There is a spoken word performance event at the library this afternoon. A certain Elisabeth is catering with a tray of cut vegetables, dip, and lemonade. I consider Elisabeth while the words trip up the tongues of the alternating audience members who venture to the microphone. She has poise. Ten jets are on a ship to Guam. Nine of them are flawless. I have a friend at Raytheon who connects me with another engineer; I attempt to call him regarding a questionable lithium supplier. An obit in tomorrows paper is a light and admiring comedy. I buy shares in Nevada water rights.


Dark Overnights and Oversea Carriers

The rain falls and the old concrete spillway project is halted, but the explosives contractor will be making funeral arrangements after a late night party turns down the wrong alley and a young man has his head split open after a misdirected boast. The contractor will not be tearing down the dam, he will be laying plans to investigate a personally important manslaughter. This will stay out of the news, for now. A turn of events in Africa ripples through China to gold prices tommorrow, which will tip exchange rates, I've shorted and bought in to an ocean cargo index.


Bad News Horizon

So obviously, the paper was printed a day early. Those time sink entertainment barrons just run whatever they feel like after the ad deals are cemented, and the Iffigan Periodic Times just got caught redhanded. The froth and churn keeps it looking like what's happening is contemporaneous with the reader. And relieved, lucky him having lost some track of what calendar day it was in his stupefying decades long stint of underemployment. The Iffigan City Council and Chamber of Commerce were in the hands of the Paper, and vice-versa, and there's 50% off on document shredders til Wednesday. Now know that everything I knew was composed in an adolescent filter, now see that filter is gone and the Iffigans' own Periodical Times was ...but back to drinking on the job hunting.

The Tuesday paper comes, Exxon rises. Wednesday's news, the day after a deep commitment and effort toward Monday's job interview slightly more relaxed and humorous after the oddball early trip, this time with the door unlocked, but the job quite apparently unavailable to him personally, and the next day Exxon falls 1.12%, but no one else seems to know, and he has put every penny into gold. Tomorrow's news is bad news.



There's a place between the mountains and the deep blue sea along the western coastline of South America. Elepctionally cultural literacy, in the form of Neruda reprints, and mineral riches, bring a low income lifestyle of few highway choices, geography and my as yet lack of history in the country.

Personally, If I were in Santiago today, I would carry an umbrella.

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"It is not a plagiarism if quotable, original, and prior!" Delia stutters "If it were, than who would know?"
Delia takes her beret out of her hair and turning, bunches it up again. Returning to the subject, and breathily, with finality, snarls "and what the fuck do you know about it?"
I avoid her glare. Not everything, I intend to convey. But I say "Nothing." And that's that. Delia's got a lot going for her, but she can be brittle, and I don't want to be around when she snaps.


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The events of the thing itself are unimportant. The thing is the thing, as they say in London, pudding. That's all.


Wintering in a Darkness

A gentle play on seamless carefree afternoon triumphs
Over winter the waterfall of night
Arise and wake the day, the dawn, the new
Got out and all around the suet fed a green
That isn't yet, a bridge to many more of these
Snowflake house and warmth of hearth
Console the youth for they know not
Too dear and many times removed
Remote and there for me to have
If only me, for once, when wintering were free
Again and only once for me.


A Memoir, Counterpoint, and a Repast

"What better to have late at night than seared pork sirloin with chopped jalepenos, honey and blackberries on bread? I mean, what really?"
"Some say sleep is."
"Sleep is not for the hungry."


Well that's the Female Network for you bud.

"You know she's evil. The b**** is too sweet for little 'Ms. She-who-summers-in-Greece-and-has-a-way-with-words-and-every-guy-in-town.' What a double-t bittch. Ouch. She bites. I mean it. Don't listen to a word she says."
"What are we talking about again? I mean who?"
"We all are talking about your special ex-eccentric lesbian lover Anna Bella, but why we wonder, are you?"
Blurbs flash on late night television, a colorful and muted massage.

Gauging from crystal balls, some equity.

Mose Allison. The very one shade of black to make a marquis shine. My girl is in boots. I have so goddamn much money. The night is just as young as she is, and Mose Allison is

thinkin' 'bout a place
I'm waitin' for the day
When I will make my get away

I am swimming in smoke, suds, and saltwater, sinning, and doing other strange things. That's why they all call me. Marvelous. I don't telegraph how impressive I feel right now. I save it for the night, and for dreams I can't quite put into words.

"In your father's house there's many mansions/Every one with a fireproof floor." Thank God. Thank Bob Dylan. I hope upon hope that that isn't a Biblical reference and dive into a still rippling pond after you. The cheap seats are the best, wetter. This is a great concert. Exxon is up on tomorrow's news.


As Far as the Eye Can See

Serena Cardona summers in Greece. It wasn't the South of France of course, and seemed too windy for anyone to enjoy, but she'd make the best of it with long phone calls and flirting with the mechanic boys around the corner. The younger brother is kind of cute. But that's all he'll ever be, and the older one acts like he's something more than he is--as though this were Nice and he didn't smell a little off.
Jannette Alee is stuck in Paris with her mother. It's like no one cares about the poor thing's future. A lapse in social presentation can ruin a young thing. Greece for godsakes. The troubling part is that she seems to like it in Paris and if that continues our very personal friendship will be in jeopardy, God's honest and very straightforward truth.


The World is a Funny Place

The world is a funny place. As one person's laughter causes another to cry, the smoke of a burning city enlightens a brilliant faraway sunset, the newspaper arrives a day early for a stoned-drunk, motherfucker, who just wants the weather report to decide what to wear for his job interview.
The late morning city is quiet, and the commute a breeze. Our applicant drives with the radio off and composes an introductory remark, to make both a positive impression and set his interviewer at ease. Something that does not admit to any negative personal or professional qualities and sets the tone for a conversational sit down; for a job offer with perquisites, and does not lead to uncomfortable silences or hard questions about any negative personal or professional qualities.
Something like "Ha-ha-ha. I'm here about the positions listed on the company circular, any of them, or all of them sequentially." That'll catch them off guard, he thinks, and give a sense of my self-deprecating wit. Let them know I'm a team player, a calculated non-egomaniac. I am different from all these corporate fools I see in the sitcoms, blurring across a television screen, conniving, using too many words. It's the wit and situational humor that balance the emotional debt created by over-amplified commercial breaks, that keep an audience attentive, and he knows this well sees his and your omniscient narrator.
It's a lucky day. A parking space appears directly in front of the building. With time to spare he double checks the address to make sure he is in the right place. On the way to the door he cuff-buffs his shoes and brushes off the easily reachable sections of his practically-new suit jacket. He is an independent man, a free thinker. He is just the kind of guy who life has gifted with charm and non-attachment, only edgier than a natural Buddha.
The weather he has dressed for seems a few degrees too warm. Although the front door to the building is locked, he does not realize that his newspaper came a day early and it is Sunday afternoon. There is a closed up loading dock around the side of the building.