erratum viaticum…

Parsnip with Pomegranate Tendencies

Use this taro chip as your viaticum, the priest says.

Where am I?

In a priest driven ambulance, he says.

Good luck, the one in the passenger seat says.

What are you going to do about the primary explosion? the nurse administering my I.V. asks.

Play it as it lays, another says.

No, you did not leave anything on in the kitchen, yet another says.

So I told them: I put on my tight disco pants, and applied plenty of hairspray. I think there were invaders at the gates. I wrote as fast as I could before midnight. Then I turned into a malevolent parsnip with pomegranate tendencies. I didn’t parry her sari because she asked me nicely not to. Remember that. So I repeated it often through the night to myself. I reminded myself to use my inside voice inside my head. I didn’t have to be so loud. And I made a point of not speaking my internal monologues in front of strangers again.

Amen, the priest said.

“Read, read, read, read, read. Those who read own the world; those who immerse themselves in the Internet or watch too much television lose it… Our civilization is suffering profound wounds because of the wholesale abandonment of reading by contemporary society.”
— Werner Herzog

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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