She had to get up pretty early in the morning every morning. Each morning an exercise in survival of the mundane and the mundane needed to be exercised until she was tired again. Everything needed to be straight and even because without ratio what evidence was there that her life thus far had been equitable. Her children were on track; all their parts moving as they should, a pair of perfectly syllogistic representations of their parentage. Pretty early in the morning indeed if she was to keep pace with rambunctious boilermakers of children. A pox upon disarray in their home of aluminum and white. A pox upon clutter and asymmetry as ratio may be obscured by his peccant organizational tendencies. Put him to paces of penancial landscaping for the duration of the season to teach him the wages of obtusely abject household organizational habits. Plus he uses all the toilet paper and sits the new roll on top of the spindled empty cardboard husk out of some slothful spite designed to send her into a state of perpetual nervous breakdown.
An indulgence here or an indulgence there didn’t really do any harm. The florescent light rack she had installed in the garage for some barely explained art/modeling project was no longer enough. He would figure it out and then make her take it down. William or Ana would fall into it and be covered in carcinogenic phosphorescent death. It wasn’t so much a matter of pride than a matter of sense that was not to be had. The constancy of her ratioed face couldn’t last forever and he would see the way she looked at the new children, not unlike the way she looked at the old lost child, but he hadn’t seen that so was unblissfully unaware of her abysmal thoughts in the faces of her genetic yield. More oblivion was the only means of escape and she had ways of finding it anywhere anymore. Gaze gone dead, she looked ahead and saw the rising sun, the days they pass and more ahead until her day is done.
Sasha sits at a table in Burger King while her two children argue about whose turn it is to get in the ball pit.
So this is a mobile bar I designed and built for Black Ankle Vineyards, below is what the wood looked like when I started.
Basically some water damaged oak left over from them building their tasting room.
I initially planned something utterly insane and complicated, but my fiancee suggested something a bit more minimalist and industrial and while more expensive (pipe isn’t as cheap as you’d think) it ended up looking good.
So I did three rounds of sanding, one with 80 grit, then 180 grit, then stained it and sanded again with 180, stained it again and then applied a high gloss finish.
Ended up really smooth and shiny. Because each board weighed about 80lbs this thing is pretty heavy, so I reinforced the bottom with left over pieces that I applied similar prep to as well as the end caps. I used 3 1/2 inch lag bolts to hold it together which also sort of match the galvanized steel 3/4″ pipe used.
Overall I’m pretty happy with it. I’m building a matching one and then some insane table that I’m sure I’ll post when I’m done.
Two fire trucks sit in the yard. The front of the house is collapsing due to the still-burning car at the front door. Flames and smoke pour from the backyard as firemen rush to retrieve the living and dead. Several survivors have already been taken to the hospital, but a few girls remain either waiting for an ambulance or being questioned by police. Kelly moves nearer to the house as Jane and Rob bicker back at the car. She approaches one of the detectives on the scene and tells him that she recognizes the burning car as belonging to a friend of hers. The roof has just collapsed causing EMTs to direct their focus on the house. She stands in front of the very distracted detective and continues on about the text messages, pictures and so on. He asks her if she was in this house tonight, or knows the owner. Kelly says, “No” and watches the cop wander away to help several others in breaking up Rob and Jane’s screaming match.
Kelly eventually admits to herself that this trip was all rather pointless. All she really confirmed tonight was that Rob and Jane may really hate each other and that most or all of her friends have been drowned or burned alive. Her options limited, Kelly calls her very tan friend Ian and asks him if he’d like to see her later. It’s at this point that she starts to ask herself why she’s here right now and begins envisioning a nice suburban life with Ian; he, having a well-paying 9 to 5 and she, a successful trainer for a major sports team. To be in the company of people of questionable reputations such as Jane and Sarah has caused Kelly to feel lowered in some way. She reasons that this could be because they aren’t terribly attractive and have no discernible future that she can imagine, but this is only conjecture.
The police are asking Rob questions about any disgruntled employees he may have; his reply is simply, “all of them”. Jane sits on the bumper of an ambulance with her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly on her knee and smiles at Kelly in a way that makes her feel violated. More police cars arrive as body bags pile up in the yard and multiple detectives interview everyone they can find. Ian tells Kelly he’ll call her tomorrow morning, that everything will be alright and that she’s beautiful. She moves closer to her car and is eventually pulled aside for more questions. Any concerns for the people at this house have faded to apathy as Kelly thinks about tomorrow. She needs sleep immediately if she’s going to look presentable. Embers from the fire blow through the air and ignite some of the nearby shrubs which reminds Kelly of Christmas for some reason.
Photo credit to http://dead-channel.tumblr.com/
There was once a glass coffin in the center of a lost woods, although how a woods can get lost is a strange question. Once a day the coffin would sing and all the animals would come to listen. One day a boy and girl were walking along the edge of the woods and heard the singing, which somehow calmed the animals down enough so that they did not attack, assuming of course that there were some bears and alligators amongst the animals listening to the coffin. The girl was immediately enamored with the singing and asked the boy to open the lid to the coffin so she could see what was producing the sound. As soon as the boy opened the lid the animals pushed him inside and the girl saw that it was not a coffin, but the entrance to a deep hole. She grabbed the boy’s hand, but he was too heavy and slipped away.
Sasha wasn’t sure what the moral of her story was, but liked that the animals pushed the little boy in the hole. She assumed the little girl battled off the animals and escaped, although questioned if she would bother to come back because the woods was lost, so was probably prone to wandering about trying to find its way somewhere, making it doubly difficult to find again, apart from the singing of course, which was probably some yet to be classified giant ground mole with a taste for little boys. The right thing to do would be to get the police, but upon finding the woods missing, they would assume the little girl had eaten the little boy and imagined the woods and singing coffin so was obviously insane and fit for a strait jacket, which she would wear well because she was an exceptionally pretty little girl.
There are monsters about,
Minds run amok,
Writhing and Lurching
They tear themselves asunder,
Trying to be human,
Trying to be trusted
So that they may devour you,
But they are what they seem,
They are monsters.
It wasn’t enough to be enough anymore, one had to be infinitely more; or less, he wasn’t sure. To be full of wit and self-deprecation while quietly grooming one’s status as attractive seemed to be key in marketing as of late, probably somewhat always, but things were spiraling, getting worse, vapid even. Tragedy is now flaccidity because there is no more content; content has been banned or at least relegated to the basement in favor of speed, but it’s seen as alright because there is such a wealth of contentless material that the mere quantity constitutes conversation about said quantity, and the discussion therefore becomes content made of empty content. A giant box filled with empty boxes .