we want it mechanical
but that’s a recent desire
(relatively speaking)
the easy truth is
that it’s a lyric, a line
break, an assumption…
neither this nor that
never one thing for too long
(relatively speaking)
you’re here now
and so am I
let us kiss under the wavering moon
let us understand nothing
They got wild chickens in Hawai’i
They got robot cars on Mars
They got luminescent fish in the deep
They got meat made out of veggies
They got talking frigerators
But they ain’t found a way to keep you close to me
No, they ain’t found a way
No, they ain’t found a way
They ain’t found a way to keep you close to me
Oh, I wish that they might
Find a way to ground your flight
But they ain’t found no way that keeps you close to me
They got dogs that speak to humans
They got kitties using toilets
They got pills that make the sour things turn sweet
They got doorbells always watching
They got facial recognition
But they ain’t found a way to keep you close to me
No, they ain’t found a way
No, they ain’t found a way
They ain’t found a way to keep you close to me
Oh, I wish that they found
Some way to keep you hanging ’round
But they ain’t found no way that keeps you close to me
Yeah, they got pillows that play music
They got millions of flavors
They got light to whiten up your crooked teeth
They got islands getting drowned
And they got countries a’fire
But they ain’t found no way that keeps you close to me
No, they ain’t found a way
No, they ain’t found a way
They ain’t found a way to keep you close to me
Oh, I wish that they would
Find a way to keep you here for good
But they ain’t found that way to keep you close to me
They ain’t found a way to keep you close to me
They ain’t found a way to stop you being free
No, they ain’t found a way to tell you how to be
They ain’t found way
Never gonna find a way
That might make you stay
They ain’t found a way to keep you close to me
I never knew a sweeter melody
Than the one that called me home
I never knew the mind of god
Except when I was stoned
I never knew the rain would fall
Until the drops darkened my coat
Now I’m telling you a secret
The only secret that I know
I never felt the rocky path
Underneath me when I roamed
I never thought to hold your hand
While you were standing close
I can’t forget the way you looked
Traveling down that road
So now I’m telling you a secret
The only secret that I know
I never had a single care
I never stopped, I never slowed
I never wanted anything
Except to hear you say, “Don’t go”
I never shed a single tear
Least that’s how the story goes
And now I’m telling you a secret
The only secret that I know
A selection of 365 short bits, extracted and compiled from various studio writings, notebooks, voice memos, letters, stories, and essays.
Quite enjoyable and amenable to your on-the-go lifestyle.
I only wanted eyes of gold and a smile made of diamonds.
You only wanted to not grow old and keep your soul a’shinin’.
You did not need another life to fill your broken heart.
You watched the old man in the moon for signs that you should start.
The old man’s voice was soft, though he was a good-for-nothing bastard.
You kept clinging to the past as though it’d help you heal much faster.
So soft that moonlit voice, like a rope of silk and satin.
When the old man spoke, you shook and could not say what happened.
The moon revealed, “There are many people like you in this crumbling world.
They don’t care for their future, thinking all is double toil.”
“Don’t mistake me for a man, lest I take your only life.
Don’t mistake me for a man, lest I take you for my wife!”
You said, “As long as you shall light me, I’ll forever be just fine.
Your pale caress will be enough to corral my wandering mind.”
“And even if I lose control some nights from here to when,
Regrets will never stop me from standing with you here and then.”
This story is about the last time your brother went to Pizza Hut. He had a Stuffed Garlic Knots Pizza, Cinnamon Sticks, and a Pepsi-Cola 4-Pack.
He lost his appetite (though the pizza tasted just fine). It was simply way too late. Pizza Hut had closed right after he left. The game was over.
He walked down a darkened street, past rows of boarded up warehouses, then finally into the darkness.
In this retelling, we will refer to one of the dark and deserted warehouses as the “Stuffed Garlic Knots Pizza House,” one of many restaurants and stores to close in downtown Dayton that year.
