Monday, December 22, 2014

AND THE SCARF

Maybe that should have been it the undelivered letter sitting on the corner of my avoidant peripheral seeing eye dog over the hill behind the eight ball dirty toaster filled with burnt crumbs maybe that should have been it the unwritten letter catching in my throat swamped by the plausible riding the waves of greasy napkins doing this while your mother is here in the other room with the lawyer I think she said he was staying over for the night everyday an issue everyday an issue this while your mother is here in the other room with the lawyer I think she said he was renting space in my nerves I think she said he was maybe that should have been it the thoughtless phone call floating in the cup left on the counter for 4 or 5 days or a couple of weeks with hairs of exaggeration sticking out of it maybe that should have been.

"Has the water started to boil yet?"
"Have they taken the tube out?"
"Are bubbles starting to form?"
"Is anyone going to stop by and determine that it has been long overdue and remove it?"

Gnarly propensity for chewing at fingers peeling off fingernails like trying to open a bag of stale chips this that could never be put right this that could never be put quite in the way that I would feel like my whole life has been a series of landscaping mishaps projects sabotaged experienced in my being as the constant extractions of a post-hole digger between my shoulders where my head once was.

"Has the water started to boil yet?"
"Have they taken the tube out?"
"Are bubbles starting to form?"
"Is anyone going to stop by and determine that it has been long overdue and remove it?"

They stood to one side of the pile of garbage rejected from a white elephant party as either too important or not tacky enough they didn't know where their town was where their house was in relation to the organic food store couldn't find the right honey made a right onto the wrong street at the wrong right wrong light where was the street for getting rid of stuff somewhere on their street in the back of their house their yard spilled out into the desert the city was a mirage pretending to be an opportunity for at least those who stood to one side of the pile of garbage she walked around to the other side and tried to put her foot down tried to push down her side of the room just to even things out rejected from a white elephant party.

"Then you'll play the last one."
"Then what'll happen?"
"Then you'll have played the last one."
"And that'll be the last one."
"Then the first one will start up again."
"It plays over again?"
"That's what it does."

I'm breaking it down this larger thing into smaller segments separated by days I take most of the day to clear my throat and sometimes it leads to hiccoughs and sometimes it leads to my heart beating in even more disturbing patterns and then another segment settles it smooths it out into a lulling stupidity you know what I mean no you don't never mind I'm breaking it down trying to keep my hands off the buttons never know what might happen.

"What happens is that it starts over again."
"It starts over?"
"With the first one."
"Is that what he told you?"
"And now I've told you. I've told you what he told me. What do you make of it?"
"What do I make of it? What did you make of it?"
"What did I make of it?"
"Did you try it out?"
"Did I try what out?"
"To see if it starts over again. Did you try it out?"
"Of course I tried it out."
"And?"
"I tried it out and then I had to stop."
"Stopping defeats the purpose don't you think?"
"Not if you don't want it to start over again."
"You don't want him to be right do you?"
"I just don't want it to be that way."

All he was going to leave behind were the dried bits of his mucus he had picked when he found himself stuck waiting between the walls of moments that he fancied were more significant than all the ones he found himself stuck waiting when they asked what he had discovered he would say or not say anything only realize that he had found himself stuck waiting and notice on the floor what was still on the carpet what had dropped out of his nose what was still on the carpet they had asked him on to ask him what he had discovered he would say or not say anything only realize that he had found himself stuck waiting between the walls of moments that he fancied were more significant than all the ones he found himself stuck waiting when they asked what he had discovered he would say or not say anything only realize that he had found himself stuck waiting.

"And did they eventually see him?" asked the man with the rash.
"They eventually resolved to see him, but decided as a group or rather they were countermanded as a group by one of the mid-level chaps that they should have him fill out an application for the position he had been hired on before his company was acquired the third time," answered the woman with parrot calendars in her office.
"One of the mid-level chaps did you say?" asked the man who was rather rash.
"One of the upper mid-level chaps," answered the woman parroting the man with the rash's way of saying mid-level as she could hear in her head how he had almost spewed carbonated soda trying to say stamina in the booth they shared at the last miserable fair.
"You mean the position he was hired on before the fourth acquisition," answered the man with the rash.
"Not the last one," answered the woman with parrot calendars in her office.
"I'm not saying that. The next to last one. I know that," said the man who was rather rash.
"It might as well be the last one with them wanting him to start over at the bottom not completely all the way at the bottom just barely above it," said the woman parroting the way the instructor of a mandatory webinar spoke out of her ass.
"Deboning the trout are they?" asked the man with the rash.
"Deboning the trout they have," answered the woman with parrot calendars in her office.

What death bed? Wake up to another wrinkle another fold the collapse drawn out accentuated in more folds and wrinkles obscuring the notches made in the doorframe marking the ascent of shoulders that now only move up and down in shrugs and the weight of disinterest. What death bed? The one behind the behind the curtain peeled away by the last why did you say that you have mouths to feed what death bed what will you say about the risks not taken besides the birthing in the desert under blades in the dark of night surrounded by cinder block shaking with traffic and the indigestion of the world besides the asking for your name to include in the next hat the next glass bowl of accusations. What death bed? The one behind the behind the curtain peeled away by what you say by keeping your mouth shut you have mouths to keep shut mouths to let speak even though they may drop you into the next hat the next glass bowl of accusations.

"Has the water started to boil yet?"
"Have they taken the tube out?"
"Are bubbles starting to form?"
"Is anyone going to stop by and determine that it has been long overdue and remove it?"
"Why don't you say flatscreen nobody says tube much anymore."
"Can I return it?"
"Only for the original item you got."
"I may as well take it to donation."
"I heard they have enough now to make a version of the town with less expectation."

Gnarly propensity for chewing at fingers peeling off fingernails like trying to open a bag of stale chips this that could never be put right this that could never be put quite in the way that I would feel like my whole life has been a series of landscaping mishaps projects sabotaged experienced in my being as the constant extractions of a post-hole digger between my shoulders where my head once was.


- Max Stoltenberg

No comments:

Post a Comment