Monday, June 3, 2013

NONE OF THE ABOVE

She isn't looking at the eyes that have been looking for her for her eyes her eyes are colored in her gaze is off somewhere else she isn't looking she isn't seeing what is what is it that was being done on the sly for whose attention whose mistreatment of the details that brought a couple of stories together by a cold rusty metal railing between the sea left to evaporate in neglect and hair that is scribbled on the wind where she isn't looking at the eyes that have been looking for her eyes for her colored in eyes to color outside the lines do not cross any eyes do not cross any lines leaving it to scratch along in the dirt cut into the Earth a coloring book used up and hidden in a stack of unwanted material.  She isn't looking at the eyes that have been looking for her eyes her colored in eyes to color outside the lines do not cross any eyes do not cross any lines leaving it to scratch along alone in the dirt cutting a bloodless wound into the Earth a coloring book used up and hidden in a stack of unwanted material where is she looking she isn't looking where she is where she isn't looking where is the alarm that keeps going off over by the lamp off somewhere else she isn't looking she isn't seeing what is what is it that was being done on the sly for whose attention whose mistreatment of the details that brought a couple of stories together by a cold rusty metal railing between the sea left to evaporate in neglect and hair that is scribbled on the wind where she isn't looking.

Zoffsky watched the long line of people standing in the tunnel as another fluorescent tube began to blink off and on and off and on and off and on and off.

And on and off.

Schlemazel tapped Zoffsky on the shoulder.

And on and off.

Schlemazel tapped Zoffsky on the shoulder again.

Zoffsky looked up at the ceiling and noticed the blinking fluorescent tube.  "What is with this light now?" he asked in annoyance.

"Probably not screwed in properly," suggested Schlemazel.
"I do concur," answered Zoffsky.
"You do, huh?  I was talking about your head," muttered Schlemazel.
"My what?"
"Your head you vestigial limb.  It's probably not screwed in properly."
"Well, isn't that nice?  I suppose I can count you among one of my well-wishers."
"Not even that many."
"Draw a line through your name must I?"
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"You respond to a blinking light rather than my tapping."
"It's like that and stool softeners.  They're my #2 priority."
"You think you have a leg to stand on?"

And on and off.

And on and off.

Schlemazel tapped Zoffsky on the shoulder again and said, "There.  I'm tapping you again."
"Stop that."
"I will not."
"You will not?"
"I have to create an asymmetry."
"What do you mean an asymmetry?"
"An imbalance then.  I'm trying to create an imbalance."
"What for?"
"If life is balance then it ends up cancelling me out."
"What about see-saws?"
"What about them?"

Zoffsky stands there quietly thinking and then looks up at the blinking light.

And on and off.

Schlemazel tapped Zoffsky on the shoulder again.

"What?" asked Zoffsky angrily as he scanned the line of people in the tunnel to locate in his mind the least attractive person.

And on and off.

"What do you make of that?" asked Schlemazel pointing at the line of people in the tunnel.
"Like rats leaving a sinking ship."
"But they're getting on."
"Then like rats getting on a sinking ship."
"How do you know it's a ship?"
"I don't.  Do you have something in mind?"
"If we work with a choice A through D then which choice should we have it be?"
"Let's make it be choice B.  I always liked the letter B as in blimp or bonehead."
"Blastula."
"Blimp blimp."
"This sounds conclusive.  We'll make it choice B."
"Wait a moment.  A.  I really like the letter A as in ass stupid horse's ass."
"Yes, I like that, too.  Horse's ass."
"So what answer is choice A?"
"I don't will be choice A.  Now what do we want to be choice B?  I would like to go with lemon for choice B or erect mathematician."
"Erect mathematician?  Where do you get that?"
"Choice B.  Now what do you want to make choice C?"
"All of the above is very large in my brain."
"All of the above?"
"Hang myself for choice C.  Yeah, hang myself."
"Hang myself?"
"Shoot myself."
"Shoot myself?"
"Hang myself.  Pick what you want for choice D."
"I tend to lean towards none of the above."

"What was the question?"
"When I was in school and finally and I don't mean finally maneuvered to where I could start focusing on what I wanted to do for a living the teacher asked what got in the way of imagination and creativity.  I jumped up and answered clearly vague generalities.  He responded with a big smirk on his face and said that's exactly right.  I felt as if I was with something finally and I don't mean finally.  Then he asked us to give form to this thing for an exercise and I went blank like someone leaving an empty box in the pantry.  I looked around at the other students to see if anyone else was struggling like me and kept going back and forth between that and trying to think of how to give form to this thing.  There were one or two ideas but they were ripped into pieces before I could pull them up or out.  I didn't want to be selected as others were chosen or chose to go with their ideas.  And then there was no one left to go.  I heard the teacher call my name.  I looked at the teacher's shoes and felt my words coil around them as the shreds of ideas coiled around my own feet and the awkwardness was pulling me back down among the rubble so all I could do was sit down in the tatters and smell of my own failure.  The teacher paused and commented, Thank you for that example of vague generalities.  I feebly joked by saying, That's all I've got.  And the teacher retorted, I'm fairly certain of that."
"Where do you think the line ends?"
"Right about there."
"That's where it looks like it begins."

And on and off.

And on and off.

She isn't looking at the eyes that have been looking for her for her eyes her eyes are colored in her gaze is off somewhere else she isn't looking she isn't seeing what is what is it that was being done on the sly for whose attention whose mistreatment of the details that brought a couple of stories together by a cold rusty metal railing between the sea left to evaporate in neglect and hair that is scribbled on the wind where she isn't looking at the eyes that have been looking for her eyes for her colored in eyes to color outside the lines do not cross any eyes do not cross any lines leaving it to scratch along in the dirt cut into the Earth a coloring book used up and hidden in a stack of unwanted material.  She isn't looking.


- Max Stoltenberg

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