Sunday, April 28, 2013
Jimmy Diresta: Makin' Pants
Check out my friend Jimmy makin' some modifications to pants- the man breathes create.
THE LION - Daniel Keith and Fiona Aldridge
My friend, Daniel Keith, just released this- way to go dude.
Monday, April 15, 2013
New Shorts
Phil the barber was just that, Phil the barber. He always
steamed his barber’s jacket first thing in the morning, organizing his sheet
clips, scissors, placing the fabric softening neck tethers neatly behind the
seat and next to his blue jar of heirloom combs. Next, he would make sure the
electric razors were cleaned and plugged in, refilling the tissues, and
checking to make sure the head massager still worked- it had been on the fritz
for the last 30 years. Then he would sweep, clean the windows, turn on the pole
outside and make the coffee. There he was, ready to put on his jacket. Sitting
in his chair, waiting for his first customer. Reading the paper, smoking a
cigarette, his razor humming mind loved the mixing of the coffee and smoke. The
dry sweet steam smoke mixed with the iridescent buzzy smell of the blue comb
disinfectant, leaving a professional home. After the first cup of coffee, Phil
would fill his thermos with a bit of coffee, and pull from below the cabinet
the bottle of blue disinfectant. Uncrewing the top, he would hum to himself, a
monotone hum in harmony with the spinning pole and the electric razors that
would soon fill the shop. Taking a swig from the disinfectant, he would then
slow pour it into the thermos, enough coffee to mask the color. It was a
pungent liquer- helping to make his parts straight and his tapered edges clean.
Larry always stopped in to talk sports and politics on his way to open the
pharmacy next door.
Nick was the only picture taker in the neighborhood who
still had a dark room. A picture’s got to be nurtured under the baths to really
take shape after all. Coming out of the walk in closet dark room, his back
aching, his shoulder hunched, his nose scalded from the chemicals, his apron
hanging off him like a Halloween ghoul.
The morning coffee evaporates into the mist of the
trail. Walking up to the bend, Ben and Wyatt stop and look at the overhanging
branches obscuring the path forward. The cliff down to the right is thick with
bramble. The slope up to the left rises sharply; small weeds and loose rocks
jut out inviting them to climb aboard like toothless carnival workers beckoning
them onto the loose pin coaster. Hummingbirds buzz through the canopy leaves,
searching for the source of the sweet smell just through the path covering branches.
They swoop and dive, cutting through the branches like arrows threading
needles. Wyatt sniffs the air; his tail twitches at the hummingbird swarm.
Their wings create a surging greenhouse above. The buzz covers them, thickening
the air, choking out any sign of the sky through the hive. Wyatt turns in
circles, looking back down the path from which they’d come, his nose to the
ground.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
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