Fragmentary filler

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We're not around today. I'm recovering from a minor medical procedure, and Eric's writing. In the meantime, here are two short items written to launch a side project of mine which never happened.

1: Hinterland Who's Who: The North American Bad Erotic Poem
Non-Canadians may wish to watch some context, but may recognize SCTV's take on the woodchuck.

The common bad erotic poem is written primarily for public performance, but also thrives in anthology environments. It often builds its habitat in the spaces between bad erotic short stories. A mature adult may take up from two and a half to three pages, although poems of one and a half pages are not uncommon.

In winter, the poem depends almost entirely upon body fat, which is stored in the broad margins of its page. By April, when new plant life reappears to be turned into paper, all that may be visible are the four to seven words occupied in each line.

Like the bad erotic short story, the poem veers precipitously from inappropriate simile to non-sequitur metaphor. Food motifs surface frequently. The use of terms like "rugged watermelons" or "windswept bananas" is not unusual. In extreme environments, references may be made to the preparation of vegetarian meals.

For more information on the bad erotic poem, contact the Canadian Wildlife Service in Ottawa.

2: The Flying Ants
From early September, by which time all of the bugs should have been dead. Today, it's so cold that the windows don't work, but even that's preferable.

The flying ants are out in swarm today.

From the horse farm to the train station, they form thick clouds anyplace there's space. Some, wings clipped, teeter up the road and down the block. Mostly, they zip about pointlessly. Some hill released too many, and the Queen of the Joneses found it necessary to compete.

The air is glutted. There is no purpose they could possibly serve, save to annoy. The afternoon is humid, overcast and drab, suffused with neither light nor pollen; it will not rain and wash the ants away. Over the train tracks, it's not unlike the end of Exorcist II; all we need is Linda Blair spinning on the very rails, one with the locust pretenders.

They have no sense of direction. Periodically, they fly into my face, my shirt, my hair; I chase one from my skin and there's yet another. When some of them fly into the remnant webs of dead spiders, I'm vaguely cheered to watch them struggle.

There is no purpose they could possibly serve, save to annoy.

For some reason, the flying ants don't flock to the necking children. Perhaps the thick layer of pastel makeup on one, or the strong bleach job on another, repels them. Perhaps taking up smoking at nine is wiser than we knew; they may die young, but they won't have clawed ants from their forelocks. God knows the pungence keeps the rest of us away; youth seldom demonstrates good taste in tobacco.

Perhaps swallowing one another's tongues forms a seal against the swarm. I can only guess.

13 Comments

Eek. Get well soon Weds! I hope the procedure did whatever it was supposed to do!

Regarding the first snippet, this happens here in the United States in the form of our colleges and their mascots (and to a lesser extent, our high schools). There's a reason why the University of South Carolina (Gamecocks) and the Oregon State University (Beavers) have never met on the American Football field (or probably in any other sport).

Of course, then there's the University of California - Santa Barbara (Banana Slugs). I'd love to know how that mascot came about. (I'm guessing it had something to do with beer.)

Good thing I plan to be up for a few hours more. Ek.

He'd better be writing. (shakes fist) Flying ants are scary, by the way. They always made me feel weird. They're like a crime against nature... O_o

I had friends who went to school at UC Santa Barbra when they became the banana slugs and the story I always heard was, that it was put to collage students to nominate and then elect a new school mascot in the late 1980's. And by the end of the nominating process (think about it suggestions by CalifornianÌs aged 18 to 24 in the late 1980's) the Noble Banana Slug really was the best they could come up with. God bless 'em I'm pretty sure the Slug beat out the Greatful Dead's dancing bear and a tree sloth.

Ok, the bananas should not be windswept. Please, take the banana out of the wind, and put it back in the cloth sack with the pair of kiwis and the canned pineapple that was on sale for 79 cents.

On the other hand, there have been battles between USC and our younger, upstart, Western cousins of the same initials, wherein the Trojans fought to contain our Cocks, so you never know.

By the way, on Saturday, February 5, 2003, South Carolina's 20th-ranked Softball team defeated #23 Oregon State, 4–3 in Las Vegas.

My Search-Fu is Unstoppable.

Oh, and to tie it all together, the current head coach of our Women's Volleyball Team, Nancy Somera, played college volleyball for the other USC and was the head coach at Oregon State before coming to South Carolina.

Recovering from Eric's writing too? Huh. Well, I guess you see a lot more of it than the rest of us.

::: cues up Satie's Gymnop»die No. 1 :::

You'd have a bad sense of direction too if you were kept sequestered underground for your entire life, only to be allowed out for your one chance at mid-air sex.

And if you were a male ant, and had managed to air-bonk a female from another colony, you wouldn't have much time left anyway, so why not dive-bomb a hu-man?

(I like ants)

Once, when I was quite young (seven or ten or so) we lived in what is now refered to as a "manufactured home" but was then simply called a trailer house or a mobile home. (And just past my fourth birthday, we actually did take all out of the cabinets and secured loose stuff and moved the whole thing about ten miles. Or rather, they did, as I spent the day at a friend's) Anyway, in the living room was an aftermarket wood fireplace and orange shag(ish) carpeting.

One day, in later summer, we returned home from somewhere to discover that our living room carpet appeared to be moving. Somehow a swarm of flying ants had got it in their heads that going down our chimney was a good idea.

My mother got out the vacuum.

This is a few days late, but: Hope you're feeling better, Wednesday!

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