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Hurricane Wilma & Kim Kardashian


Look, seriously, right now I’m trying to think and instead I hear tv noise.

It’s terrible.

I feel my brain getting less electric.

All I hear is this guy talking, and I can’t believe I’m hearing his voice.

He’s talking about him being selfish.

He married her and all of a sudden millions of people are exposed to his ball-dropping stupidity.

I think my balls have dropped.

My dog holds better conversation than this guy who plays basketball and is married to Kim Kardashian.

Fuck Kim Kardashian for making everyone ridiculously unenlightenend.

Kim Kardishian is trapped in trappings.

Kim Kardishian is a surname.

Because of her we have nothing to be thankful for.

I put on headphones and turn up some music that is sung in a language I can’t understand.

It’s time to remember how I was contained in a bunker, waiting for a hurricane to come and smash everything around me.

From above, from aerial, there was ocean and then land and then where I was.

No one wanted to be there. No one was envious. But I was there. Along with some others.

The song is too good to let pass. I hit the backward button and let it start again. Like renewal, I write from the same origin.

Oh my gawd. I hear the music. All I want is a sweater from Iceland. One of those Icelandic sweaters. I will find one in Goodwill tomorrow. I will buy it in bulk and I will wear it every day for the rest of my life even though I’m not Icelandic.

But I’ve read Laxness. I’ve read Laxness. I know what it’s like to live under a roof made of grass.

Sod roof. Grass roof.

There are some things that do put me closer to the nectar.

I can vouch for it. I’ve been there many times. And the nectar is sweet, like a living thing growing inside you, like the greatest miracle.

The hurricane was roaring up the Atlantic, straight into South Florida, and I was bunkered in a house, waiting for contact.

I had no bottled water. No generator. No canned food.

It was just me and a bunch of other people bunkered down in the house that no one wanted to be inside.

Across the nation families sat in front of their tvs and watched the hurricane spin up the alley.

Most shook their heads in lament. Some passed out drunk before their tvs, too tired from the day’s work and too preoccupied with the sound of tomorrow’s alarm clock.

I was inside that house.

When the hurricane hit it was something unexpected.

A spaceship entered the house. It looked like something right out of Star Trek. It looked like something right out of Back To The Future. It had writing on the side. It was put together and tattered.

This was the eye of the hurricane, a tattered spaceship.

While everything around us got broken into splinters of what was, this eye sat inside our house and sat still.

No air moved. No trees shook. The shingles stayed on the roof.


Then veins of electricity rooted through our bodies.

All of us were singeing.

It was a great convulsion.

But I learned from this. I adapted.

Clamping my hands on the underside of a table’s rubber legs, I lifted myself into a handstand.

The next time electricity spiked down from the spaceship it didn’t disturb my lifted body.

Many people died.

It was sad.

They didn’t get to witness the mouth of the spacehship drop.

A queen emerged.

She had tubes sprouting from her head and skin made of grey.

She sang to the few of us who remained. Not many.

A voice with soul even though she probably had nothing inside her.

After each verse there came another attack.

After each attack more of us died.

And then another verse full of soul.

I thought about Thursday night pizza and beer.

I thought about rain stippling the ocean.

I thought about feeling good.

And then I didn’t hear the next verse.

December 15, 2011 11:02 pm

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