Showing posts with label Hobos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hobos. Show all posts

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Puzzled

I have two identical remote controls, only one of which works. My bathroom fan sounds like a rock tumbler full of legos-jarring, if you're not used to it. I live on the only block of N. Monroe in town. It's like some sort of delivery Bermuda Triangle. Not one of the five clocks in my living room/kitchen is accurate to within even an hour. My house is one big booby-trap...Casa del Impossible.

I love it.

I'm going, going away. Up north to the sea and the Sound. It's good, I need to vanish, need to abandon the suddenly eerie events of my life. Dawn and Dusk and the Fiery Twilight. Too many cusps, not enough calendar. All is well, but all is weird. It'll do me good to go. I'll leave you a list.

Silverback Danny
Poisonfinger Pickles
Ephemeral Eddie
Fedonkulous Monk
Clamapple George
Tiny Toast
Skeetster Latefee
Chestnut McWhiskeyskirt
Noodles Pasta, the Hobo Ninja
Yurts Akimbo
Bathtub Midori
Jennie Emobreaker
Skullfucker Katie
Honky-Crotch Fingers
Aliza Three-Ovaries
Queequeg the 'Poonist
Nice Marmot Camino
Spookypants McFavors
Captain Lowjack, the Ginger Ninja
History's Greatest Muenster
Cinnamon Scream
Mr. Chartreuse
Squirrelball Wednesday, the Weirdo with the Beardo
Living Language Aaron, the Ladle King

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Arbitors and Abbatoirs

Well well. Pushing for a record in the month, as well as a century in the year. Plus, there's more of you all of a sudden (chatty motherfuckers too, aren't they?) and I'm compelled to mark the holiday.
So...nope, I got nothing. Which is not to say my days are smaller than normal-rather, they're markedly harder to describe. I might, for example, relate to you the story of my acquisition of a sort 0f creche-blanket, complete with a Negative Zone face. Or a short dialog betwixt myself and my favorite solipsist, or the brief bright moments I spent with some of my fairer coworkers today. Or something about vicodin. I might wax poetic about fucking vicodin. But to tell you the truth, I'm all worded out for the moment.

...

All Saints tomorrow, All Souls the next day. Come Saturday, I might need some looking after.