Paul was derived from mainly from pork skins, pork and cattle bones, or split cattle hides; contrary to popular belief, horns and hooves are not used in making Gelatin.

Paul was riding the bus. It was quiet. This, of course, was before the invention of portable personal music players that spilled soundtracks in public spaces. In busses and trains these sounds echo & amplify. Paul also did not know any intimate details about the other passengers because this was before the invention of mobile phones.

Paul was continuity, coming soon.

Paul was when nonfiction turns to fiction.

Paul was “What are you up to tonight Lori?”

“Probably just TV in the room.”

“There is a party at Josh’s frat if you want to go.”

“Maybe. Where is there house again?

“Past Elm. Me and the girls can get you if you want.”

“Just knock.”

“OK. See ya.”

Paul was “I will check the hallways to make sure you can come up. If I cough once move away and hide back here in the laundry room. There is a closet over there. If I cough three times come up and follow me.”

“Have you done this before?”

“No comment.”

Paul was the screenless open window near the laundry room.

Paul was “Do not speak with your mouth full.”

“You sound like mom.”

“You eat like dad.”

“Should I not use quotation marks when we speak? Mostly this need not be said verbally, or even transcribe to terms, as our previous commentary simply occurred as a natural reaction, a sneeze, when we come together, a ‘remember when’ in our glances.”

“This is why I like when you visit — you are a piece of home without actually being home.”

They are their food out of the divided plastic trays.

Paul was served in the student cafetorium, sneaking in the entryway behind a people pack. To stand in line & move with the crowd under florescent lights to the feeding stations. Foodstuffs dispensed in the anticipatory manner shown in TV & movies. Loriane’s cafetorium did not disappoint.

Paul was act natural, like you belong here, take a tray, enjoy the meatloaf, the macaroni & cheese, two sodas, a cup of milk; everything plastic, easily sterilized, contained, each word with purpose, a casual throwaway belong here not that impressed with this regular building, this protein routine.

Paul was the fiction in family.

Paul was the fiction of family.

Paul was put up in a nearby motel. As he traveled light, he had no tools of his own & borrowed a belt of slightly worn, but workable, tools for daily use.

 

He could take orders well, and work within the commands to get task completed in a creative and time effective manner. He could rethink repeated processes and improve upon energy expended. Assembly lines and such. Landscapes created.

Paul was on the carpentry crew. There were individual crews for each aspect of the home construction, surveyors, masons pouring concrete, framers, roofers, electricians wiring the places, crews insulating and sheet rocking, et cetera.

 

There was one guy who just put handles on the cabinets.

 

Each job the same repeated motion completing steps in one house, moving to the next. The work never done. As if always working on the same house, the same job, putting that stud in not quite at 16’’ on center, a nail bent at the same junction in each déjà vu.

 

Paul hit nails with a hammer.

Paul was family fiction.

Paul was the family as fiction.

Paul was field trip tomorrow. To see maple syrup made. The teacher had lessoned them on spigots stuck into tree trunks that tap sap from the maple’s core.

Paul was hoping to turn one of the faucets, draw the insides out, drink in the tree’s flavour.

Paul was not in possession of boots. But you must wear boots. The teacher said it. You must wear boots. Mom didn’t buy me any boots. How can I see syrup made if I don’t have boots? I need boots. & all the other kids have boots. Mike, Bill, Fred, Ben, Mark — they all wear boots on snowy day. I just wrap up my feet it plastic grocery bags to keep the winter out.

How will I go if I don’t have boots?

Paul was buried in his notebook. He was good at dividing time separating & sorting (this visit would be filed under: Loraine Sophomore Year, Autumn) but his notebook was empty besides his timed titles. Containers waiting to be filled.

Loraine was good at drafting. Pulling out a moment from the past.

“Remember the tree in the front yard, the one near the street that I needed a boast to get into. You had some system of getting up, digging your fingers into the bark in and putting your foot on a bump. Gosh, you were a monkey.”

 File under: Before the move, Summer of babysitting.

