in other news: borders

I heard that most illegal immigrants coming into the States descend from the frigid, but less voyeuristically frozen, northern border. Perhaps this will permit my message to reach your ears without having been torn into and sniffed by big dogs on short leashes.

On the other side, I hear of rats and bats and squirrels that nest and infest and take over. Grey Gardens--but missing all the political embarrassment, and the sagging boobs, and the headscarves and song and dance numbers. [No matter what, we'll never accomplish the cool of Little Edie.] She says that when she lays in bed the sound of nails scratching along the attic floor boards sends her into sleep. It's easy to forget these realities when so far north. I still sleep with the aid of white noise. Despite all my talk of the "plastic world" at odds with the "soil world," I fear the nature sounds in the attic, preferring rather the hum of a fan, against the wall or on the ceiling. When the occasional bat flies down, squeezes through those holes we never noticed, still don't, the unseen terror becomes tangible. We're being sent away, sent a message, sent out to sea. Wait for summer heat to boil their blood--that will be the plan of action. Or the BB shots at dusk.

Again on this side, I wander through the streets that now slush, at 25 tics north of zero. A roll of $2 coins costs $50; a roll of $1 pieces comes in at $25. This I'll take to the video cataloguing, to the dance party, to the golden lion. We may shed some layers in order to move under the disco ball.

Foggy lines between this and that. The coffee haze. That tad bit of café in the au lait style has left me anxious. Pumping like so many black panther fists through my arterial highways. This crossing, at least, permits the strangeness of news sent vertically to process calmly. What's done there resonates here only in the abstract.