Bilocate — part four (the winged, the legged & the devoured between)

(includes an embedded audio track)

picking up from Bilocate — part three (back off the job)

	Shuffle through: months of stubborn days escape their call to duty with failed preoccupation. 

There’s so much to sort, stage & plot against. Meander. Duck. Review. Find fault. Document then delete — so much to not-do, in fact, there’s barely time to sleep. Solvency is also synthesis, in spirit — it puts you down & lets you dream.

Accept this defeat as a shady victory. Take a lap from your side of the window. Knot the drape-ends to a V & watch out. Tree branches shrug, interrogated by the wind. Drift as if absently slow-dancing with them. Wonder, fruitless.

1/10
	Sunday drops by empty-handed to toast the fallen, prompting you to leave.
 
Crows squawk outside-down at one of the sociopathic neighbors who stands in the avenue & stares up at a tree in the yard. Near the curb, there’s a bone with shimmering pink meat shards spiking out as if torn off in a fury then lacquered. The neighbor mumbles something to the crows, taunting a cross-examination about the hock, then turns around, goes back into their shack & opens a window. The crows go quiet. 

It seems safe enough now to venture out.

After locking the front door, notice that pickaxe bought over the summer to battle a rogue community of deep-rooted invasives. It was used just once, up until a close call with accidental injury. It's been leaning in a corner on the porch ever since.
 
Walk onto the street, past the hambone & then down the block. A small dog paces behind a fence, yelping in patterned barks sounding "RAT! RATRAT! RATRATRAT! RAT!" Keep walking, hoping that the dog has merely misjudged you & isn't actually reading your mind.

Stop at a gas-mart. Inside, a windbreaker stands over a condiment area, speaking while rifling through plastic sauce packets. A meatball sub sitting at a table & looking out the window to the parking lot chews on a bun & occasionally spits out short spastic sentences muffled by bread & saliva. Without looking at each other, the two discuss the appropriate price for a used .30-06.

Grab a tall boy from the cooler & bring it to the cash register. The cashier looks down towards the can on the counter & says "Hi." You think it’s a game & say "Hi." too, addressing the beer like it’s a person. You smile, but the cashier doesn't acknowledge, pecks in the price & gazes past the cash register & across the store as if staring miles away, then says to no one on the horizon, "I'm peopled out."

Take a different route back to avoid the judgmental dog. Approaching home, notice that the bone & the crows are gone. From an open window, hear the sociopath yell to someone inside their shack, "I didn't think about it. I just did it. Ya know?" 

Return to the porch landing & drop the tall boy while unlocking the door. It spits & sibilates to the corner. When you reach down for it, also grab the pickaxe & take it inside with you in case the neighbor decides that tonight's the night.

1/11
	Leave a sick note on the front door, meaning closed for business. 

2/13 - 2/19
	Lose a month pitching a mood. Over-think. Attempt. Fail. Search/tear-apart & stumble onto something you weren’t looking for, left in an obvious place. Dissect the final finding daily like it’s your lucky week to waste except for a few regrettable hours that can’t be dismissed or recovered casually.

2/23-24
	Turns out, it’s no fluke: the sick note works & is opted for a public cinematic revival rather than personally postponed for a posthumous bio pic. You rehab the ruins as a trailer score teaser instead.

2/25-26
	Chop words & stack in a desk drawer compost pile.

2/27
	Check in on yourself, rumbling with admitted reservations. A complimentary response suggests simply breathing. Freely misinterpret & sigh in stereo instead. 

2/28
	Unable to sleep, dream up a few cookies to keep you awake. Thumb the remote to news from The City: “Next, a person in a park today discovers a box, opens it & finds a cooked horse head, some fruit & a can of soda. But, first, let’s take a look at today’s Lotto!”

2/29
	Go to the wrong The City & find nothing — not even a park or a place to park.

3/1
	Remember to growl but forget not to hiss while out amongst the animals, hunting for a sweet course. Invite yourself over for dessert. Top-off the week with a garnish of fried finality.

