Non Fiction.

I have a small device at home I use to “keep sane.”
That is a grandly negative portrayal of this item I am honoring, but hopefully by the end of this, I’ll have made it feel politely apt.

I have a small device at home that’s called a Buddha Machine.
It is a small plastic box of a soft matte finish, more navy than bird’s egg and I guess to describe as a more matured #136699. It contains 8 tracks of Philip Glass, reduced into small perfectly timed loops within the realms of 15 seconds to 3 minutes and repeated ad infinitum or until you hold the little power wheel in half a click for 2 and a half seconds.

It is a box I listen to when I feel my world slow collapsing in, and those are usually only during times where I take this little trip to self destruction. (It is not as dearth as it seems, but come sweetheart let me write.)

It’s a box as minimal in design as grand is it’s efficiency and effect;
it is my personal, private, Rothko Chapel.


Before the election, while sitting outside a computer lab in the Bauer Business center (dorms?), while having a small plastic table width booth, the plastic table ubiquitous in all neighborhood garage sales and family backyard outings, that plastic table; while sitting outside a smash venue slinging shirts, i wanted to talk to my friend about this story angle about the then Candidate’s awful branding scheme to sell the world.

-It’s like this, Trump Chapel. It’s blown up, to thrice it’s size. Those little awnings where they keep the chairs is getting converted for deep fryers and funnel cakes; this side’s going to have the gift shop: get rid of those hideous black things and put some Real Art up on those walls; give me some legs, give me some broads with skirts up their necks and more girls down their skirts; Let’s put some Real patriotism in here, Washington skinning the king and seal team six with their goddamn boots on his balls; give me some goddamn SIZE in here, I want this thing to to PEN-ET-TRATE’ the fucking clouds; I’m going to light this little bitch of mine so they see her screamin’ and hollerin’ from the next moon over;
I’m going to capitalize that little t for him.”

—- —–




This was a logistical fear for me.



— – —- – – —- – – —– —- —— –

-Dad just told me to say hi to “—–” for me.
Ha. Problematic.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s