London Calling
I'm off on the plane tomorrow.
"Heathrow is a mess," or so I hear.
"Expect delays."
"Leave the shampoo at home," says one collaborator.
"Toothpaste too," says another.
But what if I am I desperate for a tooth brushing while in flight? I guess I could squeeze some into a Teflon coated condom, ingest it, like a mule transporting contraband, bring it on board in my gut, and if I'm lucky, get it out of my system just in time to clean my teeth and get that fake airplane food taste out of my mouth.
"Expect delays."
No matter what, even with a 48 hour delay, I''ll do all I can to embody the ever elusive author function in action:
"Heathrow is a mess," or so I hear.
"Expect delays."
"Leave the shampoo at home," says one collaborator.
"Toothpaste too," says another.
But what if I am I desperate for a tooth brushing while in flight? I guess I could squeeze some into a Teflon coated condom, ingest it, like a mule transporting contraband, bring it on board in my gut, and if I'm lucky, get it out of my system just in time to clean my teeth and get that fake airplane food taste out of my mouth.
"Expect delays."
No matter what, even with a 48 hour delay, I''ll do all I can to embody the ever elusive author function in action:
No doubt I shall go on writing, stumbling across tundras of unmeaning, planting words like bloody flags in my wake. Loose ends, things unrelated, shifts, nightmare journeys, cities arrived at and left, meetings, desertions, betrayals, all manner of unions, adulteries, triumphs, defeats... these are the facts.
Metadata: literature, London, Heathrow, life, toothpaste
posted by Professor VJ at 7:04 PM
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