According to a story in the Dayton Daily News, the closure of Stuffed Garlic Knots Pizza House was blamed on “low inventory and sluggish service.”
I was walking around Downtown Dayton trying to catch a good photo of this particular restaurant. I was just about to start shooting when a customer inside yelled, “Hey, how do you know I have knots on my pizza? Did you have some of my pizza?”
So I told my boyfriend about the knot pictures I had taken, and of course he wanted to know how to get some for himself.
He went on to tell me that he had a friend, and that friend had a friend who could take out the knots from any pizza.
That friend of a friend came to our house. He took a small knot from each corner of the pizza on our wall and lay them out onto a piece of newspaper.
Once I got the pictures developed, I tried to find a photo of the knot-slicer, but there wasn’t a photo of him anywhere.
In a messy kitchen drawer, I found the Knots from Stuffed Garlic Knots Pizza House that had I taken from Dayton. Now they hang from your brother’s rearview mirror.
Thanks to everyone for sending in similar pizza knot photos from your knotty pizzas and, as always, happy trails…
This story is about the last time your sister went to the Burger King. She had a Single Pretzel Bacon King, cheesy tots, and a Mello Yello.
Funny enough, it may very well be the final McDonald’s, this Burger King that your sister visited. It’s also, in some folks’ opinions, the home of the ultimate Single Pretzel Bacon King. That is one of those burgers you don’t care if it sticks to your gums or is crispy like a flauta. You can eat it with your fork or you can eat it with a spatula.
You sister is the most famous burger eater in the you ess of eh. She is considered one of the best people for eating a single pretzel bun burger in three bits.
The only other restaurant that I can ever remember in my life that had a pretzel bun burger was the cafeteria at my high school.
What you are seeing here is a screenshot of that place.
[redacted]
I recall that time. It was a Friday and, being from New Jersey, pretty much what I expected for a cafeteria serving McDonald’s-like food. There was probably about 300 people there during a lunch break, as opposed to the 400 that a typical cafeteria serving McDonald’s-like food got on a Friday afternoon.
The menu consisted of hamburgers, fries, vanilla milkshakes and chocolate milkshakes. And chocolate-vanilla milkshakes. I got the Double. They had the McChicken-like Sandwich which, if you don’t know, is a chicken sandwich. A chicken sandwich is a chicken breast on a bun with some lettuce and mayonaise. Mayonaise is oil and egg whipped to a creamy dream.
You know that thing you get at a Wendy’s restaurant: “Big Macs”? Well, those are what your sister calls a “Big Pretzel.” She loves the Single Pretzel Bacon King. It is a one of a kind segwich. It is something I am sure she loves like a puppy or a rainstorm.
There are other single pretzel burgers in my state but the Wendy’s Burger King McDonald’s one is the most special.
At that place, you can get a Big Mac and a milkshake. You can also get chocolate milkshakes but a few of the milkshakes have not a single pretzel within them. They’re just one-sided, no-emotion milkshakes. You’ll never have a milkshake that looks more like one you would get at a Starbucks than this one. It’s a miracle.
The Single Pretzel isn’t even the best burger your sister ever had. She was a fan of the McDonald’s in Hawaii in 2007, you know the one. In Hawaii. In 2007. There, she had a cheeseburger bun blended with a chocolate milkshake. Also, there’s this McDonald’s in Las Vegas. They have a burger made by a guy who worked at the very first McDonald’s. He is always like “Hey guys, are you ready to try my new burger idea yet?”
And, so, I guess for whatever reason, everyone in Vegas always says, “Sure, we’ll try it,” to make the old man happy. It’s Vegas. They like to gamble. They like older humans. They like to eat new kinds of burgers. They like to party.
This tale is about the last time your mother went to the Kentucky Fried Chicken. She had chicken and a biscuit.
She grabbed a biscuit out of the biscuit machine, shook it up like a pair of lucky dice, wolfed it down, then got into her car and drove away, as if she had not been there. She left her bucket of chicken on the pickup counter.
