Wednesday, March 26, 2008

ten lines in the present tense

The passport grows stale. The winter pallor deepens beyond jaundice and becomes vampiric. The electrical voltage converter develops a patina of dust, a signifier of passivity, of currents not flowing. The worth of the dollar continues to plummet. The only household investments gaining any value are the piles of change, Euros and Canadian coins mocking the once mighty dollar. Yes, 1.05 Euro is now becoming respectable. Grocery stores on the border with Canada now eagerly welcome quarters featuring the mighty, the grand moose. Names glimpsed while paging through the address book offer memories of previous travels, as well as a mocking insensitivity: You don't live here anymore. You were never one of us.

The present tense is stuck in mud season, the self buried to the chin in the gelatinous accumulations of the mundane. Somewhere in the past is an adventurer, but the present is rooting into a vegetative state that desperately requires weeding.


reading well, not reading, moping because the cell phone seems to have taken an operational nosedive for the third time in a year

weather smells and tastes and feels like spring!