2 out of 9
farther along in November
The swamp thing awoke me on its recurring cycle of heating + relaxing spinning + creaking with off-balanced ticking like a card in the spokes of a stingray with a sissy-bar like a timer on a time bomb reinterpreted reengineered in mind as the radio station droning traffic conditions conditions for traffic you need a lot of cars you need too little road you need loss of time upon investigation the metal fan box revealed a lightly frozen over casing — not loosened by a verbal cuss coaxing (whoa to the Legion of Decency) nor swinging a rubber mallet — on the third chance to remedy a heat-gun flashed to mind I hooked up an extension cord then I hooked up an extension cord then I hooked up an extension cord to make it within reaching distance blasting hot air aiming at the sinister hi-pitched warblery sound that smells of cat litter + base elements holding fast + then backed away as the alarming noise pitched up + fell reduced to a low roar of a smaller scary animal easily taken + understood being less than what it had been it worked swell for a bit after that as I hit my toe so hard on a table leg retch without vomit +  the bed had gotten cold but if I was given the native american name Shoots Hot Air At Her Heat Pump At Midnight it was worth it. 


  1. Her initials would be SHAAHHPAM.

    Just call her Shaahhpam.

  2. it's a good name, better than Two Beers

  3. Hahahaha. Whatever works. My extension chords are never long enough either!