Wednesday, May 17, 2006

for a song

I found it. I found it on Ebay. On Amazon, on Overstock dot com. I found it in a bin. A barrel. Somewhere in all the excess packaging. In plastic, in paper. In a bag. In a stall in the open-air market in Las Pinas. I found it etched on a shell, in the juncture of thorax and abdomen. Tarsal and metatarsal, I found it. Stretched across the sky. I found it on my Visa bill, in printer ink, in a toppling pine, a pair of contrails, a kerosene fire, a panicked clamber of steps in the stairwell. I found it at Best Buy for even less. At Wal-Mart. I found it surprisingly tart, but refreshing. I found it clutched between the teeth a department store floor manager forcibly deceased and dumped off the turnpike. I found it a bargain at nothing at all, at no money down, at no easy payments until 2007. I found the instructions difficult to read. I found a crack in the housing, a rider in the warranty, a clause in the small print and a handful of small screws that didn't go anywhere. I found it to be a sadomasochistic fantasy starring Demi Moore. A corruption of the text. I found a variorum edition. A lovingly handcrafted limited run that my family would treasure for generations. I found the first season of Firefly for twenty-five bucks? Man. I found it a bit tight in the seat, if you follow me. I found you smoking Number Sevens in the comfy chairs by the front window at Emily's, which I found charming. I found grey hairs replacing the blond at my temple and the red of my beard. I found another crease crazing the corner of my eye. I found a mole of uncanny symmetry blooming on my left shoulderblade. I found it by stretching my neck a bit. I discovered an unfamiliar sexual position in a copy of Cosmo at the optician's. I found it more pleasurable in theory than in practise. I found a line I liked in a book of Tennyson. I found it inspiring, but I couldn't say what it inspired. I found it waiting for me, patient and abiding, when I turned off the highway and followed the leaf-covered dirt road to the house where I dressed up as Gene Simmons for Halloween at the age of four. I found it disappointing.

16 comments:

sgazzetti said...

I find corpora fascinating. So thanks for that.

Sporkulious said...

i found your lack of faith disturbing

mathew said...

^ huh. there's a screen name i haven't used in about 3 years. anywho, snarkiness provided by me

blackbird said...

When did you lose it?

Anonymous Midwest Girl said...

So, um....about that unfamiliar sexual position.....

maarmie said...

Look out, Jim Morrison. There's a new poet in town!

palinode said...

Mathew: It's your sad devotion to that ancient religion talking.

Blackbird: At fifteen.

AMG: Yes, that unfamiliar sexual position. Apparently it was named after missionaries? Man, did they ever have some wild times.

maarmie: Nice glasses.

Chris said...

Its a little like shopping for fine jewelry on Home Shopping Network.

maarmie said...

Oh! GENE Simmons. I thought that said Richard Simmons at first! I was wondering if maybe you had something you wanted to tell us...or Schmutzie, anyway...

Lynn said...

I could post a funny comment in response to this post, but all I really want to do s tell you how much I love your writing.

I do. I love it.

Anonymous said...

Do not be too proud of this technological terror you have created.

palinode said...

I won't. I'm actually ashamed of this technological terror I've created. Or I would be, if I had any idea what you meant.

Anonymous said...

Good. It is insignificant next to the power of...

*

palinode said...

Alright. When I see an asterisk set off on its own line, I think of three things:

1) Omphalos, navel of the world, centre of the cosmos.

2) God, Lord of Hosts.

3) an anus.

If you're referring to any of those things, I am properly ashamed.

I'm truly not joking. That's what an asterisk alone calls to mind.

maarmie said...

I'm voting on "anus."

Shawna Mooney said...

AW-ZUM.