This month’s edition of Celebrating Marbles will hopefully provide the reader with a dose of levity to ward off the doldrums of winter. I present you with a fresh serving of absurdity, culled from my technological memoir.
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March 6, 2014: Treatment for Circumstantial Anxiety
Sing numbing hymns. Crumble, ignite, deplore. Fasten your hopes upon disintegration. Realize your plan has been suspended in the hollow forests of inertia. Stare into the mirror of uncertainty, and gather empty vessels of enchantment. Listen to the heavens gnawing on your soul. Soar upon gritting and despairing reality. Wrestle loneliness with gratitude, and meet conflict with peaceful laughter.
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May 14, 2014: A Message from our Rampike Sponsor
Good evening Ms. Corredato,
Be it known that it was your elegant writing and your ability to convey the deepest of thoughts that sold me on your charms.
Thunderstorm Sushi.
You should help name racehorses and indie bands. Professionally.
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August 18, 2014: The Portions of Threshold Consciousness that Disrupts Sleep
I was wading, literally, in a pile of scrap paper, confetti, almost; each piece scrawled with the name of an animal, color, or name of a song. My ankles tickled with the sensation of buzzing and whistling, as the papers swirled in a cacophony of meaning and wonder. I like that word, cacophony.
The first time I heard Ruth’s jangling voice, I recalled the memories of ethereal angels, waking me and urging me to listen, to really tune in to the detriment, the sediments of despair and delight. The similarity between the auditory hallucinations and Ruth’s gregarious timbre was uncanny, and during the first few months of our friendship, I begged Ruth to recite her poetry, from memory, inspired by the murky wetlands, so haunting and cerebral, slamming me to the earth, and then lifting me gracefully, in one fell swoop. Her voice is a blanket of warmth and truth, roaring forth, stronger than gravity, lighter than air.
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September 9, 2014: Anonymous Fears of Height Perplex the Normals
There were extreme climbers that would make the lengthy trek across precarious ridges and treacherously narrow passes to reach the summit which was marked by a pointy spire of stone that seemed to float above the endless drop to the abyss. The only way one could truly reach the summit was by lassoing the spire. Once the ropes were secure, the climbers would swing out from the cliffs below scrambling to grab the smooth rock for the ultimate view. There was nowhere to plant your feet, so the adventure seekers would simply dangle by their fingertips over the terrifying drop.
You and I began the ascent from the base camp in only sandals and summer wear, but the temperatures quickly dropped and the terrain grew rugged. I suggested that we return to camp for better footwear and suitable attire. I recall putting on several turtlenecks.
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January 1, 2015: When the Enthusiasm Wears Off and Nihilistic Thoughts Emerge
Can you kill a tree that’s already dead?
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March 1, 2015: The Archivists Decide to Live
Perhaps harnessing the Rampike Express to motivate our creative endeavors might not be a bad idea. Fabrications of Traversed Rhythms could be a good title for the anthology. Or for an art show. Or a prog-rock album. You are a fine crafter of words.
Keep dishing this shit out and I’ll continue to steal all your good titles. Life slaw indeed.
