Life on other Planets

People frequently ask me what life is like on other planets. I answer that it depends on the individual planet. And, to be honest, I’ve never been to another planet. I don’t know why people make that assumption about me. Maybe it’s the trinkets on my sleeve, or the monkey that follows me everywhere. His name is Lorenzo and he once played Calpurnia in a production of Julius Caesar. As for the box under my arm, it contains a pound of legal documents. People are so sensitive these days. You never know when you’re going to offend someone.

I don’t know what to say about gravity. It’s a grave situation. It keeps me in place. Things like that. If you get engaged to a staircase it’s best to take it step by step. My intentions are solid maple. Fireworks need no introduction but the asphalt is always a little demure and as soon as the stars appear one can begin to annotate one’s personal injuries. This is why so many painters love to travel and create new relationships with color. There is nothing so inexplicable as a personal injury or soybean. There’s a moment during the day when a door opens in the tide-pool and the stadiums recede into the distance. It’s at times like that that the refrigerator makes total sense.

But what about Cincinnati you ask. I don’t know. I’ve never been there either. But of course I can always imagine a Cincinnati. I see a place full of wheelchairs and whistles, beaks and bones, crowbars and puddles. Throw in a few pugilists and sideboards and you’ve got Cincinnati. If you turn around and look at it from a side angle you can see that it’s longer than your average belt and behaves like a boat when it’s put in water. Which is to say it lingers. And although that proves nothing, I hold in my arms a basket of intriguing laundry. Can you guess whose it is? I can’t either. Life is full of surprises. Sometimes it’s not what you know but what you don’t know that gives life its charm and meaning.

A few see the world as an impressive array of decorations, while others see it as a dimple in time. One does not necessarily rule out the other. As for me, I like to come at things slowly, gracefully, tossing aside crusade after crusade as I go. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to sit down and listen to Bach. It’s like holding the stars in your hand and smelling Pangaea. I like to feel the sky rub against my wings. If the images associated with the personality of aluminum fall into a bowl of pronouns the result can be totally anonymous unless it’s protected by a house. The jungle does somersaults not because any flowers are implicated but because the rhythm requires a pomegranate. The symposium aside, we had more fun in the lobby when waffles were served the following morning. Do you see what I’m getting at? That’s right: France uses a different asphalt than the United States. It’s more like trigonometry than fiction.

And yes, life truly is different on other planets.