On Assignment

Open letter to my friends: I've been on a special assignment, sorry I haven't called.


Hydroplaning in my cutter on Interstate 80 in a flood zone, I learned that the old standby of removing pressure from the gas and the brakes, while not attempting to steer works wonders, and impresses veterans of foreign wars.

Discovering that there is an Atlas for freight train hoppers, I recommended the photo journalism of the polaroid kid, and was offered the chance to be a box-car warmer, or to arrive via train at the hidden studio.

Acting as chauffeur to a famous award winning author and artistic genius, I learned that I am indeed a good driver, according to the genius, and the proof is that we are both still alive.

I've been one of the first journalists (to borrow from the introduction sentence of correspondence written by the unamed to justify acts of heroism far superior to just showing up) to view an immense archive of art produced by one who the Inuit call The Tourist who will for now, remain an enigma, and ethnographer of everything that is unbelievable and startlingly true.

My dissertation will soon be published in an online literary journal, and I will name myself the doctor of special operations between the pages, juggler of a broken flash mount, battery pack, digital voice recorder, nibbler of story crumbs, witness to holy removers of suffering forever singed into Norweigan wood and/or the art editor.

No comments: