Monday, January 12, 2009

annals of the ludicrous

The neighbors have at least two children, possibly a third. It's difficult to distinguish their squalling and shrieking tantrums through the wall, though it is not difficult to hear the noise. The parents decided to set a small metal pot right outside their door where they can toss dirty diapers. The diapers pile up, then they begin collecting on the ground, scattered messily. Of course, my door is only two feet away, and on any given morning I emerge from my apartment to be met by a bright promising day--and the sour stench of twenty rancid diapers. Yes, I love apartment life.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Drabble of the Week


HE did not know it, but something unnatural had occurred within his water heater. The water that fell from his shower began to work a subtle effect on his body. The years dripped by, until one day a strange knowledge burst upon him. Suddenly he was able to perceive the hidden truth of all things. So keen was his awareness that he attained wealth and power, and sent his children happily into the world. Yet, one thing eluded him, one thing often caused him to gnash his teeth in consternation, remained an enigma till his very last days. His wife.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Chai Cream Frappe

At the counter I place my order
and the barrista smiles, though his face crinkles
in all the wrong places
I find a table huddled against the window
The night traffic moves like fluid, sluicing around the curve,
muffled soughs slipping through the door every time it opens
I get my order, grandechaicreamfrappethankyouhaveagoodday,
always the same
People push into the building, buy their drinks
talk of themselves, laugh, pass the time
My thoughts are sediments resting at the bottom
of my mind
like a lump of taffy wrapped in cellophane
I tug at the edges and pull
wondering how thought leads on to thought, bifurcating
in infinite threads, sometimes revealing a pattern,
sometimes not
The room is small and dim;
music plays, softly, and above
the whir and clank of the coffee machinery,
above the cacophony of conversations, I can make out the
soothing modern nuances of the song
Young people brandish iPods and iPhones
They casually make mention of facebook and
Google and
I entertain a brief thought that in a hundred years Google
will launch the first starship, the USS Google, each colossal
letter welded colorfully to the hull
Though that's just conjecture, a twining thread I snip off
Sometimes I come here with pen and spiral notebook,
I scour and prod my mind for a hidden epiphany, for some inchoate
tableau to foster,
hold my breath as words poem onto the page
But tonight I don't come to
write. I don't come to concentrate, or meditate
on matters of prosody; I come to feel the pulse of
existence, to feel the jostle of life, to feel a body brush against mine
to feel something. To feel anything.
So I sit in a sophisticated coffee shop
surrounding by people with their sophisticated electronic devices
tasting a sophisticated drink
with sophisticated music humming
in the background
Only I never feel that kindred flame leap up around me