no pun

so sophor didn’t come after all. not that i really put any elbow into making her come. and rescue me.

so thought mike d.

so now he’s left with a half-drunk latté, a sober, glistening palmiere and a honeycomb retriever the size of a horse. go away you filthy bastard.

so said mike d. to the dog. to the sober palmiere. to the birds. to the world.

so, gum trees, do you know where i can find rob g.? you haven’t seen him recently? i haven’t seen him recently! useless ass.

so shoes, take me, anywhere anywhere anywhere i don’t care. to the artisan coffee shop next door we go!

so, napalm death scum tee, this street has nothing but artisan coffee shops! where will we go to escape bread products of southern italy?!

so, levi’s 512 loose fit, it’s gottta be, if there are times in the history of man when things just gotta be then why hasn’t she come to me?

so tell me, what are you?

so am i robot, not a human, too?

so let’s go back to the world, to the business of making things click like a well-made box. shall we visit the artisanal organic organic over there? yes, i am talking to you my beloved jacket of mao.

so so so, life has boiled down to this eh? another coffee at three to wash down the pad thai at everyday the same hour same eatery with an awful fun for a name. everything’s just

so. let’s just get back down to the story, of how mike d. is looking for the missing rob g. and how can you fit all that into a paperback that is just plane fun?

so, no more siestas for the mind.

so tell me crisp, perfect biscotti, why in the dawn of someone’s life, dreams of faulchion and perfect shields of gold, of ambrosia and foxy iris bold, still can’t convince me that life will be any thing but just so-

so?

draining camp

feeling all alone in this world mike d. reaches into an old bookshelf half-filled with The Little House Cookbook, a seventh-hand copy of L’immoraliste and two lunchboxes of non-rarity basketball cards.

in this alternate universe Patrick Ewing can fly is fly the shit.

but really what he really wants is Sophor really.

but as always in times like this people you need are always needed elsewhere.

Sophor, datanglah, aku tak ingin menjadi seperti orang-orang di lagu Flaming Lips itu. he hasn’t forgot them? but why hasn’t he just come? the wall is always open.

what (strange) language is that (strange) man speaking?

don’t you know? it’s mike d. le poète fantastique!

Aramaic? doesn’t sound like it.

you’re impossible.

impossible is everything.

including Sophor coming here to rescue me today.

why, i only need her to sprinkle Krispy Kreme original glaze coating on the dough of this earth so everything sticks and stays and my rubber boots can carry me through to rob g.!

those boots, monsieur, are made for waddling.

i know, i know. an eskimo gave it to me. i could hardly see his face for all the fur.

you mean on his windcheaters?

actually, it was her .... the fur? it was antler’s. a fourteen-pointer.

you know a lot about the world m. d.

i know, i know. an eskimo gave it to me. i could hardly see his face for all the fur.

didn’t you just say that?

i know, i know. etc.