demiconversations, side 1

"She's flying she's lost in pencils at the moment.
At the rack.
Sit down I bid you sit down.
Lost in pencils. That's right.
Touched this cord and the contents of my desk settled.
The interconnectedness of all things.
Things. Yes. General Electric. Tony Randall.
Would you like some coffee.
No now she's wandering a season of death.
As if a funeral director.
As if a murderess.
A season yes of death.
One lump or two.
Could have told you that but I didn't. More fool you.
That particular situation is a bad bad mess.
To the nail.
Every man woman and child.
To the nail.
Progress report she's now approaching Trixie's funhouses.
F-U-N. H-O-U-S-E-S.
Trixie. Right.
Don't pick that one up. It's loaded.
Have you been listed. I could list you. I could put you on the list.
I've been for three years. On the list.
It's changed my life in a few minor ways.
The kind of junk mail I get. The people I run into.
The shows I see on TV when I flip channels randomly.
That sort of thing. Changed. Slightly but noticeably.
What can I tell you it's just the list.
More coffee.
She's almost here she's at quik finish school.
Two more minutes max.
Oh yes that's changed a lot too. I see things differently.
I notice the spaces around things more than the things themselves.
Things seem very solid and stable hence less interesting.
Uh huh too solid and stable.
And maybe this affects the way I see people. As things.
And maybe this affects the people I see.
O there she is. At the doorway she's bringing a machete.
You'd better leave. Back door's that way.
Nice talking to you."

© 1997-2001 Narciso Jaramillo first person index | dyslexikon | nj's face