Franny Had Been Assigned The Fourth Elegy

Tue Dec 11, 2007

In my set, at least, the way it worked was that you drove around certain likely looking streets, forested coves,* and downtown loftways. Often you would find those professing to surf or aspiring to thrash deathcore; sometimes middle managers drooped from the weight of a mid-serveconomy. You could brush with fame (I was preliminarily vetted by the self-appointed handler of two transients who had written a book about watching movies fume); chance did not altogether matter. You regained your touch; you wore raincoats in winter to househosted shows of those who did accept the deathcore challenge. (I stopped once for Death, though it was on Domino’s dime.**) A ghastly trident, a tame python in denuded myrtle, the t-shirt marked “Camus.” A side-scrolling shooter that overwrote the bootlog, making the offbrand deskplop quarterless and without charm.

I want to write some vignettes, perhaps more disjointed than what’s above, about some undergraduate observations, because that sort of thing is too rarely done. We’ll see how it goes.

*“Loblolly Lulls,” “Oaken Hives,” “Azalea Grafts.” That sort of thing. **They asked me to ferry them across a parking lot to a Shoney’s. Death walks not in summer.