I design a tee shirt that is really a giant bloodstain. Every tee shirt is different. A white button down, business like, with a large red, dark, almost soy sauce looking stain over the left pectoral muscle. Everywhere I walk people turn and look.
A hole in the top of my house where I can stick my head through, and just feel the wind blow. First washing all of the yuk out of my mind, then like the roots of a maple tree, that good clean feeling makes its way down to the rest of my body.
Come up with an idea to design beer bottles that look like six shooters. It is a success so I come out with a whole line that includes, colt 45’s, glocks, Uzi’s, and shotguns, and name them after dead people. “Hey I will have a Kurt cobain” every time someone takes a sip it looks like they are really trying to forget the day. Eventually someone is drinking outside a 7-11 and is gunned down by the police. It sparks a giant public debate. The cops don’t want to take the blame so they blame me. Blame me.
I live in a city where I never touch the ground. There are swimming pools and bright lights, and gyms and bars. All 45 plus stories up in the air. Eventually it gets a little nerve racking. I want to touch a tree, I want to walk on the earth, but then I look out the window, over this sort of central park like thing, which extends my view, and I notice the thousands and thousands of skyscrapers and think to myself “all those people, all those good times going on in all those buildings, all the things I will never see.”
I am driving through Aberdeen. Why Aberdeen? Why not, I am just trying to get through it, never stop and hang out. Why would I? There are so many adults just walking around. They should be driving, but they have DUI’s or their cars were repossessed, or seized after meth raids. I pull my car over at Safeway, and pull out the “1985” tee shirt that I bought just for her. I was going to wear it and be “new.” A new me, a new idea. But she never showed up, so I just said fuck it, and pulled over and put it on right there in the parking lot. No need not to change.
I throw my arm out on a giant hook. Like a cannon ball arching itself towards earth-gravity. I completely miss the point. It is all about connection.
I live in a library and steal cars to get around.
My cell phone goes off… and I turn and look at everybody in the room and say, “you got to love classical music”
I am out on some boardwalk, no it is a pier. I first look out at the ocean blowing itself up into infinity then turn around and look at all the houses that line the beach. Great big houses. The beach is the lip and the houses are the teeth that I don’t relate to, and would rather eat me. A machine that I don’t understand.
I throw my fear around for everyone to hear.
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