grey and greyer
1.
One Day,
The sun forgot to come up,
The day after, it was right there again.
2.
he’s like a talk show host; Radio. Laughs at his own jokes and uses the word “delightful” as if it where a screwdriver challenging a torque wrench to a pissing match. He believes in precision and sailboats but can never dig deep enough to get the dirt from under his fingernails. He ages his words like brandy and drinks them religiously. He’s a language alchy. He heads up a committee that determines the strength of arguments, even the most incidental are taken into consideration. If JFK was a Soviet, would him and Krushov be friends and then fall in love with the same girl and have a falling out?
The committee assesses values based on qualitative and circumstantial evidence and files it in cabinets shade coded along the grayscale. Special spectacles are used to discern the varying shades or grey and grayer. They are kept colorless to minimize irritability and quell personal conflict amongst the committee members. Radio Alchi scribbles on a stack of 3×5 index cards, kicking his cheeks around by virtue of madness and getting lost in limbic gyrations, drops his cards into manicured grey screening rooms.
3.
back in the den with Radio Alchi, P.H.D
Still drunk from last night.
Not me though, I don’t drink… I meant Radio Alchi. He’s a semantic whore. He wrote down Kings speech on those 3×5’s but dropped his briefcase on the way to work, messed up the order like any proper alchi.
Radio Alchi is a Birmingham bitch from a Birmingham radio bottle. Statistical cream pie would be known if by any other name.
While he is spurting like a wet clam, he gets right up on in his radio bottle, slugs on over to the thermostat and kicks off the a/c, cooking the air like a disease. His sweat coats the floor sand like on the beachside. Now this anatomical waterfall of a critical thinker eventually begins forming coherent words, though still mostly soaked in radioalchi bi-product.
“to solve a problem” he says two breaths short of abrasive, “you must be a critical thinker.”
Radio Alchi announces this over the bands… as those words make their way onto the radiobottles sandbox, a pack of house rats commit a mortal sin and are excommunicated, un-infested. A power sprayer turns on its owner and winks before spitting his chrome off.
This cat calls himself left but keeps his toes in the conservative bathtub. He opens up the phones for “Dogma Chat” and thirty minutes full conversation take a swim in Radio Alchi’s sandbox… Radioalchi’s Sandbox.
4.
“and you, Garcia Lorca.”
I don’t know when Lorca was alive and frankly, I have no interest in incidental details. Some people transcend even themselves.
Would I humanize him if a contemplated his context?
Would I imagine the way his cheeks float over his jaw as he resonates what kind of voice? Would he be sitting in a chair or on a “Chair?”
For now he is Garcia Lorca. Would he be garcia in the wake of our aquintance?
The real question I would like to pose is this:
Would his grandeur wane in the incantations of his words if said every morning, like a waking prayer?
“And you, Garcia Lorca.”
Did Garcia Lorca travel to hate Lima in his Yage birth?
Did he stare from a fishing boat and sing dirty sailor songs, moving the bowels with it’s rhythm.
//Full story: Here (this is a PDF file. If your browser does not open automatically, right-click and do Save As)
–>mishamake