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a
day in the life of p.
By kari edwards
Special Book Excerpt
3.
chemistry played loud in p.’s life upon arriving at 3721 that must be right. a click. switch. a slow whine. sometimes a crackle, then the all blakian channel would wind its way down the street. on this occasion citing “the newest of new front door semi-intention of purity . . .” whatever would leave the warmth of the screen and wander through the walls, notice deviations, melting glass and the bits of dust that had collected on hundreds of fly strips put up to collect dust. this was an ambient dust collection - a family tradition - a family dust collection. partial moments gathered before moments appear - free falling in a gentle glide back - occasionally without acknowledgment or maybe utter disregard. a history of humor, animal remains, city coatings and the habitual prelude.
this was p.’s pride, a relative that never arrived - the returned items that were never rereturned - a felonious definition that created the category - that was not. to ask the question was to answer it. to some this collection was nothing more than a “stuff fetish,” to sometimes it was a chronogram of past conflicts, moments chiseled from dead extension particles. knowing there was no separation from objects - sometimes would speak of them as a nearly parent would a nearly child
or as a nearly child would when the nearly parent could no longer maintain the effect of a nearly parent.
from room-to-room the stench of uncleaned cat litter would permeate, its vapors making breathing a casualty. but nonetheless this was a castle between nothing and someone else's birthright. a place where at night sometimes woke in terror screams of blood and rough hewn castration. not that that was something whatever ever worried about, it had more to do with a lack of amnesia present in the moment.
in one room which p. called the more-to-the-point than a certain color, where lilac petals were glued to every square inch with the exception of a path that led to a green and yellow plaid lawn chair. occasionally there would be piles of petals waiting to be glued to old lilac petals that were glued to even older lilac petals. p. estimated that since the more-to-the-point room was initiated, the room has shrunk
approximately 13.3 square feet. p. used this room when the complication of numbers became a concrete event, this was usually on legal holidays when military bands would march by playing a version of “I can hold you tight enough to feel my flesh inside me,” or at other times the latex version of a summary of everything.
sometimes something would read updates in the more-to-the-point room - clipped sections of ideology, read and reread them when there were no lilacs to glue to the walls. p.’s favorite was when conscience did a daring rescue of the mundane, but failed due to a tornado section in the air. there was an ocean of familiarity with an article written sometime before curious other events. p. became accustomed to the way the “e’s” turned slightly upwards - producing a feeling in something that could only be felt with “e’s.” sometimes something would feel the same way with “y’s,” but that seemed obvious.
upon the walls, with the exception of the more-to-the-point room, were reproductions of unknown places that never existed and no-name portraits. p. felt comfortable with strangers looking back and places you could never go - it gave a twinge of natural paranoia.
p. wanted to be involved with the revolution, but hadn't eaten since the upsurge in demographics and desired something creamy - more starch than liquid - preferably the color of hazelnut. something with a pensive flavor, a touch of aggression, artificially favored and a serving for two.
after the supplements - at a point near lifelessness - p. pushed the leftovers out the window for the eyeless rotary that lived between heaven and earth - between the pages and the word - between the crumbs dropped at christ’s last supper - printed designs found in fibrous tissues and a related size that has more to do with tanning than the later plural forms.
after ruminating, the periodic table was cleaned - the evening prayer was called from the corner to center stage. candles were lit - a bar of soap was carved in the shape of a local icon or an irish setter. the end began with an explanation of color - hue, saturation, light, value and chroma-
may the birds proclaim unclean sympathetic vibration for the sirens of the night
may the bugs and worms find a station that brings direct service to the
distant ones.
may I not stop before death or a photo copy of death.
may the books on the shelves preserve a hearty dust collection.
may phantasmic abundance accrue with a psychosis twinge.
may the objects too numerous to mention cease to cause consternation - cease to talk back in their continual banter - cease to swallow the heads of their previous owners.
may the street waiters in soiled clothes and may the floating paper winds find a score suitable to relinquish self serving components.
this was continued as p. went about preparing for the darkness that
had already started to creep through the edges. the oil burner was
checked for adequate fuel. some of the clocks were set five minutes
ahead - for something was sure time was lost in the dark. finally p.
put a rubber tooth protector on to protect the remaining bicuspids.
Copyright © 2003 kari edwards
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