Meaning Well, and: Death Revises Badly

Meaning Well

We have come together, the Board Chair begins,for obvious reasons. In a time of great division, this table—he raps his knuckles against the oakfor emphasis—is a metaphor. In another room,in another country, the Lumberjack laughs tightlythrough his teeth, pain scaling his spine,sharp as the word a man deploysto cleave the thick silence that followsa lover's quarrel. Nothing proliferates metaphorlike love. Nothing severs word from symbol like pain.Like pain is a truncated simile; without tenor.During the war, the Board Chair singsof business as usual. Without which,the Chair has no job. (Without business as usualor without the war? Name the difference.) Unfortunately,that's not realistic, the Chair replies to a proposalfrom a woman whose name he refusesto pronounce. The Real endowed the Chairwith two houses and a boat, which his daughters borrowon Sundays each August. The Chair says I hear youthree times and the woman's speech is barricadedbehind his declaration. Now when she opens her mouth,money flies out. The money is embossedwith the Dictator's face. From a baroque frameon the boardroom wall, the Dictator's fatherlooks on sternly. His head hangs above the Board Chair.

Perhaps he misses his table. Perhaps this meetinghas always been my life, the Curator thinks, staring blanklyat the toddler whose face wallpapers his phone.Every hour in this room, a brickin the rampart against bright thought.n rspns t th rcnt vnts tht rmnd s tht rcsm xsts n ll spctsf prsnl nd prfssnl lf, the Stenographer records dutifully,w wll mv t stblsh th Frdm Grnt. The Dictatorput his face on the language like he put his faceon the money. The Stenographer is strugglingto keep up. She was up late, irritated by heartbreak.The common animal of her innards disgusts her.The cold region of her childhood livesin her vowels. She keeps her mouth shut.The Board Chair is satisfied with what they've accomplished.

Death Revises Badly

In the Old Dictator's obituary, a charming anecdote—

When the Old Dictator was a boy, his father saved his wagesfor a month to buy his son a watch. The boy, in turn,turned back the watch's hands every day for a monthso his father wouldn't lose time on his account.

Remember—

Before he was the Old Dictator, he was a babybabbling. Now he speaks three languages,thanks to his time in the army. After genocide,he took up painting. "His paintings manifest a mangrappling," the Curator attests, buys seven.

When the Dictator scorned the Old Dictator,the townspeople awarded the Old Dictatora new title: Empathetic.

"Look at that soft power," a townswoman cooed."Bruised like peaches from the half-off bin."

The townspeople collected their best languageto offer the Empathetic Dictator.The Empathetic Dictator was not home.(He had gone to play golf with the Dictator.)

The townspeople left their gift on his stoop.

When the Empathetic Dictator returned, he adorned himselfwith the townspeople's best language. He commissioned a photo,which he turned into Christmas cards. The townspeopledisplayed the cards on their mantlepieces.

One day, the photo finds the homepage. The Empathetic Dictator has died,the newspaper reports. The townspeople are sad. The townspeople readof their sadness on tiny screens.

How tender the old rule appears when you hold it up to the present like a cashierturning a hundred-dollar bill toward the light, squinting, proclaiming it Real.