To: Ted Hart, Emily Smart, Thomas Eliot, Kathy Black, et al

From: Aaron Henkelman

RE: Mimetic and/or diegetic restraint in future communiqués

Hello.

Let's kill the butterflies, the bees and their promises of anaphylactic shock, the legions of common houseflies tumbling, buzzing and such.

Let's fill the abyss with the garbage in Pontiac. Let's melt the snow. Let's turn the curious ear into a bleeding receptacle of Zen and quietude.

Let's recognize the West as the west, the East as the east, and the Morning Star as Venus, second planet from a thermonuclear nightmare.

Let's use yellow to color Batman's utility belt, green as grass which stained your Easter Sunday outfit searching for candy to rot your teeth, and black as the inside of eye lids after 12 shots of tequila.

Let's understand the rose is a rose is a rose is a rose, let's remove the petals and use them as compost, and the thorns? I understand the florist will remove them for a couple extra bucks.

The nightingale should become an owl, owls are more familiar. The thrush, what the fuck is a thrush? A suited hand in poker? And crows? Crows pick with the vultures at the possum spread across the interstate.

Rivers are moving bodies of water full of bald tires, Maytag washers, and malt liquor bottles. The oceans are the last place to get lost and live well on Colgate. The sands of time remain in my shoes for months and months.

Let's agree the Moon is perfectly sane, orbits the earth, and affects the tides. Let's believe the Earth is a fine place to make a living. Let's put our hands in our pockets and know that only stars are once upon a time.

Guns kill intruders, rapists, enemies, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. Bombs are kinetic overhead and only light up the horizon from a distance. And speaking literally, I'd rather be stabbed by a pen than by a sword.

Dreams? I can't explain them, although we have heard them all. God is up for interpretation, please, and with(out homicidal) conviction. Heart = the opportunity for living, as long as its beating.

The seasons are hot or cold; wet or dry; and meaningless around the Equator. The winds of change lower the temperature to 17 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit, of course). I look out the window, out the window, out the window, and my dogs are chasing a squirrel.

The road takes me home, or away from home, whichever the case may be. Good fences are only appropriate when following the bylaws of a planned unit development. And please, understand railroads are not romantic just outside your bedroom window.

back