Everything at Loraine’s engineering school was on a hill. Sitting on sloping grass they overlooked the tops of various university buildings, eventually a main street, then a river. Paul flipped through pages as Loraine stared past the river, looking at the other half of the city rising up.

“Remember buying bubblegum at the deli on the corner.”

File under: After Dad left, Before the move.

In filing there was forgetting; still, a remembrance of what passed, though, a clear distance placed between Paul & event occurred after he wrote a memory down. Storing everything on paper, notes necessary for later story sorting.

Paul was “Remember Dad buying us Italian ice in the park?”
“No, he never did that”
“Yes, cherry for me and him, lemon for you.”
“Mom told him ‘No. It will spoil their supper’”
“No, no, that happened too, but Dad did buy us Italian ice”
“She said ‘If you want to suck on ice I’ve got plenty at home’”
“The flimsy papercup cold in my hand”

Paul was Spring, Ahead.

Paul was putting the red jam on his toast. Then he wanted marmalade. His toast was half red and half orange. & sweet. His coffee, black.

Before him lay the middle of an idea fueled by clarity in coffee. Pen marks & perspective lines. The diner placemat framed with a brown lattice pattern. Next to a coffee ring, a list of photography supplies. In short script on the right side were subjects he wished to shoot. His head humming with a crisp white clarity, what steps next to take, snowing.

“It’s going to be a hot one” the flannelled figure next to Paul remarked.

“I don’t have much to say.”

“If it gets much above 45 degrees workin is gonna be tough.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for working if it was hot? Put some rum in your straw.”

“Ground thaws. Bad news.”

 

The waitress refilled Paul’s coffee.

“Hey doll how about some sugar and crème?” Paul asked.

“You asked for it black”

“Oh.”

Before he could respond she had placed the seasonings on the counter & stared straight into his eyes, her one eyebrow cocked.

“Thanks.”

“Cindy just likes to fool with ya,” the man said, “just give her a rap on her backside when she walks round the counter — that will set her straight.”

“I did that in a place down in California. Waitress slapped me straight away.”

“People up here know their place. Cindy knows her place. I move trees. And you?”

“Looking for work. Was down by the coast for a while; I thought I wanted sun; I missed winter.”

“If it gets much warmer, there won’t be any work.”

“Place needs to be frozen, white, to get things done.”

 

Snow was melting. The crisp white outlines melting. Away.

Paul was waking up, starting over each morning, forgetting the day week month year white space expanding ahead & there are birds & snacks & handholding infinitely

 

but then

 

melted concrete patches; how to operate a telephone switchboard; worked at the warehouse back then; visiting Loraine at school, above her desk a periodical table; a postcard from South Dakota with a wheat field being consumed by a combine; tonight’s TV lineup; frozen pizza for dinner last night; today’s weather; traffic stopped at the railroad crossing; signed Paul, not Dad; the swingset built in the backyard giving Loraine & me splinters; moving, changes

 

& here, now, a moment that has already passed.

Paul was cereal: part XXVIII

[this box of Trix was opened on 1 February]

 

 

Paul was how to complete a sentence. Sentiment. Concern. The sort of lines, unscripted that slip in. It was in a cigar box in the clearing. Found like a postcard from out West.

 

“Remember at school when you got lost on Neversink?”

 

When will the papers open up & let sky through, & let a clear hole be formed for flight from this white enclosure?

 

 “& when you came back the kids were all chanting ‘Row Boat! Row Boat! Row Boat!’”

 

That was another time. Brown boxed stacks reached skyward & expanded in branchless bursts with thin, frail leaves; small paper fragments clustering to obscure a sky view. Blending memories. Like lines pulled from a dream.

 

Paul continued moving & shifting through tenses; where birds would feed; a seed stand set in the small yard.

 

“Yeah, I’m a mechanic now”

 

Ralph, crawling around under cars. Less spacing | as in pauses | to give the buyer not exactly enough time to think. Joke with the men, flirt with the women. Out of all the telephone numbers, someone knew Paul.

 

“Do you want an Eagle?”

