pg 48


June 19, 2009, 9:49 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

pony up-charles
moondog
zeroes-pvc
gris gris-down with jesus
juana molina-sonamos, rio seco, elena
boxhead ensemble
holy fuck-lovely allen
ariel pink’s haunted graffiti-life in la
all girl summer fun band-canadian boyfriend
envelopes-glue

because somebody had gone through the fridge and eaten everything that wasn’t already starting to die, the pickings were slim. maybe they could take all the squishy grapes and cherries and stomp them down in a pot. maybe they could pour the brown water out of the bag of fiddleheads and find some tweezers for all the brown parts. maybe maybe maybe. but even still none of it would be enough to forge a full dinner table for a group of people who cared about things like that. well that settled it then. they would collapse the table with dishes, food, wine, everything just before everyone arrived. then it would look like they’d done the work without having to disappoint anybody while disappointing everybody. it would look an art project for all its beautiful wreckage. they would have to remember to have a camera later.

should they weaken the table and break it first? no it would be better if it actually happened. they would have to figure out many little things ahead of time. they could buy ‘retro’ dishes from the salvation army and keep theirs in tact. they could cook onions, garlic, fry spices, so the house smelled nice. they could peel the labels from the nice wine bottles and paste them over the 6.95 cent wine that would break and splash everywhere. they could move the table outside and the food would fall on the grass, in the dirt, so there would be no salvation.

i’m going to get the plates now, how many again? they asked
well both of us, the down the street neighbor, the around the block neighbor, the couple, karen. they said back
we need appetizer plates too don’t we? they asked
yes. we’ll need 7 plates, 7 wine glasses, no 6 wine glasses. around the block doesn’t drink. and six appetizer plates. you have to get them so they can sit on the dinner plates. they said, having already thought about it.
but won’t the appetizers not break if they’re on top, or less of a chance? they asked
it doesn’t matter now does it? the food just needs to. they wanted them to get the plates already
oh that reminds me, i’ll get serving bowls too. they said. they didn’t want to fight.

they rode their bike to the salvation army. on the way they almost got hit by a bus and blinked. they were thinking about how to bring all the plates and glasses home with a bike. at a stoplight they said damn. they didn’t think this one through. they would have to leave the bike and take a cab. and talk to the cab about the box, and have to hold the cab while they ran inside to get money. and have to walk back to get the bike. the light turned yellow and they went ahead early. they were still in the intersection when they got hit by a car trying to beat the light. they were lucky. the car hit the front tire of the bike, not the frame. it made the handlebars jolt to the side and that made them fall to the ground. they were wearing a helmet but they still fell hard to scrape their palms and rip their pants. the car drove away from them. they swore and threw a rock. they watched it miss. they looked up and realized they were forbidding right turns of other cars but they still didn’t move. they looked at their hands and they were shaking. they could hear but they couldn’t focus on sounds.
hey! they could hear that.
hey! again. they looked up and saw an old man. he was at the mechanics on the corner. standing just outside the garage.
the old man said hey! again

this time they got up. the light had changed on them and cars were waiting for them to get off the road. they got up slowly but didn’t extend their knees afraid it would hurt. they hunched over further and put a hand around the back tire. they pulled the bike to the curb and looked up to the old man walking toward them.

fuck ’em. his (a) voice (that) knew what sandpaper felt like.
it’s ok, i’m ok. it was my fault. they said. they knew it was.
but they drove away, no excuse. he said.
they felt sheepish. it was their fault. so they surveyed the damage of the bike.
tire’s bent. you’re not going anywhere.
dammit! i really need to get going. do you work here? i need to leave my bike. they were rushed now, if everything was going to get done in time and if they didn’t want them to do all the work, they needed to go now.
no problem, we’ll put it in the shop. when you coming back? where you going can i give you a ride?
good. i mean, thank you. i really don’t mean to be a pain.
you want a ride somewhere, where you headed?
they did(n’t) it’d make it so much easier, maybe old man would even wait and come back.

the truck a room full of evidence linking the old man, his voice, and his appearance as common criminals. he got in first and as they went to climb in the man brushed to the floor an empty pack of beef jerky, a spitton, and a playboy from 1988 (vanna white). ashes were scattered all over the body, as though after leading full lives the cigarettes could think of no better place than here to scatter their souls.

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[…] the rest here: https://pg48.wordpress.com/2009/06/19/104 Author: admin Categories: Art Work Tags: art-project, await-death, done-the-work, its-beautiful, […]

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