Walking down Haight Street. After grabbing a chocolate croissant, I talk to a bum about heaven and finding the path of least resistance. I give him a bite of my croissant, because he asks nicely. There's dew on the ground, and giant chess pieces float above me like clouds. Every now and then a piece moves. I wonder who's winning.
I say goodbye to the bum. Walking again, down a hill, I run into myself. Myself is wearing a colorful flannel and skintight jeans. Cigarette in hand. Myself is looking real good.
I offer myself a bite of croissant, because I think he may ask nicely. Myself says no. I shut my eyes.
"I love you," myself says.
I feel his words -- I mean really feel his words. Like nothing before.
"I love you too," I say.
When I open my eyes, myself is gone. I finish my croissant, because it looks so nice, then look to the sky: Checkmate.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
smashed, unsmashed, resmashed
My cell phone and a five dollar bill are on the nightstand. Putting them both in my pocket, I think really hard about the nightstand. I hate it, I conclude. It reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. In fact, I think she may have even given me that nightstand when we broke up. I feel around my pocket, pressing my hand against my phone and five dollar bill, and pull out an axe large enough to chop down a giant Big Basin redwood. I could do a lot with that wood, like build a bridge or a really tall building, then sell the remains to a paper company.
I continue thinking about the wood obtained from a gigantic Big Basin redwood as I chop up the nightstand. I hack it into little, tiny pieces.
Afterward, I return the axe to my pocket, next to my phone and five dollar bill, and smoke a few cigarettes, sitting on the chopped wood, atop my thrown. A few cigarettes done, I throw them and the hacked pieces of wood out the window and wait for my new girlfriend to come home from Big Basin.
She saunters in about thirty minutes later, whistling some tune. I go to greet her and I see the nightstand I just smashed thirty minutes ago, unsmashed. She has a big smile on her face.
"I found this nice nightstand out front," she says.
"Oh good," I say. "We need one of those."
She sets the nightstand down. Her smile disappears.
"I also found your cell phone out front too," she says. "It's smashed. Did you drop it out the window?"
I continue thinking about the wood obtained from a gigantic Big Basin redwood as I chop up the nightstand. I hack it into little, tiny pieces.
Afterward, I return the axe to my pocket, next to my phone and five dollar bill, and smoke a few cigarettes, sitting on the chopped wood, atop my thrown. A few cigarettes done, I throw them and the hacked pieces of wood out the window and wait for my new girlfriend to come home from Big Basin.
She saunters in about thirty minutes later, whistling some tune. I go to greet her and I see the nightstand I just smashed thirty minutes ago, unsmashed. She has a big smile on her face.
"I found this nice nightstand out front," she says.
"Oh good," I say. "We need one of those."
She sets the nightstand down. Her smile disappears.
"I also found your cell phone out front too," she says. "It's smashed. Did you drop it out the window?"
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