Monday, August 22, 2005

farewell moog...

moog is dead. the premiere sound upon learning was an internal synth wail. oh lamentations. the passing marked by theremin and ondes. and moog of course. how strange to be sent off by an instrument of one's own design.

at my father's urging am reading islandia. currently page 541. it's pretty enjoyable as a matter of fact. he frequently urges. but i don't frequently have time. he forgets what it is to live among the unretired. he reads from sun to sun with little pause. eat. drink. chop wood. open windows. close windows. maintain the property. but mostly staked to a small lamp's cast. often nods in his chair. drags off to bed in the wee hours. i suppose where i've inheritted the trait.

sometimes there's nothing i like better than the clumsy shuffle of two people meeting in a corridor. whether i'm one of them or not. who finally steps aside. there's no outstanding etiquette.

i never know what to wear. on one side of the hill it's cold. on the other hot. or vice versa. which means every day is coat weather. layers layers layers. because there's no telling.

we've discovered a new pear across town. brown and slender pears. the whole grass wide full of them.

the lions club was having a meet in the hall. across the street i saw a woman in her window staring at them. i stared at her. eyes met and she hurried out of the yellow. across frame. wearing obscenely small short pants. i hoped for the mercy of night blindness. a lion in the dark car park laughed like a failing compressor.


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