 

Paul had to visit the guidance consoler after that. Not a trip to the principal, but to the guidance consoler. A pity purchase. The sound of kids playing in the background. But generally, a nice guy.

 

Follow the steps back to class. It wasn’t really talked about. tracks decodable in printed snow. Ring a bell when a sale is made. Piece together parts of speech to sell a subscription.

 

Eyes red & puffy. Paul placed the metal solider on the corner of his desk.

 

 

 

 

Paul was cereal: part XXVII

[this box of Smacks was opened on 1 February]

 

 

Paul was remembered for getting lost in middle school. Walking up through the woods during recess. When he didn’t return for class Steve said Paul was at the Nurse’s Office.

 

Expecting to complete the task. 10 minutes up, 5 minutes down. Always failing with a sale, this is expected. Maybe one success a day.

 

& all the noise around, ringing, pitching, chanting, a ball bouncing around a group & never settling for a second, dialtone, becomes white, reassuringly empty.

 

The progression|digression meaning. Less.

 

A record of the night before in pulled & twisted sheets. Remade. Tucked under.

 

Rewrite the same story for several days. But it is a new story each time. With the same sentences.

 

To prove her sayings wrong, he left. “A creature of habit” that leaves the factory floor, family, & drives. West.

 

After a while all faces fade. Just voices. Ringing.

 

Has the serial form enhanced the story? Will Paul find his way through the words?  

 

Tune in tomorrow for the finale — Part XXVIII of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XXVI

[this box of Lucky Charms was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was telephones ring, you follow a script, time passes. A simple peer pressure pitch. Yes, he could follow lines in the snow — passive aggressive status updates, call & response catfights — but that was all walk backwards.

 

“Remember at school when you got lost on Neversink?”

Mindless. Wend the drifting. She said “We are creatures of habit” so many times it drove Dad to leave. A clearing. To prove her wrong.

 

Up. Must walk up.

Need to find the clearing without snow. Always a fuzz on the line, autodial. The amount of text fit onto a postcard. From the West. But, always empty words

 

& next year school & school & school & then what?  Need money car travel. Each day bed made, sheets tucked backed under mattress. No record of the night before.

 

“Why were you even up there?”

 

It comes down to collecting a paper, a small scroll, some script. To be part of the club. There was purpose to movement (updownleftright on page). & thens were lined up for tomorrow. Pull lines from dream. Inset; telemarketing scripts, post cards, magazine subscription inserts, twigs, a splotch of patchy red snow where a deer was downed, calendars, newspaper, a recipe, resigned flight, sheets record sleeps twists; in restoring the sincerity to your voice, perhaps mores sales, more readers.

 

Out of all the possible call combinations, a person who knew Paul, Ralph.

 

So many enjambments but no where to hide. & then where the woods opened up. Centered in this clearing, a small grass halo with a cigarbox.

 

Supposed to be a simple sequence. One foot infront of the other. Repeat. An ordered event. The next line, pitch. Walk up, find the cigar box, run down, win a game of 4 square. Follow a serial story through 28 steps. Tracks decodable, imprinted snow.

Each day another piece. It passes. Less mind.

 

 

Insert a cliffhanger question here? Can Paul make it back down Mount Neversink?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XXVII of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XXV

[this box of Life was opened on February 1]

Paul was the stillness

an empty winter wood.

 

White, white, white, white,

 

 

white, white, & white.

 

 

 

The space expanding its own possibility.

 

 

 

| little letters show life |

 

 

 

Tracks decodable, open to interpretation as the narrative direction or motivation of writer to give reader understandable lies|lines to follow. phollow phonetics, the size & shape of this printed snow

 

a rabbit, a squirrel, a comma, deep hollow foot holes “he moved out west” & then the yelling stopped, perhaps a fox, deer?, there those tracks there point to something more unidentifiably large & catlike.

 

Up must walk up.

 

 

Up must post update.

 

 

Up must walk up.

