Finely Woven Steel Organza

steel organza: different from most other organza, i imagine. i imagine it offers a micro-thin layer of protection, worn around the shoulders in Autumn, when it's undoubdtedly most effective. steel. woven into organza. superman's cape, you might compare it to. organza. a pleasant word to say for its connotive qualities--its similarity to the word 'orgasm'. in this respect it has something in common with the word 'organism', which is strangely not as connotive of a coital power shot of love from the groin to the cerebral cortex, but instead reminds me of biology class. organza. sounds Italian. sounds like 'organized'. a good quality to have, being organized. staple the brain to the desk; don't ever lose it. mske sure everything is in small, neat piles. rinse, repeat, save to disk with hardcopy double spaced, clear and concise, with bullet points, succinctly, um, parsed out, codified, and arranged by height in ascending order.

handy-wipes. Handy Fucking Wipes. handy fucking wipes, which are actual fact known as handy-wipes, without the fucking, which would probably not go over with those that buy them, have to have the most perfect and literal name of anything on earth. they are handy. they wipe. used in hand, they are a handy way to wipe things, these simple little wipes, we call them. wipes. little handy wipes. handy. wipe.

recently, i ended up alone in a strange apartment, with a strange man there, a man who i barely knew--an older man, in an apartment that looked out over the East River from the Brooklyn side, with the Williamsburg Bridage behind, and an impressive view of the two other bridges a half a mile or so down a straight channel of fast moving water, under fast moving white clouds.

i wondered whether this man, who was my boss, was going to make some sort of sexual pass at me, or do something that might require me to bop him over the head with something. he had already showed himself to be eccentric. energetic and absent minded, liberal politically but prone to hire white males, effusive and demanding, with grey hair and long fingernails.

with regards to the apartment, he seems not to like anyone "foreign", meaning any outsider, to use his toilet. he is something of a germaphobe. our weekly staff meeting this past wednesday ended with him explaining that the proper use of a toilet is to flush it only with the lid and cover down, because otherwise a "fine mist of bacteria" is loosed in all directions. he can't possibly deny me the privalege, though (he could be sued for substandard working conditions), so i piss in his pot. i ponder the odd scene while i squeeze out a pee and examine his bathroom, which is bare and sterile, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor (which he looks not to have used recently), soap. i worry little about the disturbing thought of this man attempting to molest me. but there is something weird about him and he did just get me very, very stoned.

Franklin Zabor is a work in progress.