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June 17, 2000

ANOTHER DAY - bamboo book

Another Day (Another Kamikaze)

...

What would we do without our toys?
Mummy has hers, and I have mine.
I am designed to pick up frequencies on the body somewhere.
Not sure why they call me a private.
And if the boss doesn't press the ear piece too hard I will keep the bugs from spoiling the picnic in their typical outbreak apology, experimental surgery, pigs for breakfast, slaughtering Enron, scattered branes.

The other toy is a transponder.
Nibbles the signals from the transmitter compresses it thru the rave stream the poles adds with another Star Wars re-run crippling speed-bumped human and noise, drive uneventful, coke cans.
Pretty fast drive anyway.

She slept a lot, she was not sleeping, mumbling something, mumbling.

We have got evidence, in case you need it, another buy-out, another tax cut.
The turn for the worse is negotiable, hairs like of deers at the blackjack table slow moving in water
with the elderly deep into condominium wars.
And what would we do without our toys?
Without the hotels,
our Cat-Bs,
the little black meters,
our cold oil crack cans?
She stands by the bike on the sandstone he is starring at the kids awaking with the socks and shaking and heading to the shoreline making the corridors an aisle of fangs down Egalitarian Age naked pizza and pizza eaters.
The solar cells can keep it running for long time. What would we do without our toys? Our broiled steaks, our Oreo rations, the x-ray machines, downloadable audios.
Buy off Saddam for the credit card bill and tennis lessons and shopping somehow we got started auctioning and Leslie and Family Services and Molly married four months later in a Star Trek re-make running off of bandwidth with my account in Maui.
The kids are calm and happy
unloading the Rover in the dying sun in the backyard,
I am tense and angry.
Some mild beatings somehow with the gangs got started I sat down in her office I turned on the system, she slicked on the carpet and we heard of exchange.

We can protect you from terror and we can protect you from pains and protect you from self we can not protect you from secondary relatives.
Fields of onion rings, popcorns, white feathers, chickens breasts, selenium arsenate, ammines.
I wish next will sound like a real thing gazing at the green hills humming fair, quiet and flakey as in a movie, I wish for screaming and cursing and down in a blue pie yonder on a scrap of paper never too far close but out of sight.
Stepperton and Pleasanton and Dublin all smiling at Jim that lies on her lap as usual, and she works away, doing things I will never understand.
Birds flying.
When we go to the house, I check the kitchen table and refine our strategy.
I got to know these streets really well.
Nothing.
Vodka.
Nothing.
It will work like a charm I said, shaking my head.
It has been done before.
I squinted,
I smiled.
They wont turn me down.
What would we do without our toys?
Our midnight toll boot run,
our firemen,
our television,
our pasta salad,
our little woes,
our skyscrapers,
our neighbors.

© Fortunato Caragliano

Posted by lck at June 17, 2000 05:14 PM