Jason Bredle

Chinese Stars

When I pulled open my curtains this morning there
was a raven on the windowsill. God, why today! I
had a salad with oranges and Polish roses. I walked
to church but couldn’t find a door. A man politely
offered to steal my money but I declined. I was sick
of feeling so sick. I went to a museum of torture
and a museum of sex machines. I don’t think I
learned anything. Afterwards I stumbled upon a
hot pepper eating contest and won it. If I had tear
ducts I’d cry a lot. It might sound cliché, but I can’t
believe I