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  • 1.

    Because the future, the future is what it is, we take our repose in the sharp glints of a white sun.

    "Plastic trays on metal tables," he says. "And a dry wind to stir the leaves."

    "And doesn't our skin where it's bare sticks painfully to these metal chairs," I say.

    Our contact is contaminated by commercial interests. And we can count count on our fingers the number of times we've touched. And isn't that the truth. And ain’t that the sad truth. Because the future is what it is.


    Because the future is what it is, I’ll take my repose behind closed eyes, away from the needles of a vexing sun. No more glories or victories. No more conspiring. The prison bars the eyelashes cast dissolve.

    "Spin and repeat – that’s history," says Brother Lizard, "Spin and repeat. See this loaf of bread, yesterday it was soft and golden. And now... Go ahead, sink your teeth into it at your own risk!"


    "Watch! With eyes closed, my passivity is complete. Not even the search-and-shudder of under either eyelid. No sign of strain there in the stained corners where the crows so carelessly walked. Occasional shiny objects, those watery globes; that’s all they are and that’s all I part with. And I’ve bubbles of spit to set free."


    Fall in love with me, fall in love with me, I wish you would, the radio inside pleads.


    "Because the future, the future is what it is, I’ll sell these things to you," I say. I say it like it’s a card game. Here is the list of the things I said I'd sell: Glances sideways, straight and otherwise, caresses, the sharp and the shameful, the heady scent of decay, and empty gardens, a stony path picked clean.


    Brother Lizard has been crying all night. Hours ago he put his head on the table (I can still hear the echo of that mighty thud; so loud it was that the jams shook in their jars and the doors shook in their jams.) and it [his head] stayed where he laid it. And there he weeps and weeps.

    "Why do you weep like that, Brother Lizard?"

    And he says:

    'Take a space, any space, and paint it. Take a telephone, any telephone, and answer it. Wait for a bus, but anywhere. Wipe the map clean. Or wipe the map clean. Because the future... The future is what it is."

    And: "Alcohol is wasted on me, rather than the other way ‘round."


    Brother Lizard’s up early the next day. When I awake he’s folding his things tidy then stuffing them into his backpack.

    He notices me watching from the bed I claim is mine, which he can see from the dresser mirror. Brother Lizard spins around, pulls loose his own tail and pointing it at me says:

    "Let’s not leave it this way, because after all, what do I know?"
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