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The Turnip Truck(s)

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Belief Contents

Geoff Wyss Stereo Then the election happened, and I was hoping I had had a heart attack. Only much later, looking back, did I recognize that my months of chest pain corresponded to the presidential campaign and its aftermath. It is characterist
nature. When my pulse finally clattered back onto its rails, I stood, feeling wrung out, soft, and new. I write these sentences the day after Mardi Gras. Yesterday I wore lipstick, a pageboy wig, and a white leotard with RUSSIA WOMEN’S GYMNASTICS T
he is caught on film sounding out the words in Dreams from My Father . A Secret Service drone dispatched to move Trump’s golf ball to a better lie is hacked by the Iranian Republican Guard and wheels back on the president with its vicious little bl
and awarded, by the dark catalyst of the election, to my brother. All the music we grew up with is now his. My ears tell me it belongs to the other party. The dream could not give me my music back, nor could it fulfill my true wish: not that my brot
thinking that it was my job to teach my brother something) that made me unable to call him out on his act. I knew I would not be able to ask the cardiologist whether I had had a heart attack without revealing that I wanted to have had one. To be mo
I was readying for publication. The words squeeze and pinch had survived comparison with a dozen other words and were now enjoying a potency under the intensity of Frank Wilklow’s audience that they could never achieve in a classroom of students
house that looks out through live oaks onto a quiet block with an antique shop and an Ace Hardware. Through the windows behind me, a bank of computers throws auxiliary light onto donated desks and bookshelves. There is no one here yet; the voice fro
it is never a book Dell hands me but the iPad he is smashing against his face when I return from the kitchen. Just waiting for the download, he says, his eyes wide with the glow. The Week ? I ask. He hands me the device in confirmation: Good to
surveying the International Market or choosing an assignment in the Contest of Mayors. I ask Dell, when I’ve finished my session, whether we know how many people listen to the station in general or to any program in particular. We do not. The possib
anonymously alone. But my blind self is, of course, not alone; it is attended by my watching second self across the table, the blind me being seen being blind. In my lap as I write this is the passage from Austerlitz in which Sebald expresses a si
I maintained my page was to learn the lesson of my inaudibility. Clicking Post entered my writing into the general clamor, putting it into discourse with Walter White and Katniss Everdeen, the latest school shooter, wildfires, abductions, series fin
it again, in my stubbornness continuing to wear the monitor but withholding myself from it. I would be curious to know what Antonia sees on her screen when I open SimCity Buildit . No doubt a quickening of pulse, arteries flexing open to feed my e
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Geoff Wyss Stereo Then the election happened, and I was hoping I had had a heart attack. Only much later, looking back, did I recognize that my months of chest pain corresponded to the presidential campaign and its aftermath. It is characterist nature. When my pulse finally clattered back onto its rails, I stood, feeling wrung out, soft, and new. I write these sentences the day after Mardi Gras. Yesterday I wore lipstick, a pageboy wig, and a white leotard with RUSSIA WOMEN’S GYMNASTICS T he is caught on film sounding out the words in Dreams from My Father . A Secret Service drone dispatched to move Trump’s golf ball to a better lie is hacked by the Iranian Republican Guard and wheels back on the president with its vicious little bl and awarded, by the dark catalyst of the election, to my brother. All the music we grew up with is now his. My ears tell me it belongs to the other party. The dream could not give me my music back, nor could it fulfill my true wish: not that my brot thinking that it was my job to teach my brother something) that made me unable to call him out on his act. I knew I would not be able to ask the cardiologist whether I had had a heart attack without revealing that I wanted to have had one. To be mo I was readying for publication. The words squeeze and pinch had survived comparison with a dozen other words and were now enjoying a potency under the intensity of Frank Wilklow’s audience that they could never achieve in a classroom of students house that looks out through live oaks onto a quiet block with an antique shop and an Ace Hardware. Through the windows behind me, a bank of computers throws auxiliary light onto donated desks and bookshelves. There is no one here yet; the voice fro it is never a book Dell hands me but the iPad he is smashing against his face when I return from the kitchen. Just waiting for the download, he says, his eyes wide with the glow. The Week ? I ask. He hands me the device in confirmation: Good to surveying the International Market or choosing an assignment in the Contest of Mayors. I ask Dell, when I’ve finished my session, whether we know how many people listen to the station in general or to any program in particular. We do not. The possib anonymously alone. But my blind self is, of course, not alone; it is attended by my watching second self across the table, the blind me being seen being blind. In my lap as I write this is the passage from Austerlitz in which Sebald expresses a si I maintained my page was to learn the lesson of my inaudibility. Clicking Post entered my writing into the general clamor, putting it into discourse with Walter White and Katniss Everdeen, the latest school shooter, wildfires, abductions, series fin it again, in my stubbornness continuing to wear the monitor but withholding myself from it. I would be curious to know what Antonia sees on her screen when I open SimCity Buildit . No doubt a quickening of pulse, arteries flexing open to feed my e Geoff Wyss 13.jpg Geoff Wyss 14.jpg Geoff Wyss 15.jpg Geoff Wyss 16.jpg Geoff Wyss 17.jpg Geoff Wyss 18.jpg

 

 
 

(Print) ISSN 2380-2073 -- (Online) ISSN 2379-5212