1. |
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I occupied a table on the wall before the bar, on the sideline of traffic. The Hotshot had been yelling at the acoustic guitar singer for one more song. The bounce music started instead. The Hotshot settled into the bounce dance with his chin up, the only method for swaggering with planted feet. He waited in a black peacoat with his chin and collar cocked.
Only a beat, and the prey entered an took the bait---
"I like your jacket."
She liked the coat. He took it off and told her to try it on. She spun and lifted off her shoulders to give it back to the Hotshot. He grinned like he was preconditioning her to undress on command. I looked up after taking this much down, and he was compressing her flesh and easing her to and fro.
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2. |
Meek the Jackal
02:58
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Somebody told me that Meek would inherit the Earth
They didn't say word one about a sense of doom
Well I'm-a relate to you a story about my friend
Meek the Jackal! That was his name.
Now Meek came round on a shady day, made a proper inquisition, cause that's the Jackal's way.
And he pushed my patience til it break, and he left a greezy promise in his wake. now that's Meek.
Now the Jackal was a family name but heredity was not to blame.
And every asshole took a day when Meek the Jackal threw his clay.
No dust enough to make a shape, but he loved ribs on a woman
Like to play the marimba and call it achin!
Not really a Jackal, only an ape!
That's all I got to say about my friend Meek the Jackal.
Now he was my next door neighbor, we lived across from each other for a long time, and it ain't been a long time since he's been back this way, y/know what I mean?
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3. |
Sleepy Pilot
03:05
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He lies, he's only sleeping
You're fine, she lies, you're feeling so dreamy
Everything's fine, decide to recline
They're serving me refreshments
She's walking the aisles
We're looking for replacements
We want a new pilot
Sleepy time and I recline
This place is better
Sleepyhead stay in forever
Sleepy Pilot takes his time
The landing lights are drawing me in (the floor, the lights)
The floor is near and dear to me
See yourselves to the door (Never ask why)
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4. |
Fashion Ambassador
04:46
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When I arrived at the camp they told me in English of the safety and hygienic standards required of guests within the walls and leaving the premises. All clothing worn into public areas during communal breakfast gathering must go though a chemical treatment wash overnight. I was reminded of Boy Scout camps, with group-oriented responsibilities and procedural cleaning duties; a friendly reminder that even in a socio-centric community, there is consistently room for hierarchy.
I was led into a walk-in closet off of a transportation corridor. It was lined with wooden cabinets, reminding me also of a younger time of this life: watching rows of children like myself smother themselves with choir robes in the summer church season. Tall wooden cabinets, containing this time a peculiar dry cerulean cleansing foam in aerosol cans and robes of gossamer violet instead of itchy cream Godvests.
The can led me to infer later that aerosol and other space-age technologies were of alien origin, much like the economic enterprising that occurred after the astronauts came back in Apollo with duct tape and Velcro.
The beings definitely had the humanizing gift of decor and sensuality. They had dressed me in glorious violet robes of a fluid fabric, like you'd expect of the finest alien silk.
"For many years in our recent history," I told them in English, "the practice of dressing ourselves has become a global obsession of humans. The people who make the clothing, the designers, they try to be out front."
I put my hands forward like reaching for a table of poker chips.
"They want to do the new idea before anyone else. There's an idiom," (a word I had explained earlier), "to be on the cutting edge."
I swiped my hand through the air and the violet tendrils swirled through with me.
"It's an idiom I like, because to be on the cutting edge, you are cutting open, cutting open the space to see the new idea."
At this point I saw their eyes widening. They had large, round black eyes. Not human, but a sign of life of interest.
"The fashion designers tell the people what to wear, and they show it to everyone with certain people they chose as media to wear their clothing: the models. The models are representatives of a standard that humans create collectively. It's hive mind."
I raised my hands in an orb/oval shape, a symbol they had shown me for the collective.
"The models are so beautiful in a way that fits the ideal. They are chosen by the designers, and by man, and by nature."
I raised my hands again.
"They are the beautiful idea creatures. They are the space aliens to the non-ideal people, which are most people."
I spun on my toes like I was at a quiet cocktail party late at night. In front of intensely spectating alien ambassadors. It seemed an intimate enough gesture that I was sure would not translate. The tendrils spun and sparkled.
"May I take this material back to the designers on Earth? Can you spare it?"
I could not tell from their eyes if they reacted to me at all. They had given signals and indications about Earth and returning to it, eventually. I shivered and felt the distance for the first time. Receding back into the faux-Earth armchair, I wrapped myself further in the gorgeous violet silk and pushed the thoughts down that it might be alive. My ambassadors said goodnight and left the room as I sulked and smoked my Earth cigarettes. Then my chamber was still.
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5. |
Tina Diction
04:01
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6. |
Chanting
02:25
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Jacquie Cotillard Birmingham, Alabama
Founder & Operator of The Earth Hotel, host of the Earth Hotel Podcast & managing the talent of N-Lobby
Sounds.
See SONGBOOK HYPNOSES for illustrated words,
IMYOUING for experimental sound pieces,
NSAID for your news freshly cut,
& EARTH HOTEL MUSIC for sounds and compositions from the first year of the podcast. We all checked in at some point. May we never check out.
... more
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