Saturday, January 29, 2011

Why Does it Bother Me?

I tried to find a picture of a lime in lime light. And I couldn't find a single photograph of this. I felt like asking Google for a divorce. All I wanted was to see a lime in a perfectly matching lime light, a lime camouflaged in lime light. I can't help but feel there is something wrong with the human brain. I mean that such an image does not exist in a readily consumable state. I think this is why I divorced the human race a few years ago. Because your obsessions are not my obsessions. Kindly make your obsessions my obsessions. It's not that much to ask. And then we will be jake. We can make this marriage work. If you bend your intransigent will to my much more intransigent insanity. Then something in my brain says, "If you think life is an Easter Egg hunt, just wait for Death." Death is like a shopping list blowing across a parking lot. I can never resist the urge to pick it up and read it. Even with the germs. I am impressed if the author used "secret code" on his or her shopping list. Like they knew it could fall into the hands of the enemy. They might guess. That strange thing you do with that commodity. I suspect these are my people. These paranoid poetic shoppers. But in truth I know they are sparrows. Sparrows pushing shopping carts with their wings. They probably have imagined the lime in the lime light too. They probably have grieved as I have grieved. But there is the ghost of a shopping cart between us. And that shopping cart might as well be an Ostrogoth. A Visigoth. I feel the warmth of your hands on the funny handlebar with the sales pitch. Under that seductive lucite.


  1. In your honor: the Internet's first photo of a lime in limelight:

  2. Merci! Merci! In French, I think a lime is a rasp...the kind molls baked in pies in the old movies. But maybe I'm hallucinatin'. It's. Known. To. Happen.