Saturday, July 12, 2008

Yearbook (7.2)

Last night we watched Superman at the drive-in. And then, we both fainted. How does a ghost get laid? They drifted, all bemisted, from the yard into the living room, he to one end of a bedraggled and roomy brownish couch, she to an upholstered stool at its side; so that she was pulled into an unnatural pert, perching attitude, he into a flattering slouch. Pack: cheese, coffee stuff, tent, sleep bags, swimsuit (yellow parrot shorts), water pills, sandals, matches, stove, apples, cookies, sunscreen, towels, flashlight, plant book, money, tuna, Foucault, walnuts and raisins, socks, sweater, toilet paper, sleeping pads, water bottles (that Nalgene!), dish soap, pots and pans and camp cups. All Safeways smell the same. Placeless with surfaces, getting off on weather, part of an opera with silent parts for the hailstones if they fall taking the lighting with them.

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