Labor Day story today. Booooooooooooring, but necessary. Last news meeting. And holy moly, guy just walked by with a very unfortunate rip in his pants and smelling of wholesome dirty things like garlic and 100% cotton clothing woven on looms made from driftwood by women with mud in their hair and sandals on their feet who are white but wish they were not, who make finger paint art and tell us Love not War but who know very little about either although they do know about lust and where babies come from.
There I go judging again.
He has a black notebook, pages held in place with a black band. When I see these notebooks I wonder what's really inside of them. They are constructed to make us think of poetry, Great American Novels - 1st Draft, and plans for beautiful objects like dirigibles. But probably what's really going on is a shopping list or a diary (the spiteful kind that isn't even constructed in complete sentences) and to do lists.
I don't know. Maybe he's legitimate. Maybe he's a genius. Maybe he should find a new pair of pants.
---
EDP went out on Monday: FEAR OF NEEDLES I feel like this is a fear that should never be mocked. It is healthy and right and good.
No comments:
Post a Comment