City of Tomorrow
“Congrats on being chosen to design “The City of Tomorrow.””
“Not to worry, still provisions 4 rats”
We are taking care of the rats.
The rats will be taken care of.
We have foodstuffs for the rats.
At the end of an hour, the director said he’d simply state his own prejudice in the report.
The consultants said they weren’t going to keep changing things back and forth; they wanted to hear from “one voice.” I laughed; twelve dressed-up people in the room for an hour already, making noises with their mouths, and they make a point to tell us they only want “one voice.” The director reiterated that he would state his prejudicial opposition to the material at hand, and the rules would be abided by.
I asked if material prejudice would be the rule.
He said I’d be surprised.
I liked him, even with his autocratic, mid-20th century style.
I get a little freaked out when people look at me when I talk. When I sing, I like it. The meeting broke up and I collected a couple of cards, but had to run out of the room to laugh.
The café owner complains bitterly to us about slow sales, and about small-spending clientele. I did not tell him that the ex-personal-trainer to one-quarter of the ladies in town spends half the day sitting in front of the pastry case. Watching people eat traumatizes him. One night I had to help him through a catatonic fugue induced by watching two fat people bingeing at close range when we were out with the gang. He rocked on the barstool and moved his head more unnaturally than usual. I suppose he is trying to extinguish his feelings about that by watching it over and over; but of course I am guessing. Brave and hard going, that kind of self-therapy.
He’s not so much a rat as a miniature hippo. The thing about the hippopotamus, I’ll remind you, is their method of “marking.” As the hippo sprays shit out of its anus, it twirls its tail around, scattering or spattering it widely. I was not entirely surprised some had gotten on my cell phone, which was in my bag.
Perhaps I’ve taken that lesson.
“Not to worry, still provisions 4 rats”
We are taking care of the rats.
The rats will be taken care of.
We have foodstuffs for the rats.
At the end of an hour, the director said he’d simply state his own prejudice in the report.
The consultants said they weren’t going to keep changing things back and forth; they wanted to hear from “one voice.” I laughed; twelve dressed-up people in the room for an hour already, making noises with their mouths, and they make a point to tell us they only want “one voice.” The director reiterated that he would state his prejudicial opposition to the material at hand, and the rules would be abided by.
I asked if material prejudice would be the rule.
He said I’d be surprised.
I liked him, even with his autocratic, mid-20th century style.
I get a little freaked out when people look at me when I talk. When I sing, I like it. The meeting broke up and I collected a couple of cards, but had to run out of the room to laugh.
The café owner complains bitterly to us about slow sales, and about small-spending clientele. I did not tell him that the ex-personal-trainer to one-quarter of the ladies in town spends half the day sitting in front of the pastry case. Watching people eat traumatizes him. One night I had to help him through a catatonic fugue induced by watching two fat people bingeing at close range when we were out with the gang. He rocked on the barstool and moved his head more unnaturally than usual. I suppose he is trying to extinguish his feelings about that by watching it over and over; but of course I am guessing. Brave and hard going, that kind of self-therapy.
He’s not so much a rat as a miniature hippo. The thing about the hippopotamus, I’ll remind you, is their method of “marking.” As the hippo sprays shit out of its anus, it twirls its tail around, scattering or spattering it widely. I was not entirely surprised some had gotten on my cell phone, which was in my bag.
Perhaps I’ve taken that lesson.
posted by Constance X at 7:09 PM
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