And Reynard Seifert was gracious enough to publish it on his new site HAHACLEVER. The story is part of a bulbous mystery project. HAHACLEVER seems on the ball, in that sort of lying-on-your-belly-on-a-giant-exercise-ball-and-rocking-whimsically-back-and-forth way, which is a good way.
Read my story here. It's called "Oh Hi I Was Just About To Find You."
Right now it's raining. Strange what one person calls rain and somebody else might call a good time. I have a lot of work to do. Post office and computer huddle. There's things that need to get said, things about mosquito fogging, OkCupid, haunted gameshows, neon suspenders, and busted pumpkins. Really excited about buying yams. Vaguely excited, I mean. Like there is a room in my brain for yam excitement that I haven't put a couch in yet. Maybe you would like to read this ode to friendship by Kenneth Koch:
Puberty was the Norman Conquest
By the language of love I thought you’d be suppressed
But you hung in there. You’ve stayed with me for sixty years.
You prevented nights lonely
To the point of desperation. You embarked on projects.
You took trips. You bravely quarreled, made up, and sat down again.
You saved a third person. You went into a ditch. You examined causes.
You started magazines and ate turkeys. You went to the clinic. You gave advice
Endlessly, the tag-end of gossip. You discussed violence, money, and vulnerability.
Egotism was one of your major topics. You left a third one standing on a bridge
By your overabsorption in yourself. You familiarized with France.
A glass wall covered with blue and white ribbons made you laugh. You sent home for wives,
Husbands, brothers, sisters, and girlfriends. You felt you were the best.
You delivered encomiums. I have images of you moseying down sidewalks
And images of you boisterous and drunk. Sunlight admired you
And so did travel and evening. You gave sleeping a rest, by conducting seminars
On variations of yourself until almost dawn.
You are consoling about age and approaching extinction. You keep out of bed and leap from apartments
But are caught in a net. The traffic kicks you
Into high gear. You live criticism of life. You quiet the motion
Of barricades rising. You’ve lasted, in these ways,
Longer than love, which you haven’t supplanted.
at 11:58 AM