Sippican Cottage

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Pro: Lee Michaels only has to share the paycheck with one guy.
Con: A Hammond organ is really heavy.

For Dorothy

They load them on the plane roughly, it seems to me. But that is the end of it. They are rough men with tender hearts steeled against their task. Leave them to us, now.

The men with wounds that won’t show later, except at the beach or to a lover, look sheepishly around them. Can you be ashamed to have all your parts? They look it. Their bandages are still pink, and they want to get up. Lie still. You’ve done nothing wrong.

I know many things about the inside of a man. I was trained to pull men whole from their mothers, like some Greek deity on a vase. They showed us the pictures in school of the parts meshing seamlessly, like a damp watch made by Einstein himself. When the doctors let us trail them around the hospital, finally, we saw the faces in the trim white beds whose watch ran a little fast, or slow, or made a bit of a whirring sound. What prepares you for the watch smashed, or plunged into the sea, or its hands pulled off? Nothing. The surgeons are in a hurry, always. I handed them the tools as they edit the men. They cannot write. It’s as if they are trying to see just what a man can lose, and still be a human man.

There are the bottles and pills and blankets to be attended to. Then I sit next to the worst of them, mummies still alive, lost to sight and sound. There is nothing to do but put my hand on their arm. It is the hand of every mother and wife and daughter and girlfriend and nurse and stranger I wield. Of every human woman that ever walked and talked. I know their face is just a smear on the back of the bandages, and it’s a long way to Okinawa. Let them feel our hand one more time.

Cottage (String) Cheese Incident

The String Cheese Incident. Fonkee!

We will overlook the crime of playing the bass with a plectrum, just this once.

All Those Day-Glo Freaks Who Used To Paint Their Face – They’ve Joined The Human Race

Pull the vocals out like a molar. Hire a phrenologist to find the bits of words under the pate, in the spots any medicine man would cut into first — yes, there’s the problem…

Anton Mesmer is your Human Resources director. Nikola Tesla is your roadie. Be as sophisticated as your library card and your livers will allow. Life is a banquet. It’s buffet style, so grab two plates, cut the line, and use your fingers. Dress like clerks. Sing of jerks. Make it work.

The sun is rising soon. Go home and hide.

Month: June 2010

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