July Abstraction 2026
Seldom reproduced Fever Dream from the Terrible Now collection published 2009- Selected Passages from Current release 2026 Satellites of Damocles Pending
July Abstraction
Muted phone ringing from the shower nozzle
announcing her flat tire in the Doctor’s Office
routine visit parking lot.
I was to wet to hear the distress beacon.
Meanwhile her Daughter struggled
with an important message and remember
her mother’s name.
I was never informed.
I was only taking orders.
Releasing the proper identification code.
Triple A was dispatched and was in route.
When I arrived at work
Mental health was waiting
with a videographer who wanted me
to talk off the top of my head about
involvement in the arts being a bridge
between sanity and the local indigent
homeless lunatics struggle for employment,
rural reality in an urban contextual equilibrium
and intellectual/spiritual community based identity
in a half-way house residential setting.
After the camera stopped rolling
he pulled me aside
reassuring me that the independent film
project was still a go, my role in it assured
and no it wasn’t my fault the
leading man had gone insane last Fall.
The balance of the rest of the work day
operated within normal parameters.
The general population of the incarcerated
wanted no part of my services. Multiple refusals.
Only Mr. Clutter elected to be escorted by the guard
from Pod B to my basement facility to continue work
pursuing his goal of obtaining GED and compose poetry.
Driving back home in the late July
sunshine I experienced a rather unsettling
vague 60 mile an hour accelerated confinement
and isolation from everything Summer was
except through the concurrent
concrete ribbon sentence appearing
in my windshield like asphalt cell bars.
Mid afternoon I went to the bank
Withdrew a large sum of money.
Seven one hundred crisp, new one hundred
dollar bills, with enhanced security threads
and holograms to discourage forgery and
dirty, limp, crinkled, worn, tired gray lettuce
tinted fifty with Ulysses S Grant scowling.
I immediately turned over this amount
representing half of the nearly bankrupt nation’s
economics stimulus stipend to all citizens
to my daughter’s mother in hopes the disappointment
of the mornings amnesia would be forgotten.
She took the money out of my hand.
Remarked she needed a new tire for her car.
The phone was ranging again.
This time it was dry.
I hear it distinctly
I was at the sink practicing
my best Prufrock imitation
carefully counting spoonfuls
while making coffee.
It was him.
The son of a great brilliant Jazz musician
presently composing infinity.
I listened to his old man my entire adult life.
His son wanted to talk.
I was glad to hear from him.
It had been a long time.
However he was in an extremely agitated mood
His voice exploded in the phone.
Didn’t I know about the fuel cells that were methane based, people building cars with toilet bowls in the driver’s seat, Hydrogen on demand, the mutant killer seaweed of doom that was choking the oceans, The hand sake between Prescott Bush and Hitler. J. Edgar Hoover’s head mounted on a turtle’s shell with a pink lace pinafore draped around the shell, The government’s new Active Denial System Ray Gun, (actually I did know about that one, the only problem was you had to catch your enemies in tin foil hats), what about his abacus beaded with skulls, Had I seen Raw Man around anywhere lately ?, What about Columbus signing off on a deal with Spain to buy all the souls in the new world before we even got here, that all our hearts need to beat with a hedgehog’s intensity to increase the amount of compassion in the world, we had the memory span of goldfish,
we better start to learn to float in our imaginations like porcupines, stop breaking all the octopuses’ hearts while remembering that ants don’t sleep. Armadillos can house broken. It just takes time and patience. As the icebergs are melting, they are making a fizzing
sound. Betsy Ross was born with a full set of teeth.
I was lost. Grappling with the meaning of it all. It was no use. And then he said….
And of course….What about all the Blue-eyed Macaroni !!!
And last. I understood and calmly replied….O….now your talking the Four Horseman of the Semolina.
Finally we had found common ground. The conversation ended on a positive and friendly note with his request I contribute an essay to a new project of his addressing a post-modern socio-political perspective comparing the Chicago based artist Dwight Kalb who had created a statue on Madonna out of 180 pounds of ham and the Greek Painter Zeuxis from the 5th century who it is allegedly literally laughed himself to death.
It was approaching supper time.
Ill relevant to me as I was fasting that day.
Went to the Supper Market in observance.
Had my favorite Cashier de jour scan my bag of ice
while discussing people who peeled their bananas
to eat stark naked discarding nature’s perfectly designed napkin.
She referred to me as dear, handed me my change.
Before I went back to work
I stopped in at the house
to find her car parked in the driveway
with three new tires and one worn defective
thread bare one that had been left on for
sentimental reasons…..
I went up to the University
To finally work with an electronic device
that could keep up with me.
I reproduced hundreds of copies
of lessons needed to start the semester
the following month.
The place was deserted.
I was the only one working this time of year
at this time of night.
Completing my task
I discarded everything in the recycle bin.
After all I had done all this before
and if I was lucky
would be able to again.
What better way to insure the possibility.
Now the sun was really setting on this July Abstraction
in great sideway shafts of yellow light.
I found myself with great thirst.
Drove straight down to the Dive.
Discussed baseball with the bartender.
We agreed in principle that 3.25 million
dollars was reasonable for a middle aged
middle infielder batting somewhere in the mid 250s.
I produced my notebook.
Two young tough looking barflies
started complaining about their warm beer to the bartender.
I took note of this.
One of the guys glanced over in my direction
And sneered and just what are you writing….
I glared back at him over my sunglasses and with a bright menacing grin retorted…
My Doctor thinks it’s a good Idea if I write…
They tipped and left.
Just then a trio of young Harlots saunter in the bar expressly ignoring me as I write
as the old man I had become which might have been true enough
but I sat there ablaze in the sunset glare from the windows resplendent in
the glow of a July abstraction diminishing me I could still hear
the orange and red disappearing ball of flame clearly ringing my name.
TN VQ August 08
Rubbereden 