"They went to a Japanese restaurant, a different one. The Japanese had invented female robots, that year, that danced with you, Andrew somehow knew. He had been to Japan before—once. He should be there now. He would walk on Third Avenue in Japan. There would be a Third Avenue there too. Robots would serenade him. “Japan is better than New York City,” he said. He didn’t want to elaborate. It would take forever to elaborate. Someone would eventually realize that the conversation was just a matter of semantics. Was there even a point to talking? “Never mind,” Andrew said. “I don’t know.” Not wanting to elaborate, that was the symptom of something—something bad. Andrew didn’t want to think about it. Maybe he should take anti-depressant medicine. (“Alfred would bring him anti-depressants….”) See a doctor, fill out forms, wait three weeks for it to ‘kick in’—too hard, of course. Why three weeks? Didn’t seem right. Should be gradual. Semantics, probably. ‘Kick in.’ Mark wasn’t talking anymore. It was March. March, Andrew thought. He sometimes felt that life was something that had already risen, and all this, the Jackson Pollack of spring, summer, and fall, the vague refrigeration and tinfoiled sky of wintertime, was just a falling, really, originward, in a kind of correction, as if by spiritual gravity, towards the wiser consciousness—or consciousnessless, maybe; could gravity trick itself like that?—of death. It was a kind of movement both very slow and very fast; there was both too much and not enough time to think. They were staring at their menus. They weren’t talking to one another anymore. They were acquaintances. They wouldn’t hang out anymore after tonight, Andrew knew. He would never see Mark again. Also, Mark would never speak again. The waitress came. They ordered but kept their menus—to stare at."
Story comprised of twenty sentences I like from L. Frank Baum’s ‘The Wizard of Oz’
They passed through the forest and came to a lovely, sunny land.
Jewels glittered in the sun.
The tiny woman pointed to the house.
"I see a cottage built of logs and branches.
Shall we go there?”
Next to the gate was a bell.
She ran to the door and looked out at the magical land.
She counted to three.
Bright sunshine came through the windows.
He went to a cupboard and took down a square green bottle.
"Sit down, my dear."
The daylight faded and the sky grew very dark.
That night they slept on the grass and looked up at the velvet sky filled with bright stars.
They found it difficult to sleep.
Tiny bells tinkled when they moved.
They saw a beautiful green glow in the sky.
The green glow became brighter and brighter.
He was lifted from the ground and thrown through the air.
In a few seconds she was whirling through the air so fast that all she could see or feel was the wind whistling past her ears.
The trees did not try to stop them.
"Certified," he said, miming a pump-shotgun motion then shooting it at me. "Boosh," he said, and stepped back a little from the imaginary recoil.
I touched my stomach with both hands then held both hands up and looked at them and said, “Fucking certified.”
And we both laughed some fake laughing for each other.
Then walked in different directions to different stock rooms to keep working on whatever we were supposed to be doing.
I thought about a wooden palette dropping on my head.
Poem comprised of one line* I like from each song on the Sparklehorse album ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ in the order they appear on the album [except ‘Little Fat Baby’; *two lines are single words, though ‘please’ is a refrain in ‘apple bed’]
it’s a wonderful life
little ambient in the sun
waiting for the jets to land
can you feel the rings of saturn on your finger?
i shut my eyes
i will return here one day
is your jewelry still lost in the sand?
I left it in the sun
I walked into a lake
the sound of your voice
built a fire in the kitchen