fishbeer

Jan 1 2012 5:16 pm

2011

It can fortify and destroy, pucker and purge, win an argument about the nature of abstract objects, probably beat you in a footrace to the end of the block. From memories incorporeal come identities performed, like raising a pile of metal shavings with a magnet. And for my next trick!

 

I make them up or hear them somewhere and then shove them down deep into the bowels of my personal story, slowly or rapidly assimilating them with my other beliefs in an uneasy shuffling of the pieces. For example: here is the knife, here is the throat, here is the countable set of all natural resources. Is there an unmapped object in the model between those mapped to knife and throat? It’s difficult to imagine Ty Cobb being alive right now.

 

You know what rye whiskey goes great with? Ice. You know what mint leaves go great with? Me neither. Mint leaves are for those with an incontinence of mind, an impotence of will, or a spirit so dry and boring that it leaves a trail of knee prints in its powdered tears as it scurries awkwardly away from challenge and cold weather. It’s got no punch, no edge. I’m like a bulldog in a Chinese restaurant: fuckin’ up some egg rolls, breaking all the tea cups.

 

It smelled the sharp and sour smell of freshly rotting garbage, the bacteria that evolves exotic gases and makes liquids bubble subtly. Just a kind of dry, leafy flavor with intense lingering bitterness. So I’m rowing hard and I probably metabolize some fat and probably one bit of that fat has some errant LSD or psilocybin molecules in it because that’s where I heard it’s stored and my arms are burning and some of those molecules are released and they travel to my brain and make me briefly hallucinate the sound of a ruffed grouse drumming.

 

He’s got mammal asthma. The best treatment is a mouse inhaler, a good face hooking, a log jam wrassle and someone that never says no unless

it really matters. No you can’t leave right now. No you can’t drive to Denver. No you can’t get high huffin’ a bronchodilator. You can even “like” the “like” button at the top of the page. Because sometimes you forget how good it is to fish on foot, how good it is to not net a steelhead. Then you go home and drink five High Lifes because you’re tax refund hasn’t arrived yet. 

 

I celebrate your high cholesterol. I’m going to get going about 70mph heading west and close my eyes so that I can drive with my mind. I’m going to determine if you’re wearing panties with my mind. I was sitting on the couch, fat, watching TV after overeating and over drinking and over chewing. Yes I did see you walking down the highway with a stringer full of rotten salmon. Yes I saw that you saw me and yes I kept driving.

 

He busted straight through the bedroom wall and onto the sidewalk where he stood for a moment covered in dust with bits of splintered wood falling from his shoulders and boxer shorts. Frank thought these Powerpoints were much less satisfying than the click-click-ca-thunk of an actual slide show. Surely it has been treated by its practitioners in some cursory way, but the actual practitioners of a craft have no monopoly on its analysis.

 

Blah blah fishing fishing beer beer fishing steelhead sour cream fishing psychology self image free will coho. Anyway, I've been practicing not breathing air and I'm almost there.  I keep passing out, but that won't stop me in the end. I'm going to succeed in never breathing air again one of these days and show all those hipster douchebags what's what.

 


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