like husbands: they wear tweed coats and pop out of nowhere in the night.
are like pomegranates: no one knows where they come from, and it’s not always
worth the effort to dissect them.
patterns are like abandoned symphonies: in most cases we’re better off without
are like the Canary Islands: I always forget what they are.
or among, consenting adults is like candy floss: a little bit will make you
sick, but after a certain amount you hardly notice it and wonder why you didn’t
try it sooner.
scores are like afternoon séances: the level of abstraction is breathtaking.
drive in the country is like a shoehorn: if all goes right, you’ll be up and
around again before you know it.
musicians—even mediocre ones—are like eavestroughs: you spend all your time
staring at them when you could be doing other things.
chairs are like skyscrapers: once they’re up, you might as well leave them like
Iron Age statuary is like keeping a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig as a pet: it’s
great at first but then…time to move on!
The sands of
the hourglass are like the dials on a computer: you know they’re there for a
reason, you just can’t imagine what it might be.
encountered by chance are like the calm before the storm: no definition until
after the fact.
for avocados are like two-faced liars: if you humour them but keep them under
control, no one needs to know a thing.
for catapult enthusiasts are like dachshunds: if you haven’t read the manual,
you might as well forget it.
Cliffs of Dover are like honey: best when hard!
are like sheep: turn them the wrong way and you’ll get a surprise.
The lives of
others are like dowsing rods: try getting by without either one, and you’ll see
what I mean.
like the memory of a terrible nightmare brought on by stress about the state of
the world: you can think about it for as long as you want, but nothing will
change until you look in the mirror and ask yourself, Why does it have to be this way?
for answers is like a motor with no moving parts: it won’t put bread on the
table, but what’s the harm?
like water: you can put it in a bottle and fly it around the world, but it
still drives you up the wall.
travel is like finding something you didn’t pay for at the bottom of your
grocery bag: just enjoy it for what it is and let others worry about the
consciousness is like a red wheelbarrow: if you ask the experts, everything
depends on it.
an empty stomach is like amnesia: the moment you open your mouth, it’s already
flowers are like good friends: if you bite them, no one will think twice about
are like melancholy children: they’re fine for what they are, but nothing will
ever replace a good bowel movement.
like a replica tortoise made out of porcelain: the one time you want to show
somebody, it’s nowhere to be found.
are like broken Jacuzzis: both have been the subject of novellas, and neither
one reacts to thunderclaps.
A piece of
cake is like a walk in the park: play your cards right and it won’t be your
Formica®™ is like
a house on stilts: besides the obvious, it’s almost certain that both have been
admired at some point or another by dragonflies.
eclipse is like the first time you see a dog drink from a toilet bowl: it’s
kind of freaky, but everything returns to normal afterwards.
are like enemas: if you make enough money, you can have all you want.
Venright [photo credit: Samuel
Andreyev.] is a visual artist and author whose books include Floors of Enduring Beauty (Mansfield
Press, 2007) and Straunge Wunder; or, The Metalirious Pleasures of
Neuralchemy (Tortoiseshell & Black, 1996). Through his Torpor Vigil Records label, he has released such extraordinary recordings as The Tubular West by Samuel Andreyev and Dreaming Like Mad with Dion McGregor (Yet
More Outrageous Recordings of the World’s Most Renowned Sleeptalker). His
selected and new writings—The Least You Can Do Is Be Magnificent—will be
published in the fall of 2017.