hot stove

Description

*Original text can be found in Stray Dog Almanac, volume 1. *Shot & edited by Sam Parker "Red Herring" by Daniel Scott Parker The artificially-scented candle is having an existential meltdown in the turned corner of my disheveled room, and I start to think, which is usually a bad sign and likely how I learned the good taste of whiskey. Last week I went to the grocery store and ran into the guy that used to pour us boots of beer those golden Tuesday afternoons when you called movies films. He's changed a little bit, but he's just an honest thespian making a try at living, and I respect that. The night I met you, you were a perfect middle grey and I wanted only to cut your graphite blue silhouette from Fellini's flickered filmlight falling to slouch on the couch behind us. Meanwhile there are Italians in white Gucci karate suits doing Hombu-doju and the stars are very starry tonight. Once I knew the heaviness of having pictures of another man's wife. Think about that the next time you think no one recognizes you in the check-out lane. Once I saw an old man step on a shiny spot in the pavement and trip. I was riding in a taxi to the airport with my mother who had cancer and asked if it ever snowed in Rome, as if weather were the easiest thing to talk about before departure. Learning to tell time Einstein compared a beautiful girl to sitting on a hot stove, which is why they call it relative. All I know about time is that peanut allergies were a thing of the nineties. Now we are on to more difficult menu substitutions. In terms of life and death I realized I was mortal the day that Walter Cronkite died. The fluorescence of his voice, gone, and the world sitting there waiting. On second thought, I guess it's true that clocks do tell a certain kind of truth, but then again, who doesn't. As a response to all the critics who dismiss certain rap artists as plagiarists I'd like to say that I believe there is something beautiful in the responsibility of borrowed words and Jesus dressing up in human bones and skin that I can't fully understand but would like to. I'm getting away from the point. Somewhere I read that falling in love is being sawed in half on stage and then walking away in a sparkling evening gown. Somewhere in San Gimignano I drank too much. But whatever. It's amazing how different people look upside down! Do you ever contemplate a plot of land in Indiana? I mean the coldness of the seams, like knife wounds. I have never been to Indiana but would like to if I could go with you and I would like to apologize to anyone who is still allergic to peanuts. I admit, it's true I really wouldn't know Walter Cronkite's voice if it sat down next to me at the bar with The Thespian pouring beers into boots and showing off his tattoos, but what I do know is the peacock is the expression of the universe. Apollinaire said that. What I mean by all this is that I hope you never think about anything as much as I think about you.