 

Maybe lost? Just drawing out the journey?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XXVI of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XXIV

[This box of Sir Grapefellow (arch nemesis to Baron Von Redberry) was opened on February 1]

“Paul was a little scared don’t you think?” Kevin said from his square 3 of 4 position.

“Shaking,” Steve said from number 2.

“Maybe just the cold, it’s really cold.” Charlie at 4 noted.

 

Ryan slammed the ball through Kevin’s square, knocking him back one. Returning to square 4 with the red rubber ball Kevin said “It’s not that far and all you have to do is walk up.”

“But the tracks from you and I going up aren’t there anymore” Ryan said to Kevin.

“Will he remember?”

“Do you know the way?”

 

“Listen, to be part of the club, all you have to do is climb Neversink. 10 minutes up. 5 minutes running back down. To prove that you actually climbed it, we stashed toy soilders in a cigar box in the hollow tree. It is up in the spot that never gets any snow, where the woven canopy holds the weather away.”

“And I climbed it no problem yesterday.” Ryan said.

“Kevin did it first, then me,” Steve said after returning a shot.

 

The ball bounced around the group. Never settling for a second.

 

Will the recess children handlers notice the absence of one boy? Will Paul make it back before the bell?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XXV of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XXIII

[this box of Baron Von Redberry was opened on February 1]

Paul was out in the schoolyard near the corner of the lot, an intersection where metal clasps cut, fence pulled back, a passageway to Neversink mountain. The boys knew enough not to gather as a group & loiter at this gateway. They feigned a four square game.

 

Paul slipped through the rusted metal mesh, & boots cutting though snow he darted uphill. Disappearing into winter woods.

 

Why is Paul moving up a mountain when he should be playing recess games? What is the task that motivates him so?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XXIV of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XXII

Paul was brown paperbag & inside wrapped in waxpaper, cornbeef on rye with mustard. Trade the banana for an apple. Mom won’t buy apples anymore after Dad, his trees planted in the yard, a ¼ acre orchard, turn the apple don’t pull, in his lunchpale a knife & two of his apples, the only kind of baking he did, a replica of his mother’s mother’s pie, how to properly core, the spanking Paul got when he pulled from the basement workbench the mason jar of tenpenny nails, and taking a few he pounded them into the bark of his father’s apple tree, better than store bought, once mashed into a type of butter, each bite a bit of autumn passed, and his mother didn’t buy them but Paul still liked apples so he traded for them each day, & then time to bundle up for recess , maybe running bases or wallball or stickball.

 

Today is your day.

 

This remembrance alone enough to make lunch nonedible. Even Paul’s favorite.

 

What is it Paul’s day to do? Will there recess be canceled due to snow?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XXIII of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XXI

Paul was “I don’t know exactly.”

 

“Well if you would have been payin”

“but this is the war with that ship, the USS Constitution, and when fired upon by the British Royal Navy their cannon balls bounced off the sides and a cry went up from the Brits ‘Huzzah! her sides are made of iron!’ So that is how it got its nickname, Old Ironsides and my grandfather took me to see that ship last summer. He is really interested in all that naval stuff, foremast main mast mizzen mast, has all these old books and is always visiting the”

“Paul.”

Classroom kids had ceased their normal chair squirming note passing general disregard for the teacher.

“library.” Paul continued spilling, “and models. In his trailer they are everywhere, in emptied out wine jugs and on shelves, we put them together longboats hanging off the sides rigged and ready for pulling, the radio playing as yardarms came together at the kitchen table all summer long we were at grandfather’s trailer and we would walk home and mom’s eyes red and puffy and Dad gone again to work an extra shift at the factory.

These tiny ships, I could always find the pieces, see where the wooden slots fit, a clear progression from beginning to end, and after finishing the Old Ironsides model we went on a trip up to Boston to see the ship. And when we came back Dad was gone, his car and his bottle of aftershave. But, but I stood on that ship, Old Ironsides.”

