The staunch politicians were laid out on various ironing boards.
The staunch politicians then became starched politicians.

When it happens I wonder if I’m asleep–this vision of mist and shine makes me think of a strange shampoo used for outdoor festivals.
When I think of the brilliance of fog I think of someone trying to capture a memory, in a net, to examine, only to see that it is no longer fluttering, no longer sparkling.

My heart goes out to Edith, after she lost her good friend Beverly LasSalle to hate crime.
I watched Edith suffer and it was like watching a beloved family member suffer. I wanted to say something nice to her. But she isn’t real. And yet, what she is feeling, is.

She adorned the palace with jewels. She hid them. So one might often sit on one if taking tea in one of her many parlors.
You’d feel a short pain or pinch on your buttocks. You’d stand up turn and see a diamond or ruby winking back up at you.
Why, she say in that mirthful way, after a quick sip of tea. I’ve been looking for that piece for ages!

Slices of ham never impressed me. They were never meant to. My family just like them sliced thin. I watched as father sliced a ham and wondered, what happens after that? Well, eating the slices, of course. But what after that? Eating what was on the rest of the plate, I guess. But then what?
Reading a book. Watching a television show.
But then what?
Bed time
Then what?
Waking up.
Then what?
I never took it much further than a few Then Whats. Because life seems long only when Then What? has nothing afterward.

Mr. Dabbers squinted as he emerged from his home. Sunlight had not meant to assault his eyes quite so harshly as all that. But his cold had kept the shades drawn and his body under the covers. Now that he felt better, he realized he had to make amends with nature.

I sat one time and just stared forward–the living room was before me. Chairs, a table, a lamp, a copy of Vogue.
But I couldn’t see them. I’m not sure what I was looking at. But whatever it was, it felt like mine.

It was the hair that captured me at first, like long fingers beckoning from behind the live oak tree, in Texas. I was new to this state, feeling homesick, but comforted by her hair. It asked nothing of me. It just called me.

The woman followed–she was attached to the hair of course. And things just got even better.

Mouthpieces, they are my Aunt Fannie told me as we passed a bed of those yellow goofy-like flowers in the park.

Mouthpieces? I asked. What do you mean.

I mean, they never shut up, she said as she yammered on and on.

He looked at something and looked long enough for it to change into something he no longer wanted to look at. He did this several times throughout his life and came to some shaky conclusion that the longer he looked at that thing it became something he would no longer want to look at. So he decided to look less at his. He’d study it less and try to make less conclusions about. He would go weeks and months without looking at it. He would look at other things in the meantime and while that was happening would make sure not too look at those thing as much either. His eyes shifted, flitted from thing to thing and he felt if he continued to do this, the world itself might not be such a bad place.