to see if there is anything else afterwards?
Girl: Not really.
Man: Then let's extend the seasons back into the rerun formula as the crocodile does its death roll turnover the masses turning over if I can't make your face wet with tears anymore exhaustion will have to do wear you down with the whatever whatever was that saying that escapes me.  As in what I can bring to my mind riddled with swiss cheese holes slice upon slice pound after pound of cheese and meat the meat of the bird caught in the predator's jaws who thinks its so smart before it's digested to say, "So I'm supposed to think I'm special because you chose me?"  That wasn't the story I was thinking of I think it was that other one that had the other funnier bit that escapes me.
Girl: It's another list or line or club like the ones at school I never seem to get my name on or into.  The things that escape you.  When will I escape you?  I'm just waiting for you or anyone else in charge to lose their grip or drive this whole thing off into the sea but the whole thing never crashes it just restarts.
He let her go for a brief moment and she had no time to hover or freeze but to be caught in the tangled mess of his program his plan.  He caught her and threw her back onto the dirt further from the precipice her word his word its word its glitch in the procession the parade of mad floats matter further embedded in the recycled and expired medicine syrupy and allergic.
The dialogue has been choked and swings from an unused extension cord swinging in time to the rhythm of an unheard child.
Nipped in the bud.

- Max Stoltenberg

1 comment:

  1. This "runny nose" posting Completely useful..good source, thanks anyway!