29 March 2009 ?
I walked to the drugstore today for some pop. Friendzo was there with his lady friend, Esmé, drinking a chocolate milkshake — one straw. They spotted me and waved me over. The pop fizzed like 4th of July sparklers –I’ve got news, Friendzo said, I’m moving out.
I’d heard that one before, god knows. Friendzo thinks a lot about moving out. He makes these plans to run away and start a summer camp for children with extra kidneys. But when Fall comes, what then? He never makes it that far.
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Posted by hornblower
28 March 2009 ?
A hundred flowers bloomed last night in my backyard. Terrifying, absolutely terrifying. Flowers of every color, every size. Cheese flowers, raisin flowers, raspberry flowers. Anemones. I breathed them all in at once and caught my breath. It slipped from my grasp, and I caught it again. A giant crash, and I fell through the floor into a room with no window. Sighing, sighing, sighing. Signs of dreams and leftover spectacle flicker and fade, each wall a story. Wide-eyed, unsmiling I follow a bell to the end of a tunnel and find a bag of sand. I cut it open and pour it out.
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Posted by hornblower
28 March 2009 ?
I dreamt once more of opossums crossing highways, deserted highways stretching out to bleak horizons jagged with limestone towers. I woke and walked a beach alone, breathing every twenty steps. I dug a seat in the sand and sat until the tide reached my feet. No one came near, and I stayed awake for hours, until I saw the sun in front of me and wept that it had made it there. You can’t think about that everyday, or you’d never forget that it’s not guaranteed. I cast my eyes down from the sun and stood. I exhaled.
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Posted by hornblower
24 March 2009 ?
Friendzo and I have been in a different land for this past week, and I’m sorry to have kept you all in the dark about this matter. I know how painful it has been for everyone reading this now, but please know that this was a necessary vacation for Friendzo and me. We travelled to the underground kingdom of Guadalajara. My auntie has a time share there and she lent it to us to use at our discretion.
Friendzo got into a fight with some local cattle rustlers, and we had to cool it for a while. What happened was, he had sneezed in the saloon on No-Sneeze Tuesday, and then the lead cattle rustler, Jimbo Weathervane, challenged old Friendzo to a unicycle tomfoolery showdown — for the purpose of restoring honor to the saloon, obviously. But Jimbo didn’t know that Friendzo was raised in a somewhat peculiar situation: by wolves, and in a circus. He can sniff out and find a unicycle from twenty miles away, and then he can balance the damn thing on his nose (which same nose had done the sniffing!) for two hours, until he gets nervous and stabs himself with an EpiPen. He also plays the flute pretty well.
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Posted by hornblower
13 March 2009 ?
I’m as happy as Sisyphus writing this Web log. It’s all I need and all you need and I’ll keep writing it if you keep reading it but if you stop reading it I’ll keep writing it and what happens then? Then I’ll be really happy. Happy, or content. I don’t need more than this Web log, writing each day before it passes. I have to finish this out, have to keep going with it, I see death around the corner (RIP Pac) every day every post getting closer closer like Joy Division or Clive Owen and conscious now my moustache is stiffly waxed and one foot long. The eternal truth is false and I’m here to say I’m okay with that. I’ll just keep Web logging, day by day.
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Posted by hornblower
12 March 2009 ?
I saw the strangest thing today; two men, each well over four feet tall, dancing a rhumba in a patch of okra — right in the middle of the street. I carried a platter of praiseworthy fruits to them and placed it on the edge of the okra. –Tell your mothers I got more where this came from, and then some. I turned to leave but stayed in place. Man oh man was it hot. A hundred and twenty degrees if it was fifty. And it was fifty, believe me. So therefore it was a hundred and twenty. Weird, I know.
I sneezed. Tiny cats came out my nose, landed softly on all fours, and ran to the corner drug store to pick up a prescription for Flomax. I could move again, and I did. I grooved and pranced and began to strut and fret but then paused. A terrible crash. Aluminum everywhere.
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Posted by hornblower
8 March 2009 ?
Friendzo and I are in a bind. He went to the bookie the other day and made a bet that the Second Coming would happen before this Tuesday, but we just got an inside tip that it’s not going to happen until Thursday. And the bookie’s not letting us change the bet, the giraffes are still in my basement, and Friendzo’s been eating Iam’s for a week and a half straight now. I’m worried about him. It’s not the money — he’s always got the trust fund to fall back on, lucky bastard — but I don’t know if his psyche can handle another loss. Ever since his Tom Clancy hunch fell through (he thought Clancy was going to get the Nobel the year Pinter won) Friendzo’s been erratic as hell, throwing his money around like a chimpanzee throws its shit. I just hope he calms down before Spring comes. Ah, Spring. Left and right, he calls me once and again and we bleed together, unified in days and nights and screens and tights.
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Posted by hornblower
6 March 2009 ?
Careful around the wildebeest this time of year, they get rowdy as hell, dropping bodies and throwing crazy fits. I took a ride around the sand dunes in my dune buggy, it was something else, let me tell you! Friendzo and I raced a little bit … you know how Friendzo gets. He was speeding like a cauliflower circus, oh boy! We came inside for some hot chocolate (poor choice! yowza!) and then headed over to Fordham University to catch the U2 in concert. We got there and the security guards were talking a bunch of raspy jive about IDs, so we flashed our press credentials to the 1996 Republican National Convention, and it was smooth sailing after that. Freindzo’s friend Gina goes to Fordham, so we met up with her in the bell tower of the big old Gothic building, Keating Hall. Man, what a dump! Reminded me of the bell tower we used to have in the old house, before my family moved to Mastodontown.
U2 played songs, but they were mostly using their instruments as pretend swords, and fighting each other. This was mostly the Edge and Adam Clayton, since Bono just has a mic and drums are kind of oddly shaped for a pretend sword fight.
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Posted by hornblower
4 March 2009 ?
Went to the A & P the other day to pick up some peach cobbler, but it was too heavy; had to get a muscly guy to do it for me. His name was Stringy Ladyfinger and he told me he was working on a book of poems. I told him I’d give it a look, and he handed me a basket of fruit and said It’s called Righteous Kill. I hope you like my poems. I told him that I thought that was a film, and he said Hey, you want the peach cobbler or not? and of course I did so I took him at his word and put the fruit basket in the back seat of my Geo Tracker and promised that I would look through the poems when I got home, after I took a swim in my cotton ball swimmingpool and dried off in my mushroom towelroom.
I have to say, Stringy’s stuff wasn’t half bad. Could’ve used a little help from http://alphainventions.com though!
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Posted by hornblower
4 March 2009 ?
Following, following, following,
cut in two to save the day
dream softer late frightened
And winter underbackwards
under foot and underwhelming
sounding into my backyard
It’s not too much to ask a man to stop
or call him what would be a third reply
and dream a hundred flying ducks above
a gliding gaggle shadowed by the sun
made shadows, silhouettes of every one
I can’t think more of what you told me
next year would be like. ONCE, once I counted
all the little vessels in your cheeks
and filled them all with blood, your own blood in your own skin. Skin.
Left out from uncertain future meeting places,
in a cold, exceptional turn of phrase
you buried in a second all I had and counted my head among the fallen.
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Posted by hornblower