 

The war of 1812? What will Paul have for lunch?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XXII of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XX

[this box of Fruit Loops was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was coasting in class. Lessons take a backseat to daydreams. This or that. The bell calls children to class, stopping all playtime activity. Fill your cubby, sit at your desk. Coast. Comma. How to describe the colour of her hair. If he thinks about her enough & stares at the back of her head would she turn? Turn & smile. Like that one time. Or out a window. Chalkdust wiped on the teacher’s black skirt. The slot for holding pencils in a desk. Not truly gold. Yesterday it snowed. Throat/neck itchy. History, as in memorizing dates. Couldn’t remember face. Too nervous to ask out on a date. Add brown to gold maybe a sunshiney mud but don’t say your hair looks like yellowish mud because common sense. When watching. No eye contact. Looking at papers. Papers of papers with geometric scribbles on the edges. To pass time. The whatif. What qualifies strawberry in a haircolour? Not accurate. Filler. Bending outside the wooden design to find comfort. A redable writing. Pass a note maybe. Maplesyrup, that is a colour.

 

“Paul.”

 

Now she is looking. Blush. Red heat on Paul’s face.

 

“Paul” the teacher says.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can you answer my question? In what year did the US declare war on Britain for impeding trade with France, impressment  of U.S. citizens into the Royal Navy, and the British military support of American Indians?”

 

Does Paul know what impressment (forced recruitment) means? What other wars did the US fight against Britain after the Revolution?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XXI of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XIX

[this box of Belding Bites was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was

 

 

Season 2, Episode #6: Blind Date

 

Mr. Belding’s niece Penny is in town, and he forces Zack to take her out. Zack, however, wants to attend Kelly’s party instead, so he makes Screech pretend to be him and take Penny out.

 

Penny Belding: “Zack is so hot, he makes my teeth sweat!”

 

Meanwhile, Lisa finds a date for Jessie, but Jessie is too self-conscious about her height compared to her date to have a good time.

 

Hilarity ensues.

 

Does this mean that Paul was not pegged by a the tennis ball? Remember Zack’s enormous cellular telephone?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XX of “Paul was cereal”

 

Paul was cereal: part XVIII

[this box of Just Clusters was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was once at dinnertime he told his father of a new game the kids at school had invented called running bases. Paul explained that two catchers threw a tennis ball & runners tried to dash between two safe bases without being pegged by the ball.

 

The school had a fenced in alleyway between street & gymnasium that was perfect for the practice of running bases & each morning kids would gather to play the game running back & forth between bases, avoiding being pegged by the ball with quick dodges.

 

Paul’s father said “We used to play that game too.”

 

How are schoolyard games handed down? Will the next segment return to real times –as in Paul about to get pegged by a ball (which, is in past tense already)?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XIX of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XVII

[this box of Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was playground before school start with punches of student backpacks piled near doorways in assigned line up spots, children separating in vinegar oil water layers, girls about the jungle gym, some boys playing basketball, a few loners huddled up in various locations reading or talking to themselves or homework finishing or daydreaming or completing a morning breakfast up

 

&

 

Paul was running bases – sprinting sidetoside & as Anthony Mansfield caught the tennis ball & took aim directly at Paul…

 

Will Paul avoid the thrown tennis ball? Could I please have a description of what running bases actually is?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XVIII of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XV

[this box of Cap’n Crunch was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was the mirrors installed in busses are a means to monitor student rider activity without taking eyes off the road for too many a second. A well seasoned driver will know how to use the mirror, coupled with the loudspeaker, & a few choice children made examples of to keep the riders at bay.

 

Mornings were mostly sleepyeyed as the children’s sugarcoated cereals hadn’t fully kicked in. As a result, the times when Bus Driver Betty checked the mirror were far less than, say a Friday afternoon.

 

This is how she regularly missed the morning movements of Ralph.

 

Ralph the Mole Murphy daily took to the bus floor to crawl about, scare other students, and make trades. His common entrance signal was grabbing at ankles.

“Why so scared Paul? Afraid of the pop quiz today”

“No, no, we aren’t having a quiz today. We had one two days ago & it takes Ms. Chalafont at least three days to grade anything – if she can even find it in that mess of a desk”

“Well I was just upfront of the bus with Becky Giehl & she is studying her brains out. I actually am on my way back to do a quick review. I’d say do the same.”

