Titantic

The tip of the iceberg. That's all you'll ever see.

P.S. Happy one year school anniversary to me.

Neon Stools

Sitting alone in the quite and empty room I began to wonder. Do neon colors make me feel younger?
Are hot dogs with soggy buns and preserved toppings the banner of a bygone era?
Why is there no background music?
Does this business even make money?
Maybe it's just a front.
I want a beer.
No, I'm going with coke.
I hate coke.
No, I only hate what it is not what it stands for.
I want the style of coke without the sugar - make it diet?
No, that's girly, besides I want some sugar. It's not like I'm having a salad.
Although pickles, onions, and tomatoes are kind of like a salad?
No, no, they're not.
Hmm.
Does this define my innocence? My childhood?

I used to eat hot dogs only with ketchup. Yet, oddly enough ketchup is the only condiment missing from my 'meal'. Is all this thinking bad for digestion. I know eating alone is. Mercy! Can't I just be ignorant? Can't I just be happy and eat my hot dog.

All the while the neon colored stools are staring at me like little children left out of the fun. The sound of the gas burners and refrigerator fans steadily hum. The woman at the counter carefully cuts onions for people never to come, and I want to cry. Not because of the onions.

I order another hot dog. Everything on it. But there's no ketchup - shame. This time the relish is too sweet and the bun annoyingly soggy; now that I think of it, so was the first. I don't regret this decision yet, but I will. And those damn neon stools. I want to chop them down like trees. Yet, somehow they are comforting, somehow they are me. It is not that I resent my knowing. I resent it being so to be known.

Why oh, why did money win? And who the hell is Casper?

I've been driving around for hours now, maybe I should go home.

Artist: Great Lake Swimmers

Album: Ongiara
Year: 2007

I was lost in the lakes
And the shapes that your body makes
That your body makes, that your body makes
That your body makes

The mountains said I could find you here
They whispered the snow and the leaves in my ear
I traced my finger along your trails
Your body was the map, I was lost in it

Floating over your rocky spine
The glaciers made you, and now you’re mine
Floating over your rocky spine
The glaciers made you, and now you’re mine

I was moving across your frozen veneer
The sky was dark but you were clear
Could you feel my footsteps
And would you shatter, would you shatter, would you

And with your soft fingers between my claws
Like purity against resolve
I could tell, then and there, that we were formed from the clay
And came from the rocks for the earth to display

They told me to be careful up there
Where the wind blows a venomous rage through your hair
They told me to be careful up there
Where the wind rages through your hair

Breakfast

As I opened my hand survey the bunch of almonds I had drawn from the bag, one in particular struck me as odd. For a moment I was puzzled; how could an almond be shaped so? It was as if it had grown inside-out. Only after a moment of contemplation (over the shape and if I should choose to eat it) did I realize that the concave form the almond displayed was in fact created by another almond nestled against it, sharing one shell.

What became of the other? I reached back into the bag to pull out another handful of almonds hoping that in my selection would be the other half. It was not. Had I eaten it already? Did it end up in a crate being shipped across the country to meet its fate alone?

Suddenly frustrated by my emotional attachment to a nut I quickly threw the concave almond in my mouth and ate it. It was good. It tasted the same as any other, but there was a slight difference in the way it broke under the pressure of my teeth. Again I began to personify the food. Understand that it is not such a stretch to do so, after all it was once a living organism. Our best scientists agree that living things of all sorts share some form of communicative energy.

Despite this I wonder: where is my almond companion? When were we separated? Did we once share the same shell?

Oh, media naranja, where are you?