A world of frills

My muse isn't here yet. She's late again. Just give her a few minutes; I'm sure she'll be here soon. No, I can't just start. What do you think I'm some day labourer? I make Art: and Art can not be made to 'toe the line.' Just wait. You'll love it when she comes.Don't worry about her, she'll make it. There she is, coming through the door. Yes, I see it now. I know exactly what you need. What? No. This. Is. Art. Art doesn't need rules. It's stream of consciousness. This is now. If you wanted ease of understanding and concise work you could get some schmuck off the street. But you got me because you want high quality work. Work that gets inside you and works from the inside out. You wanted that visceral feel that not just everyone can give. That's because I'm not a professional. how many times do I have to tell you? I'm an artist. The run on sentences are intentional. No, the spelling mistakes aren't. This is just a rough sketch, I'll get someone else to correct it afterwards. Comma splice? Yeah, those are intentional too. You just don't understand. I need to get an audience that understands. Just be quiet for a minute. No, wait it's not working.I'm gonna chuck it. I'm finished. Come back tomorrow, maybe I'll be able to get you something then. No, I can't just write it. Just go.

Food television

The television blue, like gravy, flows over the face of the open mouthed drooling man. His saliva glands pump the viscous fluid until his mouth is full and overflowing. He breathes through the slightly open mouth in quick clean gasps feeding his pumping lungs and free flowing blood. He leans forward as the action on the t.v. crescendos and the chef slowly slides the food into her own mouth and lets out a low moan. NO physical needs were met, the man watching is not fulfilled, nor is the chef cooking the food. It is an act of anticipation; anticipation for an act that will never be done. Nothing meets the pure joy of anticipation, so in anticipation of anticipation the man watches distilling modern life into something palatable; for if nothing will satisfy then why try? Simply anticipate.

The free and easy life of a footloose tortoise

A tortoise crawls along barren dust, slowly moving to a destination only God and the animal itself knows. You can see each leg rise, push forward then drop to the ground. The claws dig into the dry soil, leaving ruts where the tortoise passes. Onward at the speed of life the tortoise crawls. Free to go where it will and trapped by it's destination, it always moves forward. If you wanted to you could outrun it, be where it wants to be before it gets there. You could pick it up and move it back five feet to watch it scrape itself over the same ground. And yet it will continue like an implacable force of nature. In the distance, a days walk for the tortoise, a short jaunt for you, lay lions watching the curiosity slowly draw closer. You can see one of the lies get to it's feet and walk over to the intrepid, moving shell. The tortoise hunkers down for the storm of teeth and claws. But not even this beast can stop the tortoise for long, for soon the lion loses interest in the plainly inedible animal, and the tortoise continues it's walk, implacable as an avalanche and free as a hobo, compelled forever on the razor edge of concentration.  Singleminded in it's dedication towards traveling, wherever that may be to; perhaps the perfect traveler.

Braindead @ sunrise: The life of a nightshift clerk

Sunrise from the wrong end of the day is an interesting phenomena: a combination of midnight tired and early morning cheer; an orange juice at midnight or a beer for breakfast. It confounds societal time slots. For a night on the town sunrise can add spice to the end of the night, a sign that you vanquished the black space of night, to the early riser it can act as a stimulant to push you into the day. But to the night worker sunrise is sunset: not quite the end of the but time to settle down with a beer and relax with the morning's traffic and a nearly useless weather report. Then the weekend comes and it's not the staying up that's difficult, it's the going to bed or getting up early enough to meet your friends for lunch. Suddenly a beer in the morning is fine but anything before three is a sign of real alcoholism taking hold. Or maybe that doesn't matter anymore.