limp doll

this bright white box is like a question at the dinner table directed suddenly at you, your mouth is full of broccoli, and your table mates aren't related to you -- in fact you've just met, and you want them to like you.

writing about writing. off limits. grasping for the politically correct, throwing it out, for the birds. crumpled up answers, capping the impulse to make an unrecognizable sound and slide like a limp doll to the floor, writhe about, and eventually be excused. instead, i'll maintain composure, even if if it is if it is if it is ordinary.

lamplight. hot metal cage holds flammable bulb -- restrains it from getting any ideas, from aspirations to swallow up the entire room with its self-important glow. shake shake shake, wake, shake shake shake. we are laughing, just breaking up the waves.

turn it over, warm hay in the sand, perfect day for baking bricks. forgot that bag on the train, sent it to berlin with a note to please return. while we waited, i tried my first wienerschnitzel, and eavesdropped on an accented conversation that twisted my imagination like a plastic top from a happy meal. happy red plastic in a plastic bag, whirling wildly, what could it all mean?

then we went back to the train station...how robbed had i become? absentminded travelers, yes, we have you covered. come to our dark bunker, it doesn't even smell the way you'd expect it to. no food, no beverage, nothing to indicate the omnipresent switchboard conductors and shiny button pushers weaned from the benefits of sunlight.

we all start out speaking nonsense. we tack words together idiotically, but when you're small, toothless and bald, it's cute. so starting out, learning how (again) it is much the same. we abuse chopsticks on accident, stabbing the meat in frustration. we stack books to reach glass collectibles on high shelves, we tip toe on linoleum to swig ant killer undiscovered, we smash weenies with piggy fists and toss them to the floor -- someone is there to clean it up later. we fall asleep face down in our spaghetti...our logic is simple: i'm tired. i sleep.

dipping into memory before memory pushed record...we got away with so much more. we were small -- unpoliced -- short enough to weave through crowds unrestrained, stomp on toes, pilfer candy, and be perfectly inadequate. whatever we produced was great, perfect, we got stickers. we used to fib when convenient, truth tell when it was inappropriate, and wonder if the moon was a girl or a boy. we used to decorate our hair with chewing gum, run when we were supposed to walk, and eat fat boys by the box.

then our bodies got bigger, and our brains outgrew their bloomers.