Thursday, January 13, 2011

MY CHILDHOOD FRIEND

the scientist’s fingers are full of lab-grown tissue instead of sandwich spread trying to engage it in a jaunty ventriloquist act, half-human meat on fingers now all burnt out after hours of unsuccessful audition brutal iteration negative training blaming 

you’re going to be half a brain one day one lucky person is going to have to have half of his or her brain augmented you’re going to inhabit his or her skull be nice to the other half that was unfortunate enough to have lost its other hemisphere in a rodeo accident kay?

the tissue is discarded after much brooding and goodbyes it is but a dirty frumpled half-bloody dumpling under a bus which had rolled there after being insouciantly tossed into the street by the passing scientist after much fanfare and goodbyeing and brooding and like got picked up some seconds later by a boy whose mother dresses him in girl’s clothes it will get a new head its new head with be the best-dressed kleenex box on the boy’s windowsill it will not be creepy or obscene

a strange bone behind its oval trepan breather hole censors every vowel spoken by friends of the boy and by the boy’s parents and by the boy himself grammar’s quixotic gapmouth is ascribed by the god this kleenex box prays to at night to a hoax played on the papery speech centers of the brain by the god the brain in the box prays to him/herself interestingly

the borg is after the blood vessels of every banjo in fargo a thing after which the boy himself is actually also and but so the boy is actually after the same thing as the borg it will now seem: the fluty tubes of the larger banjo body corporate, when extracted and sutured to a new nervous system, will infuse a convincing type of gung-ho and zest into that storefront phenomenon in vogue at present – a satisfactory substitute for the traditional expressionless mannequin – i.e. the voluptuous spine resting upright on the small pink cushion that on closer inspection turns out to be a prostate gland another creation of the scientist instead of ventriloquism it had mastered the technique of appearing tall and domineering it veritably looms on its squat plush prostatic jewelry box pillow it does not need glamorous steel stilts to make it sexy for example

oh but the vicious mercenary borg will clean out the hapless fargoan houses of banjos much quicker than the boy would ever hope to he needs only one banjo and one spine and one prostate gland to stick in underneath his cognizant prettily adorned kleenex box he will hate the borg for the rest of his days with a fervor bordering on hysterical for not notifying him at least of their similar ambitions for not providing at least some sort of human decent sportsmanly headsup  

the fact that the boy’s mother dresses him in girl’s clothes is another story

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