I am friendly— as in dishwasher. As in shiny after a storm. But a million toddlers applauding themselves for learning to clap is the sound the rain is making and I’d hoped for a little more humility. I am friendly— as in conflict. As in be pompous in your interview and I will edit in an amplified recording of a lizard crawling on a guitar where your weird idea of flamenco once was. The lizard I’m thinking of is presently slinking off an amphitheatre’s stage via the space between a violist’s shoes to a red plastic path by the podium where a conductor’s head is glued to a score of three beats and one tune. I am friendly— as in tech. As in while I play the two notes I’ve been given I’m mentally drafting an email to initiate the pulling out of water a tree felled by weather. The tree may or may not obstruct the passage of a whale-themed ship. This may or may not be the best thing that could happen. The tree is friendly— as in storm. As in its trunk did well to weather the sky’s version of top-down power structures but honest enough to break under the force of big hubris. My spine was once said to be slightly too straight, stiff as a pre-dinner photo— menus out, everyone hungry-sober and wondering why they’re there. There there— we’ll be drunk soon, flinging the worst bits of ourselves we love most across the table and seeing what sticks. I don’t know if I’m growing up or down. Would you like some more Ravel? Is there something you’d care to offer on ‘Praise the Boss Day’? No thanks. Thanks no very much. The lizard is calling my name.
Boléro
Boléro
Boléro
I am friendly— as in dishwasher. As in shiny after a storm. But a million toddlers applauding themselves for learning to clap is the sound the rain is making and I’d hoped for a little more humility. I am friendly— as in conflict. As in be pompous in your interview and I will edit in an amplified recording of a lizard crawling on a guitar where your weird idea of flamenco once was. The lizard I’m thinking of is presently slinking off an amphitheatre’s stage via the space between a violist’s shoes to a red plastic path by the podium where a conductor’s head is glued to a score of three beats and one tune. I am friendly— as in tech. As in while I play the two notes I’ve been given I’m mentally drafting an email to initiate the pulling out of water a tree felled by weather. The tree may or may not obstruct the passage of a whale-themed ship. This may or may not be the best thing that could happen. The tree is friendly— as in storm. As in its trunk did well to weather the sky’s version of top-down power structures but honest enough to break under the force of big hubris. My spine was once said to be slightly too straight, stiff as a pre-dinner photo— menus out, everyone hungry-sober and wondering why they’re there. There there— we’ll be drunk soon, flinging the worst bits of ourselves we love most across the table and seeing what sticks. I don’t know if I’m growing up or down. Would you like some more Ravel? Is there something you’d care to offer on ‘Praise the Boss Day’? No thanks. Thanks no very much. The lizard is calling my name.