August 2009
45 posts
And offer our professional exterminators all the right problems.
I am seven and here I am. There are years between here and here.
Three years beside me. The dead were stuck were dead. Ten minutes before, the houses were all okay, she assured me. Just out of reach. Just there.
And more importantly at the very least that thing it’s quite a thing.
I lost my license to go through everything again. For other people, that sounded too good to be true, so I referenced my application and told them I tried.
I suggested not loving not taking serious. In another place in the map, my own map ran down the places we had our house had our house volunteered to make ends meet maybe as a short order cook. I don’t really know.
I am fourteen.
“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Bisaya.”
*locks door*
I am forty-nine.
“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Bi - Bicolano, bai.”
*locks door*
“Here we are, stuck by this river, waiting, always failing to remember why you talk to me from a distance,” I reply.
I hope this letter finds you. Please allow me a moment to grow under several excellent architects with complex detail and defining design furthermore.
I want.
A note said “a house,” not “a home.” As it was a house not some home. A house with a garden and trees and birds. It’s a beautiful house with moldings and stucco and murals and somebody died a brutal death there. The corpse still hidden. The carpet covering up. All the whatnot.
Many preparations. The men prepare for just one night. The women prepare whenever bells are ringing. My preparation is my sulk.
My eye for my sister. An inspired decision. A special something going on somewhere. Somehow sexier. Far far sexier. Whatever. I’m just happy I know what “chop suey” means.
And so the neighbors demolished the houses. They neglected the houses. So they demolished the houses. Maybe in the next year or so.
Another question: how does the work work? I’m still thinking of how to do it cheap.
And as soon as we find our cell phone signals on the brink of collapsing radio resonance our signals all collectively send and receive messages. “Maybe.” “We’ll see.”
The other revelation leaked black sludge and ruined gardenias. They kept it there for a week and then went to pick it up like it was brand new. It looked brand new. These guys do a good job of it, thinking of dinner.
I had to lie down for a while where I lost my cherry with my sister. That was a long summer.
And I have been meaning to drink haphazardly through the house. The house was wrecked. Everything of the house we neglected to fix. The inside of the house. The patio and deck. Everything was said and done.
Not only your home but experience of home. Your home a design for your home. Your home a design for your home.
Install the new foundation. Put in the new floor. It’s a job as jobs have to have.
Hundreds of households collapse. Millions of households silentlessly suffer. A clean house is certainly very sad. The most ideal.
I was about to leave the house when my phone rang. I ran to answer it intimately in ten minutes. “Wow, that’s great.” I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
And the game was a game. The dog crisscrossing the yard. The merry-go-around missing wholesale. Tree and landscapes bring it back to life. But first a life.
A few years ago it was early morning and for a few years, of course. Too good to be true, and that time, yes.
Later that week in between. And afterwards forget that which we’ll never forget.
And our shambles left to fend off for itself. We saw it in the morning half-eaten by some animal. Decapitated. Much to my delight. I was on the next plane back.
And I remember I was here.
I am seventy-seven and here I am. There are years between here and here.
And the first thing was the last thing.
