HARTSONG WEIGHS IN
"It is wise of you to send me an invitation to your
wedding. I was planning to attend whether invited or
not. However, if not invited, I would be forced to
lurk in the rafters of the church until the
penultimate moment of the ceremony at which point I
would swing down to the altar tarzan-style wearing
nothing but hot-pants,cowboy boots, and a backpack. I
would then remove an infant goat from my backpack and
quickly slaughter it with my Rambo knife, spraying you
and your bride with the warm blood of the pure to
demonstrate my indignation with your discourteous
social slight. So, clearly it is in your best
interest to send me an invitation, or a "save the date
card", or whatever gaywad thing you are calling it. I
hope I can join you and Priya on your special day
without bloodshed. Kisses, Hart Attack"
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Monday, February 05, 2007
Thursday, December 07, 2006
After nine years you might be surprised that I can recall some things from before I set out. Nonetheless, I am startled to recognize this boy, especially considering how he has changed. I see his face in and out of an old dream that keeps me listless. Unfortunately, it is a dream that I do not enjoy retelling:
The dust had settled in layers on my brow and upon my shoulders as I stood motionless in an empty office space. Yes, an office space devoid of furnishings and proper light fixtures; an office space among a series of vacant buildings, sitting on a large concrete slab that I suspect was never worth commercial appraisal. We had picked the spot together and in secrecy with the hope of finishing our project. But, as he left me there, pinned against the wall, in the quiet behind our silent beast, with its mechanical sleeve pushing fluids into my gut, I knew our partnership was at an end.
But now he was just a boy, shaking and pale.
The dust had settled in layers on my brow and upon my shoulders as I stood motionless in an empty office space. Yes, an office space devoid of furnishings and proper light fixtures; an office space among a series of vacant buildings, sitting on a large concrete slab that I suspect was never worth commercial appraisal. We had picked the spot together and in secrecy with the hope of finishing our project. But, as he left me there, pinned against the wall, in the quiet behind our silent beast, with its mechanical sleeve pushing fluids into my gut, I knew our partnership was at an end.
But now he was just a boy, shaking and pale.
Monday, November 27, 2006
This jon is not that jon…this jon is that jon?
A strange coincidence occurred yesterday. Two universes collided. The result, an ancient version of someone I once thought I knew. Stark naked under the sunlight in a field of thorny white roses. Lost. Withering. I approached the character from behind to calm him, but only seemed to engage with his higher orders of dementia or schizophrenia. God. I don’t know who he is. Maybe I do. A calloused soul does not wear thin.
Oh yes, back to the coincidence of it all. The lad, who I soon recognized, had no discerning motions other than an impetuous shiver. A circle - he stood on the verge of a circle. You see, here is the dilemma. I only happened upon the boy because in fact it was I that had tramped the circle. It took 9 years to travel its perimeter.
A strange coincidence occurred yesterday. Two universes collided. The result, an ancient version of someone I once thought I knew. Stark naked under the sunlight in a field of thorny white roses. Lost. Withering. I approached the character from behind to calm him, but only seemed to engage with his higher orders of dementia or schizophrenia. God. I don’t know who he is. Maybe I do. A calloused soul does not wear thin.
Oh yes, back to the coincidence of it all. The lad, who I soon recognized, had no discerning motions other than an impetuous shiver. A circle - he stood on the verge of a circle. You see, here is the dilemma. I only happened upon the boy because in fact it was I that had tramped the circle. It took 9 years to travel its perimeter.
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