Your mom is a total animal.
She didn’t often eat chicken. She mostly liked to eat seeds and berries, but she hated that she had to eat them indoors because the birds overhead would swoop down and eat them when she stepped outside.
She liked to be in traffic, and I recall your mother driving halfway up the street and poking her head out of the car window every few minutes.
She hated the smell of the chicken. I remember her being embarrassed to tell you it was her least favorite thing because she didn’t want you to feel bad for smelling like chicken yourself.
Sometimes she was embarrassed about her love of chicken. Once a month, on second paydays, she would bake chicken for dinner. It was the only time in the month that she could take the time to do so. Otherwise, it was to the KFC.
She would bring her own spoon to the table during meal times and just get down with a spoon at her homemade chicken dinner.
I was born in 1987 and I lived with your mom (not my mom, or the one she was with when I was born).
I was four when your mom took me and my brother to a chicken farm run by a woman named Linda, who later married my friend’s dad (another cousin of yours who I also spent a lot of time with when we were younger).
Your grandmother was the head of her own restaurant. She had all of your aunties, siblings, and cousins in the restaurant serving the food and cooking the food and cleaning the joint. I’m not sure of the name of the restaurant. It was probably “Elle’s Chicken”.
There, your mom learned to love chicken.
My mom didn’t even want to talk to me.
The old woman,
with gnarled hand,
passed the dark vial
over the threshold.
Inside the fount,
a rank substance, vile,
terrifying the young boy
whose hands gripped it tight.
The giving of the vial
was the final sign
that the old woman
was about to die.
The boy stood
at the door, crying
with his eyes wide open.
The boy
had a bandage
on the top
of his head.
The old woman,
with tall body
and large scar
crossing her face,
her gauzy, grey eyes
focused on forgetting.
She pulled the bandage
off of the boy’s head.
From the foul wound
protruded a string.
The old woman pulled
the thin, wispy string
and the little boy cried
aloud in dismay.
She pulled at the string
until a small, silver stick
came out of his head.
It was a rare instrument.
“You’re supposed to play it
just once, fair and free!”
the old lady shouted
with authority.
“I can’t possibly
be responsible
for any mishaps!”
The boy was frightened,
yet he dare not make a move.
“You’re supposed to play it now!”
she frantically yelled,
“Stop wasting time.
Play or die and play well!”
The young boy stared
helplessly
sobbing,
shaking, unsure.
And when he looked up
at the woman once more…
Such an old woman,
with her grey, saucer eyes
and what frightening grin
came then to her face.
The young man stared
in salt-stained disbelief.
She was so beautiful,
his talented wife.
So he played the silver stick
and he played it some more
and he left the little boy
crying there at the door.
Who puts the teeth into the flesh?
Who puts the smile onto the death?
Who puts the life into the bloom?
Who puts the rebirth into the doom?
We have to do
all the work
in the face
of the inevitable.
You were given a number,
and you called your ship
and told the officers
that if they got any closer
you’d jump overboard.
In truth,
you had already jumped
overboard.
You had taken off your clothes
and splashed into the Baltic.
You made your way
to the south
of the North Sea.
There you found
a fishing trawler
with three men inside,
suffering injuries
from explosions,
which they were trying hard
to repair.
You helped them
swim in the cold water
hoping the salt
might cure their wounds.
But it was too late.
They would not make it.
When I heard the news,
I started to sew.
I had worked
sewing garments
since I was 15 years old.
I never had a real job
in seamstresses’ houses,
but I had learned to sew
in a cottage industry.
(A cottage industry
is a group
of independent workers
who take their livelihood
very seriously.)
It doesn’t matter
if there is no money in it.
My parents were so proud
that I became a seamstress
that they bought me a house
and a sewing machine.
I was only allowed
to make just enough money
to eat
and to feed my mother,
who was suffering
from chronic ailments.
It was December.
There was a war going on.
A war with everyone in it.
