Right now

Transmitter wrote this in the wee hours:

there is a mosquito trapped in my car. I kept trying to smash him while I was driving, but the lights kept turning green too quickly. Trying to smash him while driving would only cause me to wreck and fit into his hungry plans.

He settled on the dash right in front of my steering wheel. Waiting, his needley proboscks\\\\\fuick frunk fuckit

Postponed Talent

Transmitter wrote this in the wee hours:

Talent

Perhaps for lack of talent?

The King of Beers

Transmitter wrote this in the wee hours:

The epicenter of mediocrity,
The grand basin of tranquility,
The heartland prepares for harvest.

The dust, an empty carapace, lacking nutrients,
Twists and consumes to fill its void.

Dormancy: the trough of a sign wave.
Before greatness comes great mediocrity.

The land — locked in dormancy gathers strength,
Pressure that pushes plants and awakens New Madrid.

Another wave in the dust,
As contradictions run together,
Like a chain of S’s, incomplete infinities.

Corn and hops suck at a dry drink.

You know you’re a geek when…

Transmitter wrote this mid-morning:

You glance at a headline on the morning paper that reads “Mizzou quarterback has the ‘IT’ factor” and read it as eye tee factor. The image of a giant quarterback fixing the network was awfully amusing in my momentary confusion.

electric-powered efforts at complacency

Transmitter wrote this at around evening time:

PBJ on white bread sliced
diagonally with the edges
trimmed off
smooth peanut butter–
petroleum jelly spread on my temples
with my edges tied down.

conducive conductor for wires running
conduits of the happiness–
clearing space up front, a spare room
to diffuse the blue light into.

rolling back into my room, just feelings,
no memories of home, animal crackers– snack time
where the good boys get candied capsules–

let’s stay and watch the electric people
moving on the screen.

Singing Little Bluebird

Transmitter wrote this at around evening time:

There was no sign, there wasn’t even a front door. I knew I was at the right place by the smell of the clove cigarrettes, the telltale odor of an indie rock show. The Bluebird looked like a church basement, complete with a drop ceiling, couches, and hushed clusters of teenagers.

I came to see the Hibernauts, but I was here because Grove Fest was awful. Not only was Grove Fest nearly desolate, but my ex-wife and ex-friend, who is now dating her, showed up. They didn’t see me and I quickly downed my beer and left.

The show was awesome, but I was shocked at the indie immobility. How can people not dance and move to this music? It made me think of the Arcade Fire line, “my body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key.” Then I felt lonely. I wasn’t dancing and I wasn’t with the one I love. Maybe my mind holds the key.

-nano-mite-

Transmitter wrote this in the early evening:

Tiny bugs scurry in and out of my keyboard,
Nanites crawling out commands
with the click clicking of mechanical legs.

Infected by tangible viruses.
Silicon carapaces shield my attacks.
I am defenseless.

I lay still as the miniature creatures move under my fingernails
and through my hands, float up my arteries and burrow into my synaptic centers.

My skin flickers with the movement of the silver army.
My body is a shell, a replication of my possessors.
I am only an observer now of my memetic movements.

My fingers click clicking at the keyboard –

Mobile Again

Transmitter wrote this in the late afternoon:

Bianchi Forza

Several months ago both of my bikes were stolen from behind my apartment. I was so fucking pissed I could barely speak. I spent the rest of the evening muttering, “fucking fuck.” I was most upset over my Specialized racing bike. It was lightweight, fast, and vintage, and I paid next to nothing for it, despite it being worth a lot of money.

Anyway, being without a bike has given me a good reason to buy a new bike. Having saved up enough extra money I just got myself a Bianchi Forza. I’m super excited about it. This is the first brand new bike that I’ve purchased in over ten years. With the weather getting cooler and a new job that is much closer to me, I can’t wait to start riding it to work.

Copy Guy

Transmitter wrote this mid-afternoon:

This morning at the office I walked by one of my coworkers struggling with the copier. I watched her frustration increase from a distance while I filled my coffee cup. Now armed with coffee, I wiped the sleep from my eyes and offered my assistance. She explained to me that it kept telling her that it was jammed, but that she had already cleared everything. She tried turning it off and back on, but that didn’t help either. I read the error message and opened the document feeder where the copier was telling me it was jammed. Sure enough there was a piece of paper. She immediately felt embarassed by her frustrated confidence that the copier was wrong. I assured her that it was not a big deal because I’d worked at a copy shop for 7 years. She thanked me repeatedly and appointed me as the new in-house copier technician. Awesome. At least my experience is respected in some area of the office.

Spinning Time

Transmitter wrote this in the early evening:

Every morning at work I go outside with my second cup of coffee to smoke. While I’m smoking, I skim the front page of the paper in the newstand that I use to rest my hot coffee on. Several weeks ago when I picked up my coffee there was a tiny spider dangling from it. I carefully transferred his web from my cup back to the newstand.

Since then, I’ve taken to watching the tiny spider. Today he attached himself to my coffee again and I had a chance to see how much he’s grown. In just a couple week’s time he’s more than tripled in size. I watched him swing from my cup and then put him back on the newstand.

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