“Sure thing Mole.”

& with that Ralph scooted away, crawling over the saltstained floor, coating himself in a fine powdery dust.

 

Will the Mole be right about the quiz? What is the average rainfall for Reading Pa?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XVI of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XII

[this box of Frosted Flakes was opened on 1 February]

Paul was blasted with February air, ice — unable to penetrate the heavy weave of Paul’s wool sweater – condensed in sheets & slivers collecting on his arms & around the waist band. Paul carried coat with mittens, gloves, scarf&hat stuffed into an arm, his fingers reddening as they clamped winterware.

 

Must walk up!

 

The small suburban yard (called a hill by children, but not much more than a slight slope) was not slippery despite a wintry cover. Paul’s feet crunched through snow weeks old punctured with boot craters, walking paths wending digressions, half snowwomen, & the remains of last night’s snow flight.

 

He could catch the yellow tin yet. Maybe it was how fast Paul ran from house to street, maybe it was his orange-brownish sweater bobbing over (mostly) white snow (his sweater an easy sight to see for certain), maybe it was the spirit of Thursday, maybe it was the bus driver who had arrived 2½ minutes late to work because her nightmare of being an orange cat late late late late late trying to pick up birds, tiny birds who kept shifting away, or maybe it was the slight ice coating the roads & requiring extra automotive operational caution,

 

But Paul made the bus he usually missed.

 

How long is Paul’s bus ride to school? What, no cliffhanger?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XIII of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part XI

[this box of Weis Krispies was opened on 1 February]

Paul was too much 2-percent milk to his cereal, the small rice puffs muffled into a marshy mush.

 

Not musical.

 

Or, the sound of a bus approaching, its steady diesel pumping up the hill…

 

Will Paul make his bus? What is a swift kroger truck images?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part XII of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part X

[this box of Rice Krispies was opened on 1 February]

Paul was Rice Krispies.

Will Paul add milk to make his cereal sing in a snap, pop, krackel?  Why not list top searches in this question section as to drum up more hits?

Tune in tomorrow for Part XI of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part IX

[this box of Apple Jacks was opened on 1 February]

Paul was the itchiest wool sweater available in his wardrobe, brown, bushy fibers bunching around the neck portal & rubbing chaffing tickeling all day long distraction from a garment that wouldn’t conform to a level of comfort just the continued awareness that this sheered sheep was woven into a document wrapping round arms & neck holding heat in prickely strings on the collar overgrown brambles & prickers along a suburban creek a swatch of space to hold the water back from flooding basements or roadways but at the heavier rain falls (monsoon season) this protective patch could do little to deter from ccreek turning to spilling river, pit up septic tanks, brown muck driving through the street, citizens watching from livingroom windows as a few teenagers tipped over an old amoir left on te curb for garbage pickup (or to further scratch the wearer’s neck) & pushing the wood wardrobe into the river ride down the street rafters on the Rio Grande or Colorado or maybe something more eastish past the Mississippi or Ohio further south than the St. Lawrence or the Hudson — does the Delaware or Skukyll have rapids? — perhaps a patch of the Allegheny or ______ river, the boys spinning in surf being pulled into the original creek now river & snagging themselves on a tree that grew in the middle of a little mud patch (now submerged, water covered) all the neighborhood children referred to as Glass Island due to the extrodinary amount of bottlesjugswinecasksbrownbluegreenredclearyelloworsepia broken & sparkeling on the shore of this stretch a catchall for litter blown & picked up or, after the flood, the whole patch of floodplane planting — “The Woods” the kids called it, or, the patch where someone had cleared dirt paths for bikes to ride & jump, “The Trails” — a collection of locals’ trash bags & spillings opened aluminum foils & used combs & broken dishes & ricearoni boxes & old toothbrushes & extension cords severed unworking & nail clippings & newspapers & hamburgerhelper containers & junkmail & repeating from previous cerialized lists & broken bra underwires jangled, jutting out & shredded plywood or MDF & downed trees & branches & branches & sticking up sharp wool pitchfor branches gathered round Paul’s neck in his sweater, unnoticed for now because of sleep not shrugged off, his mother calling him for breakfast.

