Body parts scattered like jacks across the Cypress hardwood. Three left arms, two right, a foot still in possession of its Achilles, a stocky thigh and the acute angle of a bent knee.
Roughly about $900,000’s worth of damage.
It would have been over a million if the curator at Ablemarle hadn’t collected Lover in Repose on Tuesday.
I put the fire extinguisher down. A ukulele had been my first choice, due to its proximity to my temper (and arm’s reach) but turns out ukuleles don’t so much break plaster as break on plaster. The strings now splayed like drunken manuscript, the third from the top still clinging to the fretboard, hoping for a second chance.
Probably not the only one hoping for a second chance.
The other is enroute from a post-commencement speech at UFL’s College of Fine Arts.
Everyone’s sorry when they’re caught.
Sorry. Sorry. SorrySorrySorry. Sorry. Sorry. SorrySorrySorry. Sorry. Sorry.
SorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorry SorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorry SorrySorry.
Overuse diminishes words to sounds, reducing them to mundane rhythms like a clock ticking or photocopier spitting out paper.
If it’s forgiveness he wants he should have paired up with a Catholic or a Buddhist, someone practiced or, at the very least, versed in the art of it. Not a spiritual fence sitter who reads the odd Sam Harris but still gets their palm read at town fairs.
Though, if I were in a bind and suddenly in need of a God, I’ve probably got enough spare limbs now to pull together an albino Ganesh. Their poor old branchless torsos bleeding a layer of fine dust onto every surface in the room, as if we have been left undisturbed for half a century.
Reminding me, this has all become a past.
Not a future together.
And I worry because I can feel dust in my throat, and I wonder if it will travel deeper, eventually finding my heart and render that an antique too. Does it get buried with all of this?
I pick up a confused shard of arm that has landed in a Doc Martin. A mirror-image of my own; the elongated tear-drop of an untoned tricep, leading to a surprisingly delicate elbow; the raised veins on the back of the hand, a detail noticeable only when my body reaches a certain temperature.
It must have been summer when he made that, a hot one.
All the hours you spent studying me.
Did I become work? Was that it?
Was there nothing left to explore?
Sculpture images from:
2nd (above): http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sad_Icelandic_sculpture-2.jpg
Portable Neck Pillow
Available in: Blushing Bagel (currently out of stock) and Misty Eyed.
A constant reminder that you’re travelling alone, the Rest-Max Sleep Mate© ensures you do not breach the designated boundary as listed on your seat ticket. Not even when unconscious.
A passenger aircraft is not King’s Cross as imagined in Harry Potter. There is no seat B9 and ¾’s.
If you have failed to make a significant connection to another human being, condolences, but the likelihood then, is that the warm body next to you is that of a stranger and therefore, not amenable to you leaning your head on their shoulder; in this situation we hope your final destination takes you somewhere tropical with an average temperature of around 37 degrees so you can at least experience the heat of human contact. (May we suggest Alice Springs in Australia’s Northern Territory during the summer months of December – January?)
However, the widely lauded snug fit of the Rest-Max Sleep Mate© does go some way to alleviating the feeling of isolation, commonly experienced by solo travelers. Based on sensory stimulation research as laid out by Temple Grandin, our product has the ability to adjust support around the neck via an adjustable tab thereby mimicking pressure as applied through normal physical contact such as that from a lover or masseuse.
Designed to be easily damaged the Rest-Max Sleep Mate© also functions as a last ditch life coach. The Rest-Max Sleep Mate© will not last forever, in fact, consumer experience details its shelf life at approximately three-four months before the stitching comes undone and the micro-beads spill out like drunken texts to an ex.
That gives you approximately a semester, or the gestation time of a baby chinchilla, to find someone to rest your head on, and with our product’s lucky horse-shoe shape, you’ve already got a gentle nudge in the right direction. Love is in the air - 35,000 feet up in the air!
Rethink the color...?
by Jaye Daed 24th February 2014
Yeah… Blushing Bagel is too light to hide drool. Kind of ruins my image as a budding Fortune 500 exec, walking around VIP lounges with a pillow tie-dyed with spit stains.
Ended up ditching it in a sanitary bin at Narita International.
Now with extra CRUNCH!
by Llong Hawl November 24th 2013
Pretty comfy, but what did you guys put inside it? Those beads – micro bead (?) things sound like my hamster eating rice krispies. Manageable with ear plugs, but seriously dude, too crunchy. I don’t want to dream about the Kellogg’s range in Costco during my shut-eye hours. Dreamtime is reserved for ScarJo (Black Widow Marvel phase) and that hot girl in my DATA SCI class ONLY.
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