03 February 2010

Lost in Translation

With a nod to my Swede followers Inga and Emma...

TRYING TO TRANSLATE
WHAT MY GIRLFRIEND
IS SAYING IN SWEDISH
WHILE SHE'S ON
THE PHONE TO
HER MOTHER.


BY DAN KENNEDY



The weather here is like a hawk or small factory. Claws grab once and leave things burning, making people go to work while they are deadened from this. Yes, that is the case. That is the omen. When you take a vacation, you know there is hot iron and metal clawing at workers here.

(Pause while her mother comments or asks her something.)

Yes, he is still like small things. Books get read, books get written, framing darker things and pretending to laugh. Making tall, dark, long lives seem funny. Yes, tall, dark, long lives are broken, are scoring, are over torn. I am not laughing, but I am smiling or lonely while shopping. I am here forever. New York airports are so broken, I am here for now, I am here forever, no, no, no ... no, not like him.

But one time a cougar, a cougar, took an order. To bore the road of cougar burger, is to burn the road or roads of killers. A cougar taking orders! A server for ... people who ... ummm, what would you say ... hunger.

Have you been swimming in dorky rivers, logger? What makes your neighbor live? What makes your town not dead? I am glad to know. I am from a dorky river, I am one day swimming again there, with no ordinary people. Maybe with the mayor. Maybe with corn. Maybe wearing shoes, yeah, but no, no, no, not forks. No, not neighbors.

Yes, he is a small life and I am still here. He is sitting right here. Dark. Darker. Order. I am the sun. I am the sun. Yeah, I'm the sun.

Hey, though ... darker.

Hey, though ... OK.

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