Friday, August 29, 2008

That Crinoline Moment

It was at the end and rather than step lightly they lowered their heads and plunged. Over fifty mounts like this one! And the butter wrapper clung to the grass, while across the street dozens of headstones appeared to righten themselves as if by magic.

Much like wrinkles are said to be the containers of memory. Salted meats a lumpen gray. The pope lifted his skirt and smiled at the jetlagged visitors, their plastic gift crosses, and thirsty-looking eyebrows.

Slumbering was an afternoon. Oh let us all embrace the dreamer, let us all have that crinoline moment. He wrote, wondering why the sunflowers in Massachusetts were bright while those in Maine were over.

A landscape is more than geography but only according to certain circumstances. The way light falls from a given sky will affect both mood and temperature. The car stalled and while they waited for a lift back he recited "The Cask of Amontillado" from memory.

Albany was more than what you assume but not not always. In the dream, I heard the phone rang, and when I pursued the ringing to its source, found only an empty drawer. In which privilege is used to silence figure.

Even without funding, the film festival was a rousing success. Frozen mint, populism. The curator had fallen asleep and when nudged awake, farted loudly several times quickly, which appeared to embarrass him.

Uncanny narrative plugging what hole. Go, prosper, elide.

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