| || |
LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village
Interactive TV Engines receding in waves, like brightness or hunger or both on a 50 degree day in January the newscasters joke about trees budding, coasts flooding, and the giant horsefly smitten with my desk lamp. Kaity tells Jack that Blake wouldn't kill it, and Jack and I ejaculate simultaneously (but not in closed captioning), Thank God the cat's not Blake! And thank God we do, through a little nap that takes us to the next wave of commercials. As always, I interact with the actors, trying to draw out the drama as best I can with comments about pimples, chlamydia, and the best enchilada I ever had. Occasionally I get through, and one of them, say the man with distinguished glasses, walks back to the showroom with a decidedly unfamiliar stare. I plead with Blake to kill him, but she's got her hands full with the fly, the floods, the trees. Poetry has failed me again. What can I do but buy this man's car and recede in my own wave to someplace sane, to the showroom itself, a glass palace perched on the highest spot in Idaho, another place where my comrades and I can play king of hill until only one of us is left in the bunker.
Rick Snyder Index