Youmans (pronounced like 'yeoman' with an 's' added) is the best-kept secret among contemporary American writers. --John Wilson, editor, Books and Culture

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

3.) The Palace Aphorisms, 16-18

Fat People & Tourists Series

no. 16

During tourist season, local hunters show a remarkable restraint.

no. 17

The fat man dreams that he is a soap bubble.

The fat woman dreams that she is a tiny seed feathered in milkweed silks, floating up toward heaven.

no. 18

A very fat tourist with a tiny toy camera around his neck comes to see sights and is one.

The milkweed photo is courtesy of www.sxc.hu/ and Loretta Humble, who lives in Malakoff, Texas and describes herself as "owner/publisher of a small weekly newspaper and Living Well, a free health/senior tabloid."

3 comments:

  1. Your last two photographs (not counting the adorable one of your mother and of my sweet Jeffery--which you've disabled the Comment function on?) are stunning. Poor little ant---he didn't know what hit him, I hope.
    This is such a coincidence. I saw Mr. Bluet himself Sunday night and we talked about you! I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want you to feel homesick. Now, since you've brought him up yourself, I feel no such compunction. Hi Jeffery! I know you're out there.

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  2. Hmm, I think that must have been confusing... Having all three linked under one day with comments at the bottom. Suppose I won't do that again.

    Well, I hope the photographers see that comment! I'll mention it to Frank. I got a lot of email about the magnolia picture of my grandmother from friends... And I have some more interesting pictures from Frank that I'm saving to post in the right spot.

    Poor you. Must have been a dreadfully boring conversation--at the moment my life feels all domestic disaster (the van towed to Oneonta, the new dryet catching fire, N. going wailey, wailey about school!)

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  3. That's a dryer.

    Not a dryet.

    But I wish it would! Dryet.

    ReplyDelete

Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.