mumble, mumble, crunch, made with… crunch, mumble, lard! from mumblelard who can be reached via gmail
lot of ten gavels charged with one final decision each or happy sunday imaginary constructs this estate sale was small, the deaths undiscovered for too long to salvage almost anything in the house. only three rooms were open with the back of the house still held behind thick plastic airlocks that muffled the rumbling industrial airfilters inside i put a new alternator in my car this week. the old…
“no, you’re a faceless scream with a body made out of melted records!” last night, i slept so deeply, i thought it was friday again i dreamt of frying eggs in a wok made of white porcelain, and i dreamt of working an entire shift building stoves in the stove factory this morning, i parked in front of the funeral parlor and walked up stone mountain with a thirty pound backpack. it…
rest, kiss, kill or rage is a hat
last night i dreamt of a turtle with six leathery grasshopper legs. i dreamt of a strong woman, wearing a kerchief, standing on the edge of a dark forest, waving me closer. i dreamt of a large hall, filled with people who couldn’t remember their names today, for lunch, i sautéed collards and four kinds of peppers from the neighbors garden with some last little bits of roasted pork shoulder…
ninety-four percent busted glazing central air
resigned frustration tolerant love patience or manifestations of my familiar
over the garden waltz or to make fast, as in waves i dropped the punks at the airport, now i’m going to read in the shade at the cemetery until the heat takes over. i thought i was going to ramble for a bit but the brick paths are already hot through the soles of my shoes
gratuitous picture of your native north georgia candy roaster friday
grabbing onto the native purple passionflowers to keep from fallin g off the edge of the world or happy magnetar’s thor’s dag imaginary constructs
tonkotsu collards with sweet garden corn
never harm the helpful animals
eight and four-tenths minutes
my ultimate dream before walking this morning involved the actual tree-man transforming into a hydrant of gelatinous effluxes so calling it boschian really requires capitalization or happy it’s-actually-friday friday imaginary constructs i’m not sure if that affected my dreams, but boba was sick sometime overnight. she ate her breakfast and purred this morning, so i’m choosing…
last night i dreamt of three people, about to pull out of the antique store parking lot in an old french sedan with too tall windows, when they realized their fourth passenger was a fuzzy pink animatronic shark with jagged metal teeth. i watched them pin it against one side of the car with their feet as its jaws began to snap for menacing purchase on any part of their legs
we had hours of heat lightning last night before the rain finally arrived
she keeps running straight to that old guy’s porch as soon as i let her outside and he does not like it or false contrition your name is boba i’m working on a theory that cooking movies are more like sports movies than they are like artist movies my new morning coffee reading time book is the most recent edition of moby dick that i found. it’s a norton critical editon from…
the second friday after the first new moon after aphelion or i want to be a turkle when i grow up i dreamt of climbing the pine trees with too high branches. the cracks between the bark deep enough to get a toe hold going up. the feeling of skinning back down the trunk with feet squeezed against the trunk just so. angled to slow against the bark but not stop. raw hands. the look of the tree…
look out kid or the subterranean gelatinous zooplankton ephyra blues
and then we might finally be home last night, i was out late at the wombo show with finn and fall. i didn’t get nearly enough sleep, but my brain doesn’t have that marinated in battery acid feeling today. it would have been worth it anyway, it was a great show, but i’m glad i’ve still been able to do all the things today
i quit trying to keep up with this patch i was looking for one particular song from my memory when i wandered into a pile of field recordings full of the old preaching. found myself grinning at the energy and noise of it all, remembering how riled up they would get at those hot summer tent revivals when i was a kid. sneaking off and sitting by myself on the edge of the woods. still close enough to…