 

Will Paul notice this digressive narrative pinched all about him? What cereal will Paul be for breakfast?

 

 

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part X of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part VIII

[this box of Kix was opened on 1 February]

Paul was “wake up Honey it is time to get ready for school.”

 

Slumber slowed Paul’s body, all he could do was sit straight up & stare into his blue wall. Paul couldn’t remember the day of the week. His feet touched down on the grainy beige carpet growing in his room. Where was this starting. Plot passed into Paul making him move to a dresser, pull open oak, & grab…

 

Will Paul wear a flannel shirt? Will wool wear on Paul all day?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part IX of “Paul was cereal”

 

 

Paul was cereal: part VII

[this box of Count Chocula was opened on 1 February]

Paul was turning towards the sound but a forming fog blocked all that was behind. He could see nothing but whiteness all round, snowy ground blending into the surrounding flightless cloud, papers above flapping, the grassy island he stood on the only noticeable colour. & the bird, rested now  hopping, hopping, hopping a little further with its wings warming up, & then fluttering upwards into the heavy air.

 

A streak of orange light leaped at the flipping, but it was already to high, moving upwards into the cluster. Both Paul & the cat stood tranced & looking upward as the bird began pulling at papers,

 

each sheet falling in a buzzing alarm. Sound taking over all sight ringing RInging RINging, Paul walk up, RINGing, Paul wake up, RING ING

 

What is this racket? Has the bird escaped paper piles or is it just preparing a nest?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part VIII of “Paul was cereal”

 

Paul was cereal: part VI

[this box of Fantaztic Flakes was opened on 1 February]

Paul was coins. Silver discs stamped with fabled faces, unfamiliar. Putting down the bird onto the patch of grass, Paul Shuffled his hand through the cigarbox, silver clinking ever so slightly, & finding a small bound booklet. Its cover featured a photograph of a man in coveralls, pipe in mouth, standing at the front of a D type NYC subway car. Instruction manual.

 

& then the sound. A crunching, crackling. Consuming the space behind him.

 

Looking backwards, smoke.

 

Why not a flashback here to once again slow the narrative? Will two questions all ways follow the text?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part VII of “Paul was cereal”

 

Paul was cereal: part V

[this box of Cookie Crisp  was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was not this genre. Growling sounds behind him had prompted Paul to once again sprint sprint upwards. So many enjambments but no where to hide. Tracks behind him a guide to his heavy progress. The glossy brown borders moving up up reaching a ceramic sky.

 

“Two ice cubes. No more, no less”

 

A sloping whiteness, no trail or markers. Space dissolving behind in an orange heat. Paul finds a clearing, its openness astounding after weaving for so long through the boxy brown climbing clusters. Yet, despite this openness there is no sky view. Branches, timelines, style guides, newsletters, train schedules, academic journals, maps, calendars, cover sheets, text books, drafts, faxes, laundry lists, notecards, romance novels, parking tickets, encyclopedia articles, Christmas wrapping paper, penny dreadfuls, toilet tissue, concert tickets, day-to-day pullaway calendar sheets, shopping lists, business cards, graphic novels, television schedules, post-it-notes,  how to manuals, hate mail, hamburger wrappers, D&D guidebooks, telemarketing scripts, literary journals, business reports, flashcards, boarding passes, manifestos, wedding invitations, memos, Christmas cards, tree limbs, toilet paper, train tickets, visitor identification badges, twigs, outlines, flyers, self help books, pulp novels, announcements, vispo, indexes, comic books, dictionary pages, novellas, laws, proofs, newspapers, Mormon bible tracts,  zines, posters, scrap papers, straw encasements, paper bags, post cards, fan mail, tabloids, envelopes, legal documentation,  love letters, blue lines, sight seeing guides, class notes, court subpoenas, hard copies, arts magazines, bills,               , bulletins, tax return forms, magazine subscription inserts, loan applications, photopaper, notes passed, corrected copyedited pages, instruction manuals, xeroed copies, box tops, dot matrix printouts, children’s refrigerator artwork, standardized tests, stationary, finical records, stock reports, ticker tape,  appendices,  lined paper, certifications, telephone directories, loose leaf paper, & footnotes all form a canopy clotting out sky.

