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Mimes in Hi-Fi
By Howie Good
I have the same questions about love, death, etc., that everyone else does. Can funeral expenses be claimed on taxes? How do they say “fellatio” in French? Is this even real? The border between blue and aquamarine is in the process of being torn down. Why, perhaps, I can’t seem to avoid stepping in puddles of sky. Here’s a piece of advice: if a bird starts to speak, don’t interrupt. It might be reminding you to take one pill every three hours as needed.
A man in his late fifties, carrying what looks like a dead woman, the exhausted body of Greta Garbo, uses one hand to splay her sex. WTF?! Life is not a stain. Here there are stains; there you find the trace of the human touch. But even if I could find a pretty accomplice to slip over the border with me, the border has probably already been unpinned, repositioned, and pinned again.
They take my shoelaces and belt away. On the wall is a clock without numbers or hands. The pendulum moves slower and slower. Advice is slippery. Tears are slippery. I want to slip out of this place into another where it never rains. Not just anyone can go. You need a reason – the flat light, the still wind, the white sky like an empty canvas. There is some kind of holiday there, too, that starts with shotguns and databases and ends with fruits of dynamite.
#Unreal #FlashFiction #Mimes #Love #Death #Sex #Time #Humanity #Romance #Advice #Tears
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