3/5 
	Unhitch the trailer:

trailer score teaser

bm em
1.boss sl-20 slicer/ping pong, pattern 1/boss rc-2 loop station/ebow-harmony hollywood2/standard/direct-Roland/stereo-original from 9A-full edit
2.boss sl-20 slicer/ping pong, pattern 1/boss rc-2 loop station/ebow-harmony hollywood2/standard/direct-Roland/stereo-original from 9A-full edit
3.boss rc-2 loop station/ebow-harmony hollywood2/standard/direct-edit
4.breath/ev cardinal/grace-stereo with t-15-accents at end-edit
5.beaded gourd/sm81/grace
6.snare-blue yarn mallet/sm57/grace
7.harmony hollywood1/standard/direct-line
8.rack tom-white tip stick/sm57/grace-edit 
9.fender rhodes piano bass/direct-b note
10.casiotone 401-oboe/realistic reverb-depth=max/direct-b note
11.thunder tube/ev cardinal/grace-stereo with t-22
12.ebow loop-copy of t-3 from 9A original-edit 
13.ebow/harmony rebel/1/2 high-string/standard/direct-edited
14.ebow/harmony rebel/1/2 high-string/standard/direct-edited
15.breath/ev cardinal/grace-stereo with t-4-main-edit
16.bronson squareneck-b f# b f# b f#-brass slice-felt pick/sm81/grace-original from 9C
17.gong-grey yarn mallet/ev cardinal/grace 
18.marching drum-grey yarn mallet/ev cardinal/grace-double-original from 9C
19.marching drum-grey yarn mallet/ev cardinal/grace-original from 9C
20.indian banjo-bowed/eh c9-telestar-organ=max, mod=noon/direct-b note-edit
21.indian banjo-bowed/eh c9-telestar-organ=max, mod=noon/direct-g note-edit
22.thunder tube/ev cardinal/grace-stereo with t-4
23.roland strings rs-202-slow attack, brass, depth & delay=max ensemble II/direct-edit
24.roland strings rs-202-slow attack, brass, depth & delay=max ensemble II/eh b9-cathedral-organ & mod=max/direct

3/6
	Sunday won’t let you rest: bake biscuits & pad write-off receipts.

3/7
	Repair for maintenance appointments with a dentist & a barber. Head back for drags of Scott Walker to disarm your bearish smoke alarm with arias. Disappear alone into an imagined crowd — tune out their conjuring chants of futile liberty.

4/12
	Read about radioactive boars in Japan. Remember that ham bone in the street.

4/13
	Spend the day civilly: mail off a tax check & go to a community center to vote for what you’ve never bought. Withdraw for a more artful week.

4/20
	Early morning after a lost primary, outside, a person shouts a name. It sounds like "Nixon! Nixon!! Nixon!!!” — their dog. It escapes every day. The failed owner shrieks more often than the neighborhood ice cream truck ditty that loops by most afternoons. After about a year of this routine, you’re corrected to learn they’re actually yelling "Princess! Princess!! Princess!!!” You’ve never seen the dog or owner, so how would you know what they better resemble? Also, the ice cream truck never seems to stop for any lickers; its warped tune fades in then out on an evaporating swell.

Try to write, but quit early because, evidently, there are so many other things to put off.

4/24
	While out foraging, become captured by a small four-door customized with the doors removed. It peels out next to a fully-doored fellow car-kit at a five-way. The no-door wins. Someone honks from behind because your light turned green but you were watching the race like it was on TV.

4/25
	Public radio reports breaking news that rats laugh — supersonically, but they laugh. You wish you could do that, but then muse if maybe you have without knowing it. Would anyone tell you? 

4/26
	Pare back layers of ideas & find there is no heart.

4/27
	Wake up fragile, but fortunately surrounded by napping cats.

4/28
	Leave the house by reading. Explore the years of others. Ease into the new reality of deep Spring, accepting nothing but suggestions from the fiction of ideals, wetting a fingertip as you leaf. Tomorrow promises a crisp blank page. 

5/28
	A timbre-less call in the street yells out "Glorianna!" A child's voice answers. You wonder if it’s really their name. 

5/29 
	In the midst of a late-stage morning dream, a civil emergency siren mixes with church service bells simultaneously calling for volunteers to circle around a fire. The wail bends beneath the punctuating chimes. 

Together, they soundly pull you out with an unwanted lifeline from the comfort of unconsciousness to reappear adrift in the raw trance of the living day. Welcome to wherever you are.

In Bilocate — part five (room number countdown to jingo-time), we’ll hit the road & plow across the continental crazy quilt as a summertide traveling roadkill exhibit. 

P.S.: there’s more music to be had in MUSICAL DEPICTIONS