The day before yesterday the man in the hat met a barker who worked for the Staden Kobenhavn Antiquities Corporation in Copenhagen, his novelty-bag full to brimming with knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. He set up his folding-table in front of the Waymart and carefully unloading his relics and artifacts, some so old and fusty they looked more like secondhand knick-knacks and bric-a-bracs than relics and curios. On the hinge of his novelty-bag, in gold-leaf and piping, was embossed, Rumst Curios and Oddities, Antwerpen, a relic from past employment or a simple fays paws. On the brim of his newsboy’s cap, stitched in red with curlicues and ornate threadwork, were the words Caen’s Probable’s, Basse-Normandie France. Stamped into the inside pocket of his greatcoat, which he wore tucked up and under his chin, was High Wycombe Haberdashers, Buckinghamshire. And written on the elbow-patch of his sports coat, faintly but readable just the same, was Hoofdstedelijk Gewest Piggery, a place of slaughter and grand manners.
Where do these people come from, and why? A planetary osmosis, knick knack knock (...a loaf of Quaker bread and a half-pound of jellied pork...) and so began another day for the man in the hat. If I were to buy all the Quaker bread and jellied pork in the world I would be the King of Quaker Bakeries and Jellied Pork Butcheries. Then what? No one, not a measly soul, would give a damn, so why bother…it’s a dumb idea, I know for certain, or as certain as certain can be, which is very uncertain indeed. I could, had I the henbit (Lamium amplexicaule) do anything, anything at all, anything I wanted…but then again there isn’t much I want to do, very little, in fact…but I suppose I should leave facts out of this, as facts have little to do with what one wants, very little indeed. In fact I have very little patience for facts, or anything that smells, tastes or remotely resembles a fact. Its all balderdash, whatever that means, balderdash I mean. What does that mean, that I don’t know what balderdash means…I wonder? That little wee waif of a girl, the one with the hearing-box strapped to her chest, I wonder if she has any patience for facts…I wonder, indeed I do? But then again…and again, I suppose…I wonder about a lot of things, way to many to wonder about at one time…way too many. This morning, not yesterday morning or the morning before yesterday, I awoke in a tizzy, not even knowing for certain what a tizzy was, not even an inkling. That’s not like me, not to understand inklings of things, but yesterday was different, different than the day before yesterday or the day before the day before yesterday. It’s a wonder, yes indeed, that I understand anything, anything at all.
Where do these people come from, and why? A planetary osmosis, knick knack knock (...a loaf of Quaker bread and a half-pound of jellied pork...) and so began another day for the man in the hat. If I were to buy all the Quaker bread and jellied pork in the world I would be the King of Quaker Bakeries and Jellied Pork Butcheries. Then what? No one, not a measly soul, would give a damn, so why bother…it’s a dumb idea, I know for certain, or as certain as certain can be, which is very uncertain indeed. I could, had I the henbit (Lamium amplexicaule) do anything, anything at all, anything I wanted…but then again there isn’t much I want to do, very little, in fact…but I suppose I should leave facts out of this, as facts have little to do with what one wants, very little indeed. In fact I have very little patience for facts, or anything that smells, tastes or remotely resembles a fact. Its all balderdash, whatever that means, balderdash I mean. What does that mean, that I don’t know what balderdash means…I wonder? That little wee waif of a girl, the one with the hearing-box strapped to her chest, I wonder if she has any patience for facts…I wonder, indeed I do? But then again…and again, I suppose…I wonder about a lot of things, way to many to wonder about at one time…way too many. This morning, not yesterday morning or the morning before yesterday, I awoke in a tizzy, not even knowing for certain what a tizzy was, not even an inkling. That’s not like me, not to understand inklings of things, but yesterday was different, different than the day before yesterday or the day before the day before yesterday. It’s a wonder, yes indeed, that I understand anything, anything at all.
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