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Voicemail @ 4:30 AM

Gunnar Wray

Darling, I worked it out. I really did, and you’re a blank page. And once again, I’m terrified and fumbling the football through the telephone wires. And friend, danger girl. We XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXUHXXXXXXXXXXXHUH. And I wanted to be XXXXXXXXXXXWOWXXXXXXXXXXXXLOVE?XXXXXXXXXXHUH? That’s a BEAR TRAP! And everyone loves a BEAR TRAP, temporarily. So the best I could do was try and burn my fingertips into your back. Hopefully, they’ll show up when you’re lying on the sand. And someone will say, “The sun is giving you fingerprints.” And you’ll say, “No, it’s that fucking fake boy of mine.” Oh, and let’s never take a picture together. I would see it and I wouldn’t recognize myself. Who’s that happy son of a bitch? And I would be jealous. And I’m sitting in 804. The doorman hates me. There are colossal monuments in my eyes. And they shake when I look at you. And people grab all of their valuables and run for cover. And be flattered when I say, you are my favorite piece of furniture. And I’ve lied awake next to you, listening to your grinding teeth. You’ve been on a cavern tour before, correct? The tour guide always tells you not to touch the rocks. For the human touch makes rocks not grow. I touch them every time. I figure I’m just trying to keep the tourism business alive. Once the cave becomes a clenched jaw, rubbing it’s rocks against itself, you have a going out of business party. Teeth rub and grind because they’re cold? Maybe. And I’ve kissed you more than you’ll ever know. What we’ve done to ourselves is none of the notebook paper’s business. And yuck, fucking disgusting. Pretty sure, my heart grew a dog’s tongue, last night. I can feel the drool dripping down my ribcage. All I can think of is ectoplasm. And now, when I shake another person’s hand, they turn their head and vomit daffodils. And they hate me for it because daffodil vomit is very slow and fluttery. Once projected from the mouth, it takes a couple minutes to dance and pas de chat it’s way down to the floor. And nobody has patience for that. And really? I’m pretty sure all I have done with my life is chew my way through a gum ball machine. And my teeth yell, CAVITIES, CAVITIES, CAVITIES!. Went to the dentist and one wall of the lobby was devoted to children in the “No Cavity Club.” I never want to meet any of them. They’ve peaked at 6. Their accomplishment, brushing well and swallowing fluoride. And the heart is related to the gums, some say, so you better floss. Cause the gums and heart have a cruel relationship that shares disease. But you can brush your gums away and they’ll never come back. Receding gum lines. What does the heart do then? It walks upstairs and shakes hands with the brain. And the two of them argue all the fucking time. And it’s so difficult to catch words in a butterfly net. For years, all I caught were wasps and water snakes. And I’ve grown accustomed to those pets. Now, I think you and I should do what is right and destroy everything in our path that plays pretend when it wakes up and eats cereal. CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH! I can dislike a person based on the loudness of their crunch. I’m not sure if I like that about myself. Inventions are destructions. In the corporate world, they call it disruptive innovation. In the not corporate world, they call it, GOOGLE, AMAZON, FACEBOOK, APPLE. And I just made a video game where GOOGLE, AMAZON, FACEBOOK, APPLE duke it out with taped up fists. FINISH HIM. That’s what the cruel boys and girls think, I think. FINISH HIM/HER. Yeah, probably. And that’s why we slowly get somewhere while feeling like we’ve gone nowhere. And while we’re at it, let’s philosophically dissect the word “nowhere.” Is it no where? Or now here? Huh. Same thing, mostly. And, oh please stop me. It only takes an “A” to change this sentence completely. “Today is not her lucky day = Today is (a)nother lucky day. And “another.” You meet enough, and they all become “a not her.” And you’re not here. And Whitman invented the oversoul while rejecting the enlightenment. However, the romantic oversoul can be written in cross multiplication. For instance, me divided by you, times, you divided by me, equals, 1. The night I brought the Criterion Collection DVD edition of Royal Tenenbaums to your apartment, and you said, “I think I might want to watch the second disc with all the bonus features,” I’m pretty sure you gulped my heart without choking. And things end on words. But words are harmless ghosts. And they can penetrate walls. But they shouldn’t penetrate souls. But they do. The most real and living thing a mouth can do is vomit. Oh, mouth, you shitty, shitty projector, you. I’m serious, mouth. You make me see nothing. And over time, the mouth turns it’s ghosts into the ghosts of ghosts. And they’re very invisible.


Gunnar Wray wants to be an inventor. As a designer his work has been recognized by Communication Arts, the Type Director’s Club NYC, the One Show (Best of Show), and the Cannes Lions - Design Lions Awards. His “tiny film,” mise-en-sea was featured in Diesel Clothing Company’s “Be Stupid” campaign. Wray’s writing has also appeared on McSweeney’s Internet Tendency.

A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure. - Henry David Thoreau


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