RR 30 10/10/06

I catch a glimpse of a man wrapped in black lawn and leaf bag plastic sleeping on the side of the highway as I blow by to get to class. The air smells like tar and when you look at the city the air forms a high brown halo around it. I’m in this halo but can’t see the brown in front of my face. It’s only visible from a remote distance.

She's talking and I hear sibilant S’s added into her speech. I want to reach in to her mouth and give her tongue a massage so she can form the words correctly. Of course, I don’t and can only think of her sibilant saliva spraying in my food. Actually, is it her tongue or lips? I exhale the sounds myself as a test and I’m certain the sound comes from a tongue held near, but not pressing, the roof of the mouth.

Comics always talk about the DMV because of the limits of their experience. They need to associate to something familiar to everyone else, and the DMV is what they have to draw on. They don’t have nine to five jobs. They don’t sit in rush hour traffic. They have time to watch daytime television.

Who’s that singing? “You sold me what you want me to buy.” “What else would I ever want to sell?”