preliminary notes in the new year; or, sometimes a bird shits pretty
The door was open and early Michael Jackson played loudly in the office, remixed by Mixmaster Shitty Printer and Fax. What a weird scene in the hospital. I forgot where I was for a moment and had to tame the volume. She’s a very kicky girl and she just loves performing outdoor activities (performing?), particularly when everybody is kung fu fighting. A whistle blows and a train whizzes past. But enough about me.
Today I woke up with Extreme Bedhead which I made no effort to tame. When I arrived at work, the first words spoken to me were these: Your hair looks really good today. Did you blow dry? Similarly, when I haven’t done laundry in a while and am forced to awkwardly concoct an ensemble, somebody tells me my outfit looks great. Therefore, I conclude I have no taste. Just expert timing like a funky Chinaman.
Popcorn burning in a microwave assaults the hallway. Then urine. Sexy things pass out right and left. They’d rather be performing outdoor activities so that they might be chosen to live in the apartment with Larry the fit guy. Even doctors read Cliff notes to study up on statistics. I am neither here nor there. At least nobody smells like patchouli or paint today. Touch of vomit, however, inside the yellow walls.
The surrogate faxer looks pretty in yellow and apparently crime is down in New York, at least murders. With eight million people around, murder is inevitable. And brick house ideology. And mighty mighty mice. Rats rather. Rats like fat midgets. It’s ok to plant a garden in January if you live in a biblical inn or at least fancy the sauce, the infinite mystery and its opposite.
This is what the new year has hauled in headfirst: the sound of a gritty factory winding equally in hover and spin with mary poppins, a whistle that settles into a chalk drawing. I’d like to be more clear about the future of the universe but until I make the revamp list my medulla is a supernatural thing and Iceland sounds like diamonds dropping.
Tell me anything. My heart is not heavy because it is growing.
Today I woke up with Extreme Bedhead which I made no effort to tame. When I arrived at work, the first words spoken to me were these: Your hair looks really good today. Did you blow dry? Similarly, when I haven’t done laundry in a while and am forced to awkwardly concoct an ensemble, somebody tells me my outfit looks great. Therefore, I conclude I have no taste. Just expert timing like a funky Chinaman.
Popcorn burning in a microwave assaults the hallway. Then urine. Sexy things pass out right and left. They’d rather be performing outdoor activities so that they might be chosen to live in the apartment with Larry the fit guy. Even doctors read Cliff notes to study up on statistics. I am neither here nor there. At least nobody smells like patchouli or paint today. Touch of vomit, however, inside the yellow walls.
The surrogate faxer looks pretty in yellow and apparently crime is down in New York, at least murders. With eight million people around, murder is inevitable. And brick house ideology. And mighty mighty mice. Rats rather. Rats like fat midgets. It’s ok to plant a garden in January if you live in a biblical inn or at least fancy the sauce, the infinite mystery and its opposite.
This is what the new year has hauled in headfirst: the sound of a gritty factory winding equally in hover and spin with mary poppins, a whistle that settles into a chalk drawing. I’d like to be more clear about the future of the universe but until I make the revamp list my medulla is a supernatural thing and Iceland sounds like diamonds dropping.
Tell me anything. My heart is not heavy because it is growing.
5 Comments:
that's such a yummy post with pretty little bits sticking out from such odd angles. remind never to go head to head with you. happy 2006, dear sara. xo
i'm glad you like its taste. happy 2006 to you too. i hope it offers you various riches. xo
i am that funky chinaman!
it's because i've not showered yet.
that is all
mr anigans would be even funkier if he'd get a perm and wear a hawaiian bowling shirt.
why thanks, finnegan. will look forward to future teahouse festivities that defy physics.
You got that new "vomit-flavored" wall paint? I bet you're a test subject. If things go well, the public schools will implement the new technology to prevent the kiddies from chowing down on sweet leaded paint-chip goodness. Rising SAT scores here we come!
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