The Panacea

In truth, my advice is to not actually try to figure out just what it is you’re looking at. Better to just blame Adam, which in turn really ought to be a t-shirt slogan of its own.

No, really; imagine the possibilities. Blame Adam. There is not a bug in your martini that couldn’t be justified on a shirt alongside the obvious slogan.

Bad memory? Blame Adam. Fretting over Nazi bikini girls? Blame Adam. Gendertyping in the twenty-first century got you down? Or maybe Great-Grandpa’s ball gag? Blame Adam, though admittedly I didn’t for that latter, instead somehow finding that it had nothing at all to do with Adam. Oh, wait. Forgot to carry the two. No, wait again. Wrong joke. It was attraction that has nothing to with Adam. What? Oh, right. Gravity. Never mind. Adam has nothing to do with gravity.

Hmph. That’s still wrong.

Right. Blame Adam.

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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 28 December 2015.

A Spectral Shape Between Them

Right.

There are moments between people, and then there are moments between people.

And yet there are still other moments between people we would rather never imagine, except that we will imagine it, just not about anyone we know.

Why am I hearing a Robyn Hitchcock song in my head?

And why can’t it be a different song?

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Weiner, Zach. Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal. 22 February 2015.