More sharp than this, we’re a household of scissors, protrusion--four sets of blades between us. As a hernia, what was once contained now is not, organs, or other bodily structure, the nails are now uneven and atrocious, receding behind the line of skin. A code, a collections of laws, or a patient whose heart has stopped beating, as in cardiac arrest, when used in slang. Actions performed to laughter, milk adding texture for the throat.
Last night had Matt & Xavier (hence known as The Long One) over for what turned into a three course meal with merlot, starting with a variety of sausages from the market. It has been a while since any of us has had a meal where all the food groups are separated on the plate--veggies, grains, meat refusing to commingle in one monster fusion. After dinner, we smoked a joint and then Matt, Jaxon & myself did interpretative Thai-Chi to a bill bissett recording in our living room, while The Long One writhed on the couch in overwhelmed agony. Matt then made intricate art with ballpoint; it was all very Ok Computer. I hung the piece above Jaxon’s dragon collection in the kitchen when the lines were proclaimed complete. Evening ended with watching Peter Sellers in The Party on DVD. After the viewing, Matthew said, everything seemed like an extension of The Party--so I was very much observed and laughed at while I struggled, tipsy and still slightly stoned, to reattach my laptop and all its cords to the electrical outlet between my desk and the wall. There were a lot of oh, shits, and fuck, I just unplugged the wrong cord. What cord did I just unplug?? At various points, The Long One compelled me to speak in a super computer voice. In turn, it compelled him to hide behind two blue pillows, throwing them at my evil spirit, or head, at intervals, exclamations implied:
Kommienezuspadt
Kommienezuspadt
Kommienezuspadt
Kommienezuspadt
And we can't be late
And we can't be late