The little man said to the monster:

I come from a terrible place.

We tear ourselves inside out for something

the world may love,

then base our worth on that.

- Paul Madonna, All Over Coffee

(image by Don Kenn)

Rat Neuron on Microchip

C'est Une Image Statique

Best Indictment of Suicide in a Novel

From Vladimir Nabokov's Look at the Harlequins!:

"I have never experienced the least urge to commit suicide, that silly waste of selfhood (a gem in any light)."

There was a bird on the sidewalk. Plump and glasseyed, like a stuffed thing. I thought it such, until I got close enough to see that it was breathing fast and faintly.

Its feathers were sand colored with a like texture. Not meant for the snow and the city.

It was a plover of some sorts. How I knew that escaped me.

(Later it would come to me—in my parents house above the toilet is a framed painting of various New England shore birds. Apparently I had, dick-in-hand, unconsciously digested that information, useless and unnoticed until then.)

I wondered at how it found itself there. Without thinking I reached out a hand to touch it.

The bird sprung to life but only shortly. Flew straight into a glass door no more than six feet in front of it, connecting with a sad thump.

It danced a fluttery, broken dance. There are no metaphors for a broken bird. A broken bird is a broken bird.

* * *

Later, I tried calling around to see if someone could help it. It had seemed so rare and special there on the sidewalk. I thought there would be someone to call for such a thing. I thought I would describe the bird and specialists knowing of its rarity would rush through the night to save it.

But apparently, for such things at such an hour, there is no one.

Walking home from work late I passed two people having sex in a parked car. I walked by but only caught a glance because a man was passing me on the street and I pretended not to notice.

I turned right at the next corner and again. Walking down the parallel street I passed the man I passed earlier. I read his downturned face. We had both looped around the block so as to pass the car again.

I wondered at what kind of pervert he was as we recrossed paths next to that car.

The windows were very foggy by then and I dont know if the skinny bare back I saw belonged to a man or a woman.

WAVE HANDS IN FRONT

I was in Borders solely to take a shit. The man in the stall next to me was working very hard.

Every time I went to wipe my ass I would trigger the sensor and the toilet would flush automatically. The toilet flushed 5 times in total.

I gesticulated in front of the sink but got no reply and gave up. The hand dryer whirred to life as I passed it in exit.