Thu, 19 May 2005

songs in the lesser key of solomon
On laundry days I like to pretend I’m a drummer in a super-obscure jazz trio who only play at seances. Constantly on the nod, I keep a sharp eye out for the fuzz and for uppity ex-boyfriends and landlords looking for back rent, but while they may see me they cannot reach me, for they are tricked in the eyes by minor spirits. I shuffle into the laundromat reeeeeeeeeal cool, no fucking around with sorting whites ‘cause I ain’t got no whites, dig, I got no time for crazy laundry taxonomies. I got enough change that when I walk I jingle, and I plug my three loads and then sit down in the back and scat-mumble to myself, hassen lassen assassin, and in comes my man Electronic Miguel looking for some nature of hiding place and I tell him we got a gig tonight in the sewers, where Madame Dolores, keeping it cool since she got kicked out of the Magic Castle (those cheap pimps), will be pulling a levitation gag she lifted off Harry Kellar, only Miguel starts acting a fool, yelling about the sewer ghosts, making my little laundromat scene conspicuous like a pile of cadmium in the snow, so I jab him one in the ribs with my taser and he runs off so fast he barely keeps in his Keds. By this time it’s a go for the dryers, so I take my shirts and pants and unmentionables and load up the dryers just across from where I’m sitting and just kick back watching the colors swirl into each other, until I realize the dryers must have stopped hours ago because it’s nighttime now and I got to get up on teh good foot if I’m gonna make it in time to play the seance.
(12:13.05.19.2005) [/ana] #