J.B. Kalf | 2 Works

listen on the cluster audio feed here.

Essay on Henry Ford


Before Juliana was to kill herself that night in her suburban garage with carbon monoxide — a sickening apotheosis — she was trapped in the 5 o’clock traffic on her way to get a Brazilian wax. The highway traffic was only the loosest imitation of a cattle drive, loud strokes of thunder not attracting fear to the vehicles despite their metal-conductive exteriors. The cars inched forward. The cars stopped. Forward and stop with the lightest touch of the pedal.

She looked at the time on her dashboard. She didn’t want to miss her Mechanica Anonymous Network online meeting. When in doubt, she could take it from her car, but she was worried it might send the wrong message to the other participants. One woman thought she could become a blender and wasn’t allowed in her kitchen. Likewise, one man has planned multiple excursions to the Waste Isolation Pilot Plant in New Mexico in the hopes of exposing himself to radiation to become a power plant; for now, he’s had to settle with microwaves and is also not allowed in his kitchen.

Juliana took another swig from the motor oil in the passenger seat. She needed the car to get to her bank teller job. She couldn’t bike over the Missouri highways and freeways.

And Juliana knew it would be ridiculous to fulfill her fantasies of standing in line with the other cars, but she hoped that this waxing would lead her one step further. To be waxed was to be polished. And she had already replaced her steady diet with motor oil and heavy doses of iron. It seemed to her that she would wake up one day and finally be able to turn her nipple dials and say va va vroom.

Tink!

Juliana had pushed down a little bit too hard on the pedal and had bumped into the car in front of her. She began to white-knuckle the wheel.

The elderly driver ahead climbed out of her pristine truck to inspect the damages to the bumper. The old woman smiled and gave a thumbs up to Juliana: no harm, no foul.

Juliana gave a thumbs up and out of some absent thought said out loud “Honk!” But the windows in her car were rolled up and the old woman, with her hearing aid turned off, wouldn’t have been able to hear Juliana anyways.

Still, the suburbanite bank teller took this as a sign of acceptance of her external transformation. Besides, just like dogs, aren’t all cars just a reflection of their owners? These rows and rows of unsaturated vehicles trapped on the highway were just people, are just like turtles and their relationships to their shells.

a little bit too much spice for Marley : ( | Paprika Peaka 1994

(rough audio transcript of the rejected let’s play episode)


“’ey everyone! We’re back —”
“— don’t, ach, I’m still —”
*chuckling* “I gave you the warning beforehand.”
“Well it wasn’t enough.” *sarcastic harumph”
“It’s Paprika Peaka!…What the hell is this Marley.”
“This was recommended by Jimmy in the office and he showed us how to emu —, I mean purchase. Don’t worry, let’s go —”
*giggling*
“Do you want to do the voice for the text on screen, and it already changed —”
*mimicking almost a deflating balloon* “The land of spice once thought peaceful was under —, Leaving the citizens of Cabinet to —
“Where are there taxes even going, sheesh?”
“ — and the call of adventure was called upon by Pap.” *back to normal voice* “Ok, and we’re playing —”
“Oh God! This is adorable.”
“It’s a little — ACHOO — a little platformer. I have to collect the little flakes, I think? Oh — ACHOO — oh my God, what the hell — ”
*chuckling* “Is that a big mouth? Shoot it!”
“Oh my, OH MY, OH SHIT, OH — ACHOO
“This…is amazing. Oh they give you a lot of lives.”
“Yeah that’s just how the emula —, I mean the company ACHOO programmed it.” *chuckling*
“Are you ok, dude? You’ve been sneezing like crazy.”
“Yeah, I think I’m having a — ACHOO — Jesus. A psychosexualsomething.”
*ironic nerd voice* “Psychosomatic, Marley.”
“Yeah, I’m allergic — oh, God not the stupid mouth again.”
“Just jump —”
ACHOO!
“— can you avoid it? Shoot it?”
*mashing buttons* “I’m trying! I’m ACHOO!
*giggling* “I can play —”
“No! The viewers! They’re trying to poison me! Keep rolling!” *laughing*
“Give me the controller. You look like you’re getting hives dude.”
*stepping away from the microphone while Kurt keeps playing* “I’m going to get some ointment or something in the office. Podcast for a little.”
“Are you sure?”
*door opens and closes*
“Well…how’s it going beauties.” *leaning uncomfortable close to the mic* “How’s it going out there in internet land. Editor, add in some sensual music.” *circus music plays* “Oh, that’s better. Let’s get —, and I died. Woah, if only this mouth was really next to me, huh…” *leaning away from mic and yelling at the door* “Marley, I’m dying here.”
*The game remains idle*

*Kurt leaves the couch and opens the door. From the open door, in the distance, can be heard Marley heaving into the toilet.*
“Oh, shit Marley, you really are getting hives. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine…Just an allergic reaction. Just keep playing…”
“No, we’ll just start another session after —”
*Marley continues to vomit into the toilet.*
*The paprika character on screen remains in idle animation and the soft chiptune music continues over the sounds of Kurt patting and rubbing Marley on the back from his allergic reaction.*


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