Trash functions!

Old School Microwave

Ashtray/Natalie Portman (Star Wars version 2.0)

 

From Empty Cages to Empty Homes

Hush little baby, don’t you cry

Mama’s gonna’ buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird don’t sing, mama’s gonna’ wash it down the toilet drain

and buy herself a diamond ring, on daddy’s charge card

so that she can pawn it latter and have enough money after she divorces him to take her boyfriend on a weekend trip.

So while you are growing weary from all of those tears,

she and Tom will be fucking in a brown sedan down near the riverfront.

Hush little baby, don’t you cry

your mom’s a do nothing whore, that is more concerned with a coked out night on the town, than for your welfare.

Hush little baby, don’t you cry

the psychologist will listen to all of your problems after the government assumes responsibility for you, and you become an entity of the state. If you are lucky, you will get your picture in the newspaper. Daddy’s got a girlfriend now, and your no longer the apple of his eyes.

 

religious garden figures

 

The radiant energy of God is projected from a 40 watt bulb, kept within a white plastic mold of some obviously religious figure; potentially a bishop, possibly a monk. There is no crown/garment to designate position. Just a pair of tightly clasped hands which indicate religious foundation.

A row of cucumber plants, and a suggestive Dahlia bathe in the radiant nature of its energy, as each plant bathes, rather drowns, in the holy water which Frank divests upon them daily. The plants wither into a dark brown absurdity amongst the ashes of his grandmother and sister. Frank watches them with pity, straining to see them through the stain glass window he recently installed in his overwhelmingly ornate kitchen.

The light recalled distant memories. He remembered the smell of basalm and his mother’s bible; the glare of the polish which covered her shoes; the flowing nature of her brown garments as they swept across the floor; the beauty which he found in her stern reprimand.

Hearing a neighborhood child scream, he lifted the latch with admitted hesitance, and walked into the yard. Looking down the block, he noticed the kids careening on their bicycles. He resented their absurd laughter; the inevitability of fornification. Glancing at his hands, he cringed at his own sterility. Those hands would never touch.

Looking back to the lawn ornament, he realized himself in its ineffective gesture. The plants died outside the house of God, and Frank, was dying too.