We compare ourselves by how we see things. We watch women in saris play tug of war. They remind you of samosas, your hungry for the ones from Back At Home, in New Jersey. The women remind me: that muddy river in India where ashen corpses float like canoes parting chocolate water. Who is the romantic?
But these women are in Prospect Park. The response to such a sight is What are you celebrating? Is it a national holiday? Woman says “Simply family reunion.” But there are hundreds of these people eating watermelon. How did they all get there? Maybe in a boat, like the canoes parting chocolate water. Maybe they got there on Viking boats, though, bigger ones. Left right left right, left, left. I laugh at imagining them arrive on boats from deep in Queens. Maybe they arrived on horseback like the Marlboro man on the tobacco machines in the Spanish cafe-bars I mentioned earlier.hotchip are from oxford, you know?
What would you rather be: a fish or a bird?
A barracuda or a shark?
Cactus or fern? Prehistoric or future? Star or ocean dust? (berthe morisot)