Wednesday, August 24, 2005

“Crikes.” You start with a word and the word becomes the paragraph and the paragraph becomes the page and the page becomes the story. You start with a story and the story becomes a page and the page becomes a paragraph and the paragraph becomes a word.

Sounds bellowed from the wooden box. He kicked and silenced it.

I quivered as the high noon sun roared. My feet turned blue from the graying snow. Dead leaves hung from autumn trees.


“Crikes, it’s melting.” “What’s that?” “The ice, it’s all going away.” “It happens every spring.” “No, not here. This ice is never supposed to melt, here. This is the permanent ice, the real thing, the remnants of glaciers, the, you know, what all the scientists call the permafrost, the permanent frosty ground.” “So it’s melting, so what? It’s been going on for so long at this point, it’s like, who cares? The sky is falling, the sky is falling, that’s what the chicken said.” “People are starting to care, lots of people.” “But those same people think the science fake.” “No they don’t. That’s what the politicians think and say, but they don’t actually believe it. They believe it only as much as it hits their bottom line.” “You’re sounding awfully political, you know. I thought you didn’t enjoy arguing politics.” “I don’t. I just had to go somewhere from Crikes, and this is where it brought me.” “So the sky is really falling? Is this the end? Destruction, ice flows, too hot to be outside? I thought it was going to be the ozone layer that killed us.” “That too, but this is a bigger threat. Maybe they’re tied together—I’d have to look that up.” “It seems it’s something new from the environmentalists every decade or so. I’m beginning to doubt that science is even involved anymore.” “Take a look at the ice flows.” “But they don’t know what it means. They know it’s changing, but the changes may be cyclical, or even preordained.” “Crikes.”


Jerks cover the world. They’re everywhere and nowhere. Stay away from cleverness, aim for insightfulness. Use irregardless at least once per entry. Add it to Word’s dictionary so it doesn’t squiggle it. Squiggle is a good work.

The funny. Four legged wooden chair. Table supported by rounded platform off a single leg. Used brown paper napkin crumpled in middle of table.