"OIL BARREL MEMORIES" is a very special fast fiction based on this wonderful piece by Rebecca Miller.
So curl up in the corner of your boxcar, clutch this laptop close to your chest and enjoy...
You've heard dozens of competing back-stories about the crazy lunatic living in the boxcar which used to operate as a sushi restaurant. He was once the owner but after a religious experience with a fish he threw in the towel. He was an oil tycoon who abandoned and was in turn abandoned by family and friends in his mad pursuit for profit. He was a train operator from Cuba who was involved in one of the lessor known plots on Castro, involving a Marilyn Monroe look alike.
Naturally, you're curious. You pass the purple boxcar on your way to and from work.
So one evening on your way home from work, you step a dozen or so meters off your beaten path to inspect the boxcar. You hear a muttering from within:
I will bottom out where we put the top in, top spin I win if you touch my whereabouts unknown togethered unglued through a sky blue cobalt sunrise that will explode all fads that will fade into the sunset to leave us forever alone and then love will come home and we will sing of fears falling like shackles that have been heard around the world. I will, I will, I will roll around in this old oil barrel, I will I will I will spin myself around in this barrel that rolls down the hill, I'll barrel, I'll barrel, I'll barrel down in this old oil barrel. In my youth I fit snug in the cold metallic memories of a world spinning around. I will, I will, I will go back to these days of the summer that warmed my young cheeks red with screams projected out of an old oil barrel. I will, I will, I will feel the forward push of my pals that gave the barrel gusto and hell as they pushed kicked it forward. Even now as the barrel continues to roll to the grave. The barrel continues to roll me to my grave. The barrel continues to roll me to my grave. A grave mistake. A grave above ground. A grave mistake of a grave. I calculated thousands of liters of oil on paper, on computer screens that never spun. All I wanted was to go inside an empty barrel of oil to once again spin my youth around the eternity of circle. I wanted to hide my calculations so that I could spin fear free. I wanted to forget the numbers of barrels and live once again inside one garbage dump oil barrel with brand new words like "fuck" cursed on the inside with teenage markers. I had no idea the world was within barreling towards death.
You stand stunned at what is inside what you've passed everyday.
You slowly walk the rest of your route home.
So curl up in the corner of your boxcar, clutch this laptop close to your chest and enjoy...
OIL BARREL MEMORIES
You've heard dozens of competing back-stories about the crazy lunatic living in the boxcar which used to operate as a sushi restaurant. He was once the owner but after a religious experience with a fish he threw in the towel. He was an oil tycoon who abandoned and was in turn abandoned by family and friends in his mad pursuit for profit. He was a train operator from Cuba who was involved in one of the lessor known plots on Castro, involving a Marilyn Monroe look alike.
Naturally, you're curious. You pass the purple boxcar on your way to and from work.
So one evening on your way home from work, you step a dozen or so meters off your beaten path to inspect the boxcar. You hear a muttering from within:
I will bottom out where we put the top in, top spin I win if you touch my whereabouts unknown togethered unglued through a sky blue cobalt sunrise that will explode all fads that will fade into the sunset to leave us forever alone and then love will come home and we will sing of fears falling like shackles that have been heard around the world. I will, I will, I will roll around in this old oil barrel, I will I will I will spin myself around in this barrel that rolls down the hill, I'll barrel, I'll barrel, I'll barrel down in this old oil barrel. In my youth I fit snug in the cold metallic memories of a world spinning around. I will, I will, I will go back to these days of the summer that warmed my young cheeks red with screams projected out of an old oil barrel. I will, I will, I will feel the forward push of my pals that gave the barrel gusto and hell as they pushed kicked it forward. Even now as the barrel continues to roll to the grave. The barrel continues to roll me to my grave. The barrel continues to roll me to my grave. A grave mistake. A grave above ground. A grave mistake of a grave. I calculated thousands of liters of oil on paper, on computer screens that never spun. All I wanted was to go inside an empty barrel of oil to once again spin my youth around the eternity of circle. I wanted to hide my calculations so that I could spin fear free. I wanted to forget the numbers of barrels and live once again inside one garbage dump oil barrel with brand new words like "fuck" cursed on the inside with teenage markers. I had no idea the world was within barreling towards death.
You stand stunned at what is inside what you've passed everyday.
You slowly walk the rest of your route home.
posted by kevin spenst at 12:36 PM
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