 

Centered in this clearing, a small grass halo with a cigarbox.

 

Will Paul ever find an open patch of sky? Will anyone actually read that text chunk or just scroll though to the next episode?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part VI of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part IV

[this box of Fruit Loops was opened on 1 February]

Paul was a certain stillness to the woods in the afternoon; the sound of snow melting, dripping, dropping off trees; the rhythm of walking & boots cutting through the crusty white forest floor; the overuse of sem;colons; a tune in breathing & stepping & breathing & scrolling & breathing.

 

Paul had seen the bird trying to fly out of the wood, but on each attempt it clinked into the ceiling. A chiming connection of glass on glass, echoing. The cardinal couldn’t climb out of the expansive, tangled, everyday forest. It resigned flight & landed snowbound.

 

While Paul approached the downed flyer, the cat appeared. Paul stopped still. His stomach ached & his mouth watered as it always did before he threw up. The cat looked up & then Paul unleashed his terror in a scream.   

 

Will Paul’s yelling scare the cat away? Don’t we already know what happens because this section was a flashback & in the current action sequence Paul was carrying the bird in his hands while running in terror?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part V of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was cereal: part III

[this box of Rasin Bran was opened on 1 February]

Paul was afraid of cats more than he was afraid of birds. He wasn’t really afraid of birds, in fact he liked watching them fly & feed at the stands his mother had set out in their small yard.

 

It was his grandmother’s cat, Tuesday, that had terrorized him. Paul didn’t remember all the tail pulling & target practice he had used the cat for as these memories had been batted out of his brain when Tuesday jumped onto his head.

 

Tuesday was also fond of lunging in a wrestler’s grapple round Paul’s shins, finishing the maneuver with a firm bite to draw blood on more than one occasion.

 

In the halls of his grandmother’s house Paul always moved with caution; flashbacks dragging on for paragraphs as he checked between the decorative crocheted tea cozies & tissue holders or piles of puzzles tied up with twine.

 

Will “Paul was” ever be “Paul is”? What happened with that former feline pursuing Paul?

 

 Tune in tomorrow for Part IV of “Paul was cereal.”

 

 

Paul was cereal: part II

[this box of Cheerios was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was run right into the fear into patchy orange toothy fear into yelling over the mew of mountain cat into open white snow into cupped hands around heart do not crush the bird do not crush the bird into slalom through tall trunks into walk up walk up walk up into when will the papers open up & let sky through let a clear hole be formed for flight from this white enclosure into out of breath into slowing down into panting, into walking, foot into foot, up.

 

 Has Paul eluded the wild cat? What is your favorite book?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part III of “Paul was cereal.”

Paul was cereal: part I

Paul was up, must walk up. He was walking through a crowded overloaded space that, due to the abundant & glowing white light, felt open; reflections & half rainbows flitted over trunks, brown boxed stacks reached skyward & expanded in branchless bursts with thin, frail leaves; small paper fragments clustering to obscure a sky view, yet passing through them always, light.

 

Up, I must walk up.

 

Paul continued moving & shifting through tenses. His small footprints dotting a path backward in snow. Mittened hands cupped together, the tiny bird warm in his fabric nest. & then, in front of him an enormous beast stalking head down with teeth glistening. Gutteral growling, slow paces toward Paul.

 

Will Paul be a treat for the treacherous creature? What is your favorite colour?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part II of “Paul was cereal.”

Paul was fiction [of this which I hope is charged more with poetry] is never on one page.

Paul was a ceramic coffee cup with four motivational sayings printed on it, one reading:

 

“Perseverance: Barely hanging on and ahead by a mile both mean that you’re in the game.”