This came out of a near-death experience I had while staying in a stranger's home. I had an anaphalactic reaction to all the chemical scents, and possibly a reaction to pesticides, or sulphur on the blueberries. These were for Steve Kowit's worshop.
DRAFT
Take one:
Over lunch we talk of lists and artifice. At the store blueberries are cheaper than raspberries so I buy blueberries. With the dollar I save I also buy a chocolate truffle and head home. This place called home with its overabundance of food... the kitchen shelves look like a country Mercantile store selling gourmand items.
Artificial scent follows us from room to room. My nose objects but the chemically scented toilet paper defeats its purpose.
Near midnight in a strange room, my face swells, allergic reaction to blueberries, chocolate, and scented toilet paper. Normally random benign items converge in a strange house. All of these things I've used before and they never threatened my life.
A triple dose of atarax, late-night calls to Kaiser a sleepy doctor on call. My roommates awaken to the commotion. I sleep with the light on. I hear them get up to pee and they peek in on me to see if I'm still alive.
I think of dying alone in my sleep. We are guests here, houseguests can't do this sort of thing.
Take two: I put off my writing assignment until much later due to the commotion.
DRAFT
Take one:
Over lunch we talk of lists and artifice. At the store blueberries are cheaper than raspberries so I buy blueberries. With the dollar I save I also buy a chocolate truffle and head home. This place called home with its overabundance of food... the kitchen shelves look like a country Mercantile store selling gourmand items.
Artificial scent follows us from room to room. My nose objects but the chemically scented toilet paper defeats its purpose.
Near midnight in a strange room, my face swells, allergic reaction to blueberries, chocolate, and scented toilet paper. Normally random benign items converge in a strange house. All of these things I've used before and they never threatened my life.
A triple dose of atarax, late-night calls to Kaiser a sleepy doctor on call. My roommates awaken to the commotion. I sleep with the light on. I hear them get up to pee and they peek in on me to see if I'm still alive.
I think of dying alone in my sleep. We are guests here, houseguests can't do this sort of thing.
Take two: I put off my writing assignment until much later due to the commotion.
With the dollar I save buying blueberries instead of raspberries I buy chocolate truffles and head for home. Someone else's home. The cabinets reveal an overabundance of food. In the fridge, chilled prune soup with orange, and diet meals in the deep freezer. 17 kinds of mustard. Wavelets of artificial sent follow me from room to room. My nose, in this physical universe, objects to the perfumed toilet paper.
Near midnight, in a strange house, my left cheek begins to numb and swell as if Novacaine were injected. I think I'm dying, and I'm too young to have a stroke I say Ioanna Warwick as she spreads Benadryl on my face.
I think of Boschka's face, her left cheek drooping from Bell's Palsy. And even though we scattered ashes under the gravenstein tree so many years ago, she still follows me. Sometimes I feel her presence nearby.
Those blueberries, that chocolate at midnight that I ate for her because she has no lips, she has no tongue to taste with, and she died in the bed not her own.
My roommates awaken to the commotion and my calls to the hospital. The handful of antihistamines I took begin their slow journey, but they do nothing to alleviate my fear. I fall asleep with a light on.
My roomates get up to pee many many times and I hear their soft footballs like sphinx moths as they look in on me, with their wings fluttering around the light.
Take three:
With the dollars I save buying blueberries instead of raspberries I squander on a dark chocolate truffle dusted with a cocoa bloom.
Thinking of lists and artifice, I head home, to someone else's home, where cabinets reveal an overabundance. 17 kinds of mustard, food from four corners of the globe, a chilled prune soup with slices of orange. Diet meals slumbering in the freezer. Tall amber bottles of Rhine wine, wine lists on the fridge door.
In the living room, a piano never played my fingers touch the ivory keys and the tension of a note is released into the air. I imagine the ache of ivory keys a piano never played. It's an irony, a piano never played, and I fill the cavity of this room with music and sound.
7/27?
BLUEBERRIES
Near midnight, in a strange house, my left cheek begins to numb and swell as if Novacaine were injected. I think I'm dying, and I'm too young to have a stroke I say Ioanna Warwick as she spreads Benadryl on my face.
I think of Boschka's face, her left cheek drooping from Bell's Palsy. And even though we scattered ashes under the gravenstein tree so many years ago, she still follows me. Sometimes I feel her presence nearby.
Those blueberries, that chocolate at midnight that I ate for her because she has no lips, she has no tongue to taste with, and she died in the bed not her own.
My roommates awaken to the commotion and my calls to the hospital. The handful of antihistamines I took begin their slow journey, but they do nothing to alleviate my fear. I fall asleep with a light on.
My roomates get up to pee many many times and I hear their soft footballs like sphinx moths as they look in on me, with their wings fluttering around the light.
Take three:
With the dollars I save buying blueberries instead of raspberries I squander on a dark chocolate truffle dusted with a cocoa bloom.
Thinking of lists and artifice, I head home, to someone else's home, where cabinets reveal an overabundance. 17 kinds of mustard, food from four corners of the globe, a chilled prune soup with slices of orange. Diet meals slumbering in the freezer. Tall amber bottles of Rhine wine, wine lists on the fridge door.
In the living room, a piano never played my fingers touch the ivory keys and the tension of a note is released into the air. I imagine the ache of ivory keys a piano never played. It's an irony, a piano never played, and I fill the cavity of this room with music and sound.
7/27?
BLUEBERRIES
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