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once, while feeling bad, I took a good look at my life. I noticed that I
owned a pair of headphones and that they rested on the top of
the complete works of shakespeare. I spoke with a friend and she told
me that religion can be found in the rocks, and in the trees, and in
fruit baskets but not old
garlic, which beckons fruit flies. I listened to "beautiful music in the
night," and it was Mozart, proceeded by Debussy; it conjured the image
of a chocolate mint; it did. I ate a
chocolate mint, then a raspberry-infused chocolate, then a praline laced
with chocolate, then a creme de cacao chocolate piece and then I looked
but didn't touch one book called
THE DARK AGES. I counted my friends. I had: THE DARK AGES, LITERATURE OF
THE WESTERN WORLD, REAL
FLORIDA. I reflected on the mist: it smells, I thought, of both heaven
and the craggy coast of maine. I took pictures. one was of a lamp:
the light bulb
was soft and
bald. it re-
minded me of
the roman
empire
another was of a chest of drawers:
filled with flowers
where creatures
die horrible deaths
I threw away my camera. I put it in a pile of food that included
carrots, lentils, potato chips, more and more chocolate. the camera was
not filled
with film. I considered the words I liked:
100% CHANCE OF RAIN
A SHORT HISTORY OF OPERA
ODI ET AMO
PLAIN NAIL POLISH
REMOVER. in remembering basic things, I realized that I owned a
typewriter. it is black and gold. it is my imaginary friend. it wants
repair and a new ribbon, and perhaps, a word to type. how about--
"fustalarian?" although it wants a new ribbon, and it shall have a new
ribbon, after it is repaired. when I thought hard, I thought (also) of
all those places that I would like to be:
* on a smooth-stoned beach at sunset
* in a delicate garden "where all sweets are sown"
* in a busy furnace, or perhaps kitchen, savoring a minty broth
* john donne has a dark moustache
as for my typewriter, I am only borrowing it from earth. like my
fusebox, it illuminates my life with a certain gossamer smoothness. and,
yet, like the fusebox, it is fragile, delicate, and can be thrown on the
ground or through the window or down the stairs and will
break: all light would cease abruptly. another thought I had: if you
don't want to lose things, like, say, a bicycle, or a friend, chain it
or him to your bed when you go to work. make certain that it is tied
snugly and securely. make certain, also, that you pack a good,
nutritious lunch and eat slowly. when you have done all of this, write
in your notebook:
THINGS THAT I HAVE to do TODAY:
1) read john donne
2) remove headphones from shakespeare
3) learn to be more tolerant of others
4) unchain bicycle from bed
5) unchain friend from bed
and lastly:
6) don't laugh when people say:
"I want to visit Iceland."
because they are probably sincere, and they probably just don't know.
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