A short: Halloween in 2020–Bring the Neighborhood to Her
Halloween in 2020
Bring the Neighborhood to Her
(everybody listens to Nick Cave in this neighborhood)
*The Future of Wallpaper* Christopher Jug George
His summer-brown smile haunts me. I sense him now, unlike before, he is closer to me. He is gone.
Category: Uncategorized
Video | October 30, 2020
Halloween in 2020
Bring the Neighborhood to Her
(everybody listens to Nick Cave in this neighborhood)
February 20, 2019
Giant Green Carpet (King Corn Novel Excerpt)
Diane eventually walked out a step ahead, then a little further. Terry Regal hadn’t necessarily picked up his pace either. When you believe you’re always going to be able to catch somebody it’s easier to fall behind. But this day was different. She was walking with more purpose, and Terry’s feet were sinking too far into the mud this time. Diane neared the top of the Valley, and he lost sight of her. He ran to the opening and saw her walk into a corn field, when she disappeared all he could see was corn standing as tall as it was going to be that summer, he whispered, “Green carpet. It looks like a giant green carpet. For miles.”
February 20, 2019
It’s Blurry Now, That Picture
I will be the ghost that she sees.
September 29, 2018
Because My Daughter Loves the Fall
Because My Daughter Loves the Fall
Evening walks with my daughter have turned eerie in the autumn. The other night we became bewildered on shadowy Summit Avenue. The songbirds were singing dark, twisted songs. Crows swayed on branches in the trees prodding them on. The chorus of chirps contained no sweetness but foreboding and suggestion. They led us to a windy road on a steep hill lined with misshaped houses that grew in peculiarity the further sideways and down we went. Odd noises emanated from the twilight below, calling to us, confusion was feeling permanent when Lucy spotted a child who motioned us to follow her out of the darkness. The little girl ran through tree trunks and cast iron fences as we paced beside her. Long stem flowers whisked through her body and looked striking on her ghostly face, much like a leaf adrift in midair, not quite to the ground, on its fall.
July 13, 2018
(Future Wallpaper) + King Corn Excerpt
King Corn (Excerpt)
There is a clever man who is behind an “Action Office’ wall. (CUBICLE!) I can hear him eating donuts. The sound of teeth biting into a donut is indescribable, almost. It is like a head hitting a stiff pillow or body hitting a soft mattress or a hard mattress hitting a carpeted floor or a carpeted floor absorbing a bare foot or a bare foot stepping on moss (there it is).
February 26, 2017
That Curly Haired Sleeping Being, That One Is Mine
That Curly Haired Sleeping Being, That One Is Mine
My three-year-old daughter rose from her bed while sleeping. She pirouetted with Frankenstein arms out, a hitch in her step like a wooden toy with flexible legs. She walked a half-circle with her eyes closed, a dreaming ballerina that fell back onto my chest. What was that thing? An apparition? And I thought, ‘my god, this little person is my life.’
December 9, 2015
I Hope You Laugh Forever (Abridged Version)
I Hope You Laugh Forever (Abridged Version)
The two sisters sat in the kitchen and laughed. No one else was home.
December 9, 2015
They’ve all come home from the races now.
I am smarter than him.
How fast was your car going?
Her eyes keep people alive; they supply blood to the heart.
The grass was definitely greener on that day.
December 9, 2015
We Were Just Standing There Out in the Open
We Were Just Standing There Out in the Open
I saw a black orb in the sky. It looked like a planet or a space ship or something not of this world. I told my friend’s dad about it and he said he didn’t see it. I pointed at it and said “it’s right there!” which it obviously was. He said there was nothing there. I’ve never forgotten seeing that black orb and now I understand why he didn’t admit to seeing it which I’ll never understand.
December 9, 2015
Advanced Coral Gables Supermarket Design
Advanced Coral Gables Supermarket Design
I wish she would have waited until we got home from Florida to tell me what was bugging her. She pouted the entire plane ride down there. At first I thought she was unhappy with the amount of orange juice they gave her on the plane. “Why can’t they just give me the whole can?” Then I thought she was annoyed with the size of the towel at the hotel. “It’s too small! It barely covers my body.” Then I thought she was mad because they didn’t give her enough melted butter for her lobster. “I’m going to soak it all up with the first dip!” She broke up with me in the frozen goods aisle of a Supermarket in Coral Gables. I told her I’d see her back at the hotel. I remember looking at the the lines on the floor. There was a green one that led to the produce. There was a red one that led to the meat department. There was a blue one that led straight out the door
March 30, 2015
Those little ships, constructed in the bottle, how small they seem, how free they roam the sea. She is beauty in a bottle kept in my mind. She is free in the sea, taking on waves by waving back.
March 24, 2015
Horror on Bridge Street
If there were hills on the wallpaper, guests at the afternoon gathering would have run into the walls when she walked into the room.
