An English In Kentucky



















May 20th 2009

    The old machine has charm.  The new machine just does what it is told.  The old machine has a point to make.  The new machine has enthusiasm perhaps but without character he has no soul, he sits there so that people might admire him or use him as an adjunct to their sense of fulfillment in a way that in too many respects is often quite sickening.

    I of course am perfect.  For me the aedicule finds solace in the ethereal and vibrant.  I look for fulfillment in an understanding of matter and in those processes of understanding that lie beyond the functional.  And certainly I accept that this makes me absurd.

    Our washing machine recently has requested that a body sit upon it during the spin cycle, otherwise it throws tantrums that disturb the cat and threaten the foundations of that physical structure we call our house. 


    The wife is the practical one here.  She takes with her the insect book, or a magazine with which to occupy her mind during the long minutes the washing machine requires for its spin cycle.  I being more like the Fox Squirrel, see it as a chance to stare aimlessly at nothing in particular.

    This morning I took my turn on the washing machine.  It was a dark load.  Heavy winter trousers and those sorts of things.  I anticipated a rough ride, but after the gurgle, I sensed a lack of that attention getting vibration that so threatens the house.

    For one brief minute I considered hopping off the washing machine, just to see if it had become better tempered.  'Cure happens' I thought.  Which was sentimental of me, I realized.  Weak minded, and uncaring.

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