Added: Mar 8, 2010

From: matrixcmitech

Duration: 6:18

Random abstractions presented in the form of symbolic language. ------------------------------------------------- Some form of automatic writing machine was filling a cheap bag with old clothes from a yard sale. Throwing some change from the pocket of his vest he said to the old widow "Take this money, go buy yourself some new clothes!". This miserly excuse for a human being saw no hatred in the eyes of the widow, only incomprehension followed by a wandering sort of look focusing on one object then another f- inally returning to the man to say "Wash your carcass stinky old bum!". A slow moving car swelled from behind pushing air away from it's body like a shark trapped in sardine oil. Windows down, kids arms hanging out, the driver, a woman, posed while driving to look at the pathetic display of pointless knick-knacks, moldy furniture, bad paintings... The sign read "Estate Sale Final Day Today" The funny thing is, it's always the final day of the sale. Stuff gets moved in at night, moved out the next morning. Same shit. Different day. All the neighbors had agreed to ignore the scabby old bitch because offering her some help had caused trouble in the past. There was that nice boy scout who offered to take care of her lawn for nothing. Found him the next day under the overpass stoned on heroin. Nobody stops at the "Estate Sale" unless they are lost, on drugs, looking for drugs, selling drugs or asking directions. One sniff at the kitty litter box filled with Reader's Digest from 1950-1951 was enough to make a grown man puke. The smell of death and cat piss all over the pile of clothes on the table marked "10 cents". The foolish ones ask questions. The smart ones get back in the car and drive - as fast as they can - away from this place. Those lucky enough to get away can't even bring themselves to an orgasm for fifty-two days. They see the face of the widow just before climax and ruining it - the story gets around. Besides the stories there are some police reports. Some city suit wandered in wanted to buy all the silver spoons and turned out to be he was melting it all down into silver bullets. He came back and shot up the place. Did a drive by on the bitch and crashed his car into the telephone pole over there. Nobody had the internet for like a fucking week. She survived. The neighbors pissed and moaned about it. As the day went into afternoon she picks up her boxes and piles of junk and moves it into the garage. She leaves the tables out all night with a plastic sheet over them. Cats come out, piss all over everything, dogs come out, piss all over it, dog crap all over the place, don't step in the yard it's just a cursed hell. That story is so made up. The widow lives there longer than anybody that includes me. I come from Ethiopia for 8 years. Every body else is new. They don't know she is a widow. I remember the husband he was always outside in the back garden smoking meat. But I did not know the husband's name until the papers showed he was dead. Malcom X. Bush. Claimed to be the heir to the throne of the Whitehouse or somet*ing. He didn't work. Had a military retirement and insurance money. That is what I found out. But the widow never had a funeral. She could not understand English so the body was cremated. Some people say "Oh, that old lady killed her own husband for insurance". She's just gone mad. Leave her alone and you won't get into trouble I say. The Postman visited mailboxes across the street making as much noise as possible with each slam of the mailbox door. Trying to say "Hey it's just me the mailman dropping off your precious junk mail again god my job is fucking pointless nobody mails letters anymore it's all just junk and bills and people throw away the rest we're gonna lose our jobs to email any minute they are going to add another route of junk mail whenever somebody retires..." None of them paid any attention to the mailman as he flittered from box to box with that disingenuous grin, that insincere hand wave gesture almost like a "yeah whatever" but not quite "who the hell are you?". Maybe they should have paid more attention to him today more than any other day. The mailman had sneaked up behind them to say with that fake CIA smile "Isn't she a strange one that Mrs. Bush?". People mumbled. Some guy walking down the sidewalk said "Forget strange - she's the weirder than strange." The postman laughed out loud and too hard. Nobody believed that laugh was real. Then being overly friendly, "Hey Bob how about those Bronco's?" Bob drives as Ford Bronco with a special issue Bronco license plate that says "BR0NC01". Bob says it like he always says it : "Gonna go all the way this year man." Bob was still dissappointed because he couldn't get "EATACID" on his license plate. Against the law. Well. That's what they told him.

Channel: People

Rating: 5.0' max='5' min='1' numRaters='4' rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#overall ( ratings)    Views: 130    Comments: 9