January 10, 2015
When I Time Travel I’m Going Straight to the Seventies
At family reunions in Omaha, Uncle Jim’s house smelled like beer, cologne, whiskey, stewed tomatoes, coffee, mowed grass, cabbage rolls, cigarette smoke, kibbeh, hot concrete, bacon, perfume, and cola. I loved that smell.
October 2, 2012
Yeti Colliding with Angels/Red and Blue Rooftops (Novella Excerpt, 1998)
My ability to think, evaluate, grow were all degenerating: arboreal, amphibious, human, ghost. I see now, as I begin to recall what exactly happened, that life is so simple, so resolute in the functions that we have, where we place our arms and so on.
I can see the sunset through the front picture window in the reflection of the back window. The sky is purple, beauty looming above me, in reflections, in air, in sight. I’m holding back information because the moment I reveal anything I will be thought of as insane. Even more frightening to me is the fact that if I start telling you what happened I will have to relive the experience. There is a knife in these memories, they blindfold me and push me down stairs.
The red and blue rooftops are in black and white. I stand inside a picture from my past reacting to the flash. The purple sky is gone; there is no beauty to distract me as my future runs viciously through a foot of mud. I am an elephant crashing down into sleep. In the darkness I can see the lights of airplanes coming and going, moving across the sky like crabs move across the sand. I can hear the highway racing all around me, the city lights buzzing quietly in the grid.
January 3, 2012
A man’s joy, a man’s pain or grasping at life fist over cocktail in hand . . .
I learned how to be funny from my Grandpa. He was a ham. I don’t think there is a better word to describe him because I remember his house in the woods often smelling like ham. He fought his way through many disappointments in life, one of those people whose smile got bigger the more you knocked him down. I get my sadness from him too. I realize now how much that man felt.
December 29, 2011
The way she looks at me sometimes . . .
Photo by Christopher Jug George *St. Croix River* July 28, 2011
That beautiful lady stays inside of summer. She is wrapped in a shawl of timelessness and is so convincing when she tells me there never really is a now.
December 28, 2011
An old friend came to visit me even though I didn’t let anyone in the door . . .
Photo by Christopher Jug George *St. Croix River* October 26, 2011
There’s pain in there somewhere, I realize, pain I thought I’d conquered. It poured out of me this past weekend and I started to wonder if it was real. Had I been guessing when I told myself I was ok? On Christmas Day I was watching 8mm home movies of people, of family, of strangers, of strange family, of Christmas, some of them I used to know, some I never met, one who disappeared from the world on that very day. They were so happy or pretending to be happy or sad, I couldn’t tell. I forgot what year it was on the street in front of my house and had no concept of time inside my house. I was lost and overwhelmed and had to press stop. I went outside to feel the present. I found myself on a path cutting through the park that ended in the middle of the road where I was dodging cars and further still, along train tracks then sitting beneath the Summit Avenue bridge watching my dog bark at birds as the world darkened and while sitting there I went further into the woods, where I saw something I thought I’d lost or forgot or made up. I saw a flash in the distance and even though I couldn’t see it clearly it was enough of a glimpse for me to know I’m not the great conqueror I thought I was . . .
Or maybe I’m still that boy from 1999 who wrote the same thing, in a 12 years ago way, in a novella:
I had to run but all of these people stepped in my path with indiscriminate looks on their faces, faces with no real connection to my current situation but rather just happening to move that foot, inch, or five feet in my direct line so that I was running through them and they were only concerned about tea, or how to get to the Nevesky bridge or what was said about them under someone’s breath, and every large person in the district gathered in one spot and pushed their pianos to that spot with them, and I scaled them swiftly as if I had the ability of the tiger that I saw within my dead Uncle, and next a thicket of thorny bushes that attached to my jacket only to get to a brick wall that I somehow managed to pass through, orange and black stripes flashing through my skin only to encounter every one in the Nevesky Prospect eating dinner in a straight line that adjusted to my path so that I stepped in people’s soup and on their meat and they acted as though they would be disappointed if I didn’t when finally I reached this point of isolation, these woods surrounded by birds . . .
December 14, 2011
The First Time I Realized Yellow Could be Described as Gold
I’ve been battling forever: with myself, with others, with memories, with life, with death. Fighting in a quiet way, mostly with my eyes and my thoughts. I’ve run from you, I’ve hurt you, I’ve tried to dismiss you, but, ultimately, I just ignored my wrongs, my rights, my gifts, my pain, my struggles with reality and then I think of a day like this one, when I was happy and oblivious. When I realized, for the first time, the world sometimes looked like my dreams and my heart pounded because of how golden yellow could be, how beautiful dying things were, how the landscape rose and fell, and gracefully gave into forever.
December 13, 2011
Gold River Diana or Life is that Strange Looking Thing Standing in the Middle
Photo by Christopher Jug George *St. Croix River-Gold River Diana* 4/28/10
You are a river, Diana, you are high. You are rushing and taking lives. I’m not even sure when you took mine. I’ve been negotiating a merger between the surreal and real for a long time. The deal is about to be struck. I was not here before, I will be gone again.
November 17, 2011
My brother Jimmy is named after my Uncle Jim. When I was a kid I thought I had a bunch of uncles and aunts. I eventually found out they were all greats so I didn’t know any of them very long. I have known my brother forever. He made it a point to save my life.
November 15, 2011
Movie About a Woman Who Became a Ghost but was Alive Somewhere Else or Rushford
Rushford is a small town in Southeastern Minnesota that is surrounded by movie backdrops with bluffs painted on them. It is green there and black and blue and golden. The sun and moon are made of cloth nailed into round wood frames and lit up from behind by spotlights. There is a silhouette of a woman stitched into the fabric of the moon and you can see her day and night. You can see the outline of her hair, the tip of her nose, and the purse of her lips. You can see her shirt sleeve hanging just over her shoulder, her elbow jutted out and her hand resting on the curve of her hip. You can see the wire above the moon holding her in place so she never leaves.
November 4, 2011
Photo by Christopher Jug George *Brugge, Belgium* October 1996
It was the last year of the century and we were walking the city streets during the good part of that summer. It was our favorite thing to do. We stood in front of an apartment building on Spruce Pl. and I told her that I thought Keith might live there. I pointed at a random window on the third floor and we both started yelling “KEITH!” “KEITH!” I remember her feet leaving the ground on one of the yells and I put my hand on her shoulder to keep her from floating away. I already knew she was going to float away.
October 31, 2011
Photo by Christopher Jug George *St. Croix River* May 12, 2011
The world tilted to the left that day and no one could walk straight. Horses were running everywhere and the hills lined up outside of houses as if they wanted to get inside. I was hiding behind a fallen tree, afraid to move as my world came undone. I fell asleep there and when I woke up it was the next day and everything was back to normal.
October 28, 2011
Photo by Christopher Jug George
I met a self-proclaimed ex-assassin from Eastern Europe at an Amsterdam Hostel once. His eyes murdered me when he asked for a cigarette. Two nerdy British girls hung around him that week. He liked them because they almost made him laugh. They asked me to have beers with them one night. He chortled and glared, chortled and glared.
October 26, 2011
Photo by Christopher Jug George * St. Croix River * July 21, 2010
I wondered why that older lady from across the street didn’t eat any watermelon. Everyone else had red juice all over their fingers and chins. She sat there smoking and scowling. It was like she wasn’t even there. Eventually, her patio chair lifted off the ground and she floated into the sky like Mary Poppins with a frown.
October 25, 2011
Some people hide their sadness for as long as they can and then the wind blows loudly through the trees on a certain day, in a certain place and they break down in front of you.
October 20, 2011
Photo by Christopher Jug George * Brugge, Belgium * October 1996
I walked along a canal in Brugge at a crucial moment in my life. I was swallowed up staring at her. There were people there, somewhere, but then they went home. The treetops leaned across the canal and met in the middle. The green and the water and the stone bridge became a room. I’m still sitting in that room. It’s so obvious now.
October 15, 2011
I Know Her
I may be most like my Grandma. I can’t really say because I hardly knew her but I know she was a seeker. I’m flopping through life as if it doesn’t matter but it’s only because it matters too much.
October 13, 2011
I saw a child’s bike lying alone in a field next to some woods. It made me think of a neighborhood girl I liked as a kid. I was with her and she said something about hating her home. I told her she could come live with me. She said that she didn’t want to be in any homes. She left her bike and walked into the woods. Before she did, she kissed me on the cheek. I remember thinking that at least it was summertime and she’d be warm in there.
September 29, 2011
I remember the way my Grandfather used to look at me sometimes. Penetrating my mind with a laser beam of unspoken thoughts, ‘This will all sink in someday,’ is what I think he was trying to say.
September 29, 2011
Like boxers the people remain in their corners, sometimes peeking out windows at each other. There is tension when two people arrive at the same time in opposing driveways, how they have to figure out if they are going to acknowledge one another. The world has changed and getting inside quickly has become the fad, as if the air is poisonous, the trees are scary and front porches shy from contact. They run even when the world is warm and beautiful and green. They no longer need one another.
September 26, 2011
That There Frankie is a Good Friend of Mine (short story excerpt)
Photo by Christopher Jug George * St. Croix River * September 1, 2011
Some people might call Frankie and me fuck-ups but it isn’t like that at all. There is freedom within life if you can find it, a freedom without the perks, that’s what Frankie calls it. He told me about it one night when we were sitting around the yard with Lisa and Betty. Frankie said “If you forget about everything and everyone, well there you are, alone in your own world and hey, if you have friends along with you for the ride, well that’s even better.” It’s friends, you see, that’s what Frankie taught me, real friends make all the difference in the world when you decide to live in your own world.
*The Future of Wallpaper* Christopher Jug George 