Three of Seven VSV
(Very Short Videos)
Texts only

Will de Kypia

The VSV have contracted SADD (Severe Audio Deficit Disorder)
and are currently being treated at [REDACTED], a private CRF
(Cybernetics Rehab Facility) in Oz. The prognosis is guarded.

The texts of the other VSV are on
various pages of this website.

Lovebirds on Turkey Day,
or Dinner Might Be Late Tonight

“You bought a bird with a button?” he asks, surprised.

“Yes, those things actually work” she replies, tartly.

She's been in the kitchen preparing their first Thanksgiving dinner as
a married couple while he and an old pal were playing online chess.
A sacred annual ritual faithfully performed since high school days.

“And do you intend to smother the creature in tinfoil?” he continues,
gesturing at the shiny roll resting on the counter beside her wine glass.
“In my house we cook our turkeys naked, so the succulent flesh can
acquire a deliciously crispy dermis. A kitchen should have a baster.
 
“Darling, our house belongs to both of us. However, the kitchen is
mine. Nowadays cooking foil is made from aluminum not tin, there's
a baster in the utensils caddy on the stovetop, and I will unfoil the fowl
long enough to crisp its precious dermis. Which we won't eat because
all the fat is there. You're serious about the diet this time, right?”

“Base metal shall ne’er my dinner touch. Using any kind of foil means
you aren't really roasting the meat, you're steaming it. Maybe we should
plunk the beast in a big pot of boiling water, add the veg, then gorge
on turkey soup for our first Thanksgiving together and alone?”

“Maybe I should call my mother and let her explain
to her favorite son-in-law how one cooks a turkey?”

“Don’t bother. It’s past noon back there, by now she will
be too soused to talk. My mother's not a lush, I'll call her."

The newlyweds go for their cellphones like a couple
of old-time gunslingers going for their six-shooters.
_______________________
But despite the turkey calls ISO the brown bird of happiness
this marriage is as canned as the cranberry sauce she bought
to celebrate what friends had thought a providential pairing.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fenestration Gulag,
or The Spelunker's Lament

____..[ ] [ ] [ ]
Now windows and me don't seem to agree.

Akin to rips in the skin be these holes
in the wall. Because they're transparent
there are so many things that you daren't.

When you are in view your windows embarrass you,
showing quirks and quiddities uncouth or unclean,
exposing corporeal flaws much better not seen.

Should you look out on the day in a casual
way those beyond the panes of your crystal
domain regard your lifestyle with total disdain.

If ever you leer through the glass at some comely lass,
offering a cheery salute to say “Sweetie, you're cute"
she is offended, hollers back "You've got a fat ass!"

__________.._[X] [X] [X]
But cover your windows and people decide
there are hideous secrets you seek to hide.

._______________.🧥___________________________.🧌
So a misplaced urbanite intends to devolve into a troglodyte.

Beside a lake deep and opaque lies a hill of great height,
a hill pierced by innumerable caverns darker than night.

There I’ll build me a lair at the end of a tunnel
where I can enjoy an existence utterly umbral.

_______________________.0 0
Well, caves and I do not see eye to eye…
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Weather Report:
Another Fall Is Coming,
or Noah's "No, eh?"

The Chosen One Declines The Honor

First the sky turned dark then
the rain poured down but I would
rather drown than build His damn ark.

I refuse to gather those creatures—not by
seven nor even by two—to go bobbing around the
watery globe, skipper of some mad floating zoo
loaded up to its gunwales with animal poo.

This antediluvian patriarch does not embark on a
nautical misery tour just because God barks.


The Deity Contemplates The Last Things

The sun has ceased to shine,
the storm keeps growing stronger,
the seas rise ever higher.

A stiff-necked tribe’s life spark is about to be doused.

When there's not a speck of land left to stand on
those proud Sethites can provide a feast for the sharks.

My recalcitrant servant will no doubt depart with a
rude remark, a final flicker of his blasphemous snark.


The Chosen One Exits, Snark Intact

Do we have any more wine?

No?

Too bad, but so be it.

Let's all get naked
and go skinny dipping,
swim our way back to Eden.

God's peed us on our journey.

👉
Onward