oversubtle sabotage (I)

on most days i wonder, seriously, what i would do at NB without Marko. on others, i muse about how the conditions that allow for this are, upon investigation, rather those which enable me to get along (far too) well with the teenaged boy set. perhaps the resulting situation, mutually saving though it appears, is far from what it ought to be.

but enough with the nitpicking of flotation devices.

as we sit in our circle every day, for singing and moralising tales, out of the corner of my ears i hear, very quietly, the opening chords of "Folsom Prison Blue" (the right version, too). it's not random, of course, because is followed by "Wanted Man" or maybe the repeated ad infinitum (and given new meaning in the new context) licks from "One Piece at a Time" or "Boy Named Sue"—although, if questioned, Marko would contend that he was figuring out the key for the next insipid fruit ballad—and, just as of course, i don't exercise the corners of my eyes, because they would push me, irretrievably, beyond the smirk. so we continue our coded language, in lyrics while supervising playtimes—and, otherwise, in plucked or whistled harmony, in capes tied on small bodies (to the emphatic lack of amusement for certain, key, others), and, when all else fails, in movements of the eyes.