Tuesday, March 2, 2010

A is for Aces


Answer form titled in ALGERIAN

1. Your favorite pattern:
Fibonacci.
Or Harris Tweed.


2. French women are like:
A pair of crimson lips appearing to you through a cigarette haze, parting slowly to call you “faggot.”


3. Describe your own scent.
Stage 1 – upon leaving the house:
a mix of scented products, all of which were first discarded out of disorganization or absent-mindedness, then found right at the moment a shirt was to be applied… all laying over a tinge of brine

Stage 2 – having postponed showering for some time:
the smell of whiskey right before it becomes whiskey. Pungent, but promising.

Stage 4 – ripe as fuck:  
Piss poured over alley garbage


4. You are trapped on a desert island following an unfortunate mishap involving a plane and a whiskey-fueled slap fight. It’s been weeks and maybe months – you can no longer tell. Hope seems a foolishness you will no longer allow yourself and you instead turn to sentiment and nostalgia, which some will say are one and the same, because some don’t quite understand the square and rectangle rule. You are resigned, maybe, but beyond your resignation and greater is your love and appreciation for the life you now know you will never return to and, certain you will die here without again gazing upon your beloved, hearing her sweet voice like honey expand like a continent over your skin, certain you will never again thank your mother or feel the warmth of your father’s pride, put your hungry lips to a bottle won by dubious, though hilarious, measures, you find a branch well pointed for a final epistle written in the sand, your last scroll. You write your parting words to the world, not so much out of hope the world will find it but rather for your own peace, because to be loved and remembered by the world is to first give love and remember. What song is in your head?

Led Zeppelin - The Rain Song
“Upon us all,
Upon us all a little rain must fall.”


5. Fuchsia?
Tits or GTFO


6. What is the purpose of climbing trees?
To get to the very top, where one’s 5-year-old eyes could probably see the far edge of Jeffrey Mansion Park, or even his preschool, if the day is clear enough. And let’s not kid ourselves: getting to the top of that tree—taller than all the others on the block FOR SURE—and knowing thereafter that he’d done it is reason enough.

Alternately, because whiskey.


7. The number seven is overrated.
Six is much better, I agree. Five both has more emotional heft and numerological significance. But seven has a pleasing feel on the tongue, and it just LOOKS good. Clearly the most vain of all the numbers. Seven: what a bitch.


8. The only good language is a dead language.
…yeah right. We both know I’m a liar and a thief.


9. Benjamin gazes down the shimmering street, screaming a(n) epithet and thinking of The Hapsburg Dynasty.


10. You know she loves you because she:
…hasn’t tried to escape.

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