Clark Moore

As Walter settled in to finish his coffee, he was struck by a phantom, peripheral visage, white as pins in flight, or bunny white, in haze — a visit from “The Agent,” in the nominal parlance of chemical memory, calling from a distant muddied element. Or was it merely the milk he’d spilled in a fatuous fit, hooking out to the Brooklyn back of his cup? All he could abide, he put his face down in the muck, and made off for The Dude’s abode. “These are purple times,” he thought, “when pseudo-pious cliques strike polyester poses while jockeying for pockets. And mocking fatuous Donny? That sweet prince, that palsied, hiccuping flake of bunny fluff?” Not for this aggression would he stand — not for that element. It required satisfaction, and of superior sort to parlance. Oh, but he would have his ear! Though for this spar: lance and blade, tooth and trigger — less to mind, and more, would he abide, in body to this immodest plum-clad receptacle. He popped a Velemint, and rang His Dudeness’s door. “Bolted,” Duder’s hand had struck in ink, “Out of cream. Gone to market. 8pm practice.” His buddy was benumbed: “Dash this dairy! You’ve become fat to us with cordials of coffee and curds. Oh, uncareful beverage! Such fatuous froth and foam will be your undoing!” Yet not undone, but in parlay with his special lady, laid up in zesty enterprise, coital as bunnies, making maudlin moan. The story is ludicrous. Though if one abides that one must “feed one’s monkey,” in manner most gutter-struck, and not with precious prandials, “Brie pour lui. Et pour elle, 
emmental,” one can dig El Duderino’s doings. All others are cowards — elements without sentiment, without Johnsons or ethos, foreign and fatuous, with lingonberries on leashes, and marmot marmalades struck onto pancakes. Neither good men nor thorough, poor in parlance and in practice, unable to fix cable or walk on water — though may abide it when seated, in slumber, in summer, with clouds above, as Bunny puffs on polish. The poor woman, helpless as a frail fawn beneath a nude sun. A trophy wife, atrophied, fallen in with the wrong element: known pornographers; sycophants; Aimee Mann. Difficult to abide, and not exactly lightweights, is she herself to blame for her fatuous caprices? Her husband’s lost legs? The Dude’s stained parlor rug — his only tether, the life and memory of it, dimmed when stricken? Oh, the little for which we are compensated. About the size of our abidance, and theirs: some Credence tapes; a can of ashes, released to the 
elements; specklike Brandt, crisp and shivering. A yet-to-be-dismantled toe, Bunny’s.

... and we remarked on how piranhas, in uncounted numbers, are capable of consuming an entire ampersand in such-and-such a time frame. The sun was up, and below, and was somewhere overhead. And I thought.... ... and we shared thick and hearty laughs, and continued into the very dense jungle. And thick. Preceding us on the trailsides were ruins overgrown, boots stuck in mud, and heads of sunken ampersands. Which made sense to us, for.... ... and the rainy seasons came, and went, and came. And day, and further day. And February was unusually warm, and this, in a zone renowned for unusually warm Februaries. We cooled our hands on ampersands, which warmed again when.... ... and you took my hand, and clasped it, tighter than I could stand it, tighter than mud clasping ampersands still. And so I fell, and you held me as I, unstanding, looked up at lianas in trees — the monkey skyways that    .... ... and the language we used with each other became thicker. We looked together at some ludicrous, large leaf — larger than us both, and thicker even than several large ampersands, together. We used thick language to describe it, then.... ... and we grew ravenous and set camp. And established a village. Built huts with cots, and plots of land for farms. We grew ampersands there and ate them, and when through with their husks, threw them into our yards, where.... ... and you took me, deeper into jungle, with the wild dogs and boars, and cackling beasts, and beasts that swung in silence. Dangling from the tufts, saliva strands from ampersands obscured us in the roughs. We toweled and traveled and tired and.... ... and the birds became aware of our presence, though we desired to blend in. We made tangible feathers from intangible thoughts, stuck beaks to our mouths using ampersand glue. We sat in our colors, without motion for days, until.... ... and you communed with insensible arrangements: changeable organizations; shapeless distractions; puffs of dimension; ampersands; the dead. I pulled you close and kissed you, but all I could taste was vortex, and sweet guava, and the distances to.... ... and we grew thicker together, for I too could perceive, in the dry expanses, forms of invisible logos made thick — the un-wet language of communicable waves. We washed ourselves in it, but our feet, touching ampersands, touched not the.... ... and you dipped your foot, from the riverbank into the river, where the piranhas began eating. And I sat, looking at my hands. Sat, for there was nothing I could say. On the riverbank, alone. There, with whatever remained. &....