Tuesday, June 21, 2005


As simple as disposing trash, an automatic act, almost like riding an upside-down bicycle attached to an upright stool repeated regularly recompenses a good salary. One day of waiting albeit sated from junk food equals two weeks of pay. That was the happy meal offered by Ray Kroc and an inebriated Ronald McDonald. Under the golden arches a food stylist dawdles away the afternoon light tweezering immaculate fries. You do deserve a break today, actually three or four.

Each hour worth every Big Mac consumed gratis is cooperative business management training, a vigorous set of calisthetics in preparation for all Japanese salarymen on company expense accounts.

A classically tailored black suit absorbs about ninety per cent of harmful ultraviolet rays as do horned-rimmed glasses or wire spectacles worn dangerously low.

Fame impends.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Notes off the Lao Sze Chuan menu

Crenellated bittermelon hardened to a straightedged rectangle, each furrow a striated plane from a bird's eye view lands ever so softly on the abstracted tarmac. Architecturally related, intersticed strip malls of triple-hued firm tofu stand at ease, lounging around a five-city-block radius, arousing the ire of female passersby indignant of the nonstop catcalls in salute. At the end of the street sits a multidecked eggplant, gracefully violent as it backs against the wall.

An imaginary peppery smell wafts sideways through the oyster sauce drizzled atop gai lan stalks. Two hours before rush hour, Chef Tony is overcome, overpowered by licoriced peppers that numbs tongues and reddens faces.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Notes on video orientalia

Disassembled Ming replica footstool in seven pieces form a Chinese puzzle of three faux cloisonne vases huddled inside the decorative fireplace hearth of ecru brick.

A cluster of bright satin embroidered pin cushions connect its mushroom tops like famous Siamese twins Chang and Eng plus one pair of baby China doll slippers atop Remembrance of Things Past.

Greasy porcelain Kung Fu master in White Crane pose basks Kikkoman aglow as the afternoon sun sets.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

On the finality of trifocals

Top for long distance, the center for intermediate looking, and the bottom for reading equals no peripheral vision because of how the sides blur. Now to adjust, the whole head moves. Vision unlike its counterpart and namesake Simon Williams, he who is a red-faced, yellow-caped, green-skinned android capable of passing through solid form, deteriorates like a scarlet witch as parts continue to break. In the meantime, Richard Petty shows up on time as expected driving his stock car, screeching rubber and carrying a scythe.

Nearly twenty eight years ago the nonchalance of a basket catch suddenly grew out of focus as the customary reactive nod that confirms destination arrival produced a faded muscle memory. Racing in, ready to swoop were the vultures of time, intent on every bit of continuously rotting flesh. Every Tibetan shuddered, avoiding the Grecian whose formulaic approach promises only empty calories.