Scenes from Great American Still Life

Long

slow

mildly arduous

semi-pleasant

crossfade

between ad and

afterlife

Memories hang by threads … argument, compromise,
childish prank, always children until one day there is less 
to care about, Dear. And still always more.

Surly teen reinvents

junk-core

ragpicker chic

finds love, dispels family

ennui, honors

history in less than 60 seconds

Narcissist sits on a mountain of garbage in front of 
millions of adoring fans.

Meditation scene.

A panel of experts offers commentary: the meek shall 
inherit the earth. We love how the single braid of hair 
echoes radiant scraps of orange and silver. Careful 
because battery acids and noxious off-gas. A stunning 
event too big for the scales.

Oh Dear.

Over the course of 48 hours, the charismatic icon sucks 
up residual energy using nervous systems to channel 
toxic off-gas into fatty tissues, sinew, and synapse. A 
unique talent’s singular response to modern excess. Our 
superstar feeds on atomic decay. Homeopathic doses of 
death. Distills the experience into three exquisitely 
formed pieces of excrement that sell on the open market 
to fuel the next litter sit. And so it goes.

Before
During
After
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Scenes

Stop for a second, listen to the slow steady grind. The 
sound of gravity is subtle and satisfying. Gum wrapper 
leaves her hand, hovers for one millionth of a moment 
before it flutters to the ground. Wait …  but it’s too late. 
She walks briskly to the bus stop chewing and checking 
phone. Said wrapper nestles in summer’s green-gray grass 
already hinting at changing season.

Truth is it’s impossible.

To  hear atmospheric pressure weighing on branch and 
blade, chit and foil, self and other. But imagination runs 
wild at twilight, racing toward dark bedrooms with eyes 
closed and ears wide open. From the partially torn gum 
wrapper comes delicate waves like a calm lake caressing 
shore. Nothing moves yet there is an unending 
symphony of unseen, inaudible activity from said 
wrapper’s resistance to the universe. At the coda I trip 
and fall, get back up, rinse and repeat until one day it 
feels better to rest. Right there on the ground not far 
from a wad of wrappers, crushed cups, kinked straw. To 
rest and listen. To hear music.

Winter spider basks in contact high on an oak tabletop 
near darkening ruby stains. Scenes, Dear, are stackable. 
In another variation, every household microdoses 
hallucinogenic mushrooms with trace amounts of 
nano-plastics. Experiments in abundance and euphoria.

Simple science argues:

body/environment equate given time. Cheetos bag and 
Gatorade bottle seep inside. Spider falls asleep near my 
hand sketching to-go cup pyramids. Scheme and 
schematic for a house of cards where Rube Goldberg 
meets America Pastime. Eventually I sleep with belly full 
of spider drool and byproduct. Polymers create the 
world in their image. We all do.