8/19/08: Chapter 6

(A particularly long chapter.)

Wide trails to nowhere. Nice and wide. They stretch far, and Hamilton attempts to follow them with ease, although he has not the proper skills. His feet touch the ground with sharp thuds, piercing the air with a thick breeze, smelling of granite dust. Miles down the line, he unties his shoes to let in some air, but his shoes fall off and he dies from the poisoned air. Buffalo roam these parts, and he must avoid them with care. Pay attention to the buffalo, he thinks. We need to protect the buffalo.

Ned protects his face from bees, using the glove he inherited from his grandfather. Ned feels through the thick, bee-infested air, reaching for a spot where there are no bees, but instead trees. Ned is not successful at all, but he finds himself. Ned, who has been fighting bees, finds his inner self. Ned walks, talks, and fights with bees menacingly. His hands wave, and he slits his own throat. Bees swarm towards the deep cut, and Ned sighs, relaxing into his easy chair. Ned has only been alive for sixty years, but his heart feels numb. His arteries feel clogged. He feels the woods, the air, the trees, the snakes that roam his yard. His life is a dream. Buffalo. Buffalo roam these parts. I find this to be fascinating. Ned fastens his belt, and rides off into the distance on a horse named Joel.

The barber hoards peanuts in the back room, saving them for the big day when the customers will flood in and request peanuts and haircuts. "Haircuts and peanuts" his sign reads. Big ol' barber, grazing in the fields. Barber flocking his customers like sheep, using his long cane to prod them and push them away. Into the fields they travel. Barber forces bags over their little heads, tells them that he has written pages and pages of poetry. He does not tell them any more. He sheds tears into the night, builds a fire, and sleeps.

Bill WATSON LIVES IN A WELL-MAINTAINED SHACK IN DOWNTOWN MISSISSIPPI. IT LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THOSE OLD SHACKS YOU WOULD SEE IN AN OLD MOVIE, USUALLY CONTAINING THINGS FROM THE PAST. IN THIS CASE, HIS HANDS BLEED AND HIS NECK reveals his muscles. Watson knits by the stream for his wife, who waits. He returns with knitted fabric, she smiles and purchases a packet of fleece from him, gets to town only to find her wallet is full of fat and slapstick comedy. Bought and sold, she files herself away into the truffles. Her fingernails riff on the tabletops as her motherly instincts kick in and fly her out to a special car made especially for mothers like her.

Magic men often flood, but in this case they have been gouged with a pretzel. Bug spray is used to fend off bugs.

Bill ties his garden hose to one end of a stick, and pokes his eyes out with it, causing bleeding and death to everyone in the surrounding area. Big ol' pails of cement. Bill brings in the pails, but forgets his token and his delivery service. She finds her way into the cellar, but he is dissatisfied with this and he kills her. Her corpse lays on the stairwell, covered in cement, bulging fat leaking out of her face. Bullets are fired, guns are dismantled, belt clips are forged from steel, iron bars are fixed onto other fat slices of iced metal. Big dolls made out of fluff and sidewalk chalk spray down the porch steps without wetting down the clothing. Marbles fall down the stairs, and apples are costing a lot more these days. Help me, I'm caught in fat. Let's eat tonight. We'll pack up and leave for Michigan. Hordes of goats, through with their struggle, eat themselves and gorge on fat muffins. Let's go tread down on middle maniacs. Mitch is an honorable man with very little hair on his scalp. Starting from back at square one, let's move to Chicago to film a script about llamas. He sits down in a leather chair, folds his arms in his lap, recites big poetry smiling gleefully, orange onions sprout magical dye and chop themselves into onion bits and particles of sandpaper men. I was meant to be chopped into onion bits. Let's order four limos to shoot their neighbors.

Will decided he was finished. Done. He mildly wished he could garden, but his eyes were sunken and his chops were musty. His eye sockets were filled with grease, but he could carry a ton of barbed wire in his teeth. Barbers bears beaches herrings. Musical chairs, build chairs out of metal. Horses and chairs.... Only big bags may be taken out and stored in undisclosed locations. Bitter extract was formed from men on Mars. Multiple men on Mars with rifles, holding other items such as sheep and lions. I think we should build a nice raft out of plywood and travel by ocean to the other side of the earth. Bubbbbb burbling brook barrel bearings, don't lose your bearings. Hardened fat. Oblong chair particles. Ovular magic tie-dye flaps. Bombard my limp flesh with poles, but be careful not to dream of leopards. Sharp chunks of lead pierce my ears as I scream. Loaves made by gods for the unholy phlegmatic sorcerer. Uncanny produce was meant for market owners, not old men with chainsaws. Only old men own chainsaws. Let's get serious, brother. Olaf stores his pens in his bed at night, but his face is unshaven and fat. His belly bulges with excrement, and his tongue is pierced with saliva, dairy products are his favorite. Be kind to Fred, he has experienced fat. His chin is oblong and tray shaped, with a twist like an ape or a dog... Bears trample live ocean lands with their large cement paws, butting into every situation with vigor and force, only stopping to forge onions into his bar candia. He furthers his progress by eating an onion filled with meat and cheese and fresh produce. Baboons for mansions, hear me? Gathered in the beds where they hope they will find their eyes shut and not open, but their mothers listen and reveal that they are playing fiddle for their own ears... Let's not get too serious, now, though. Marfa is a wonderful city, where we camp a lot in the winter time. Let's organize a camping trip for my grandparents. I'm afraid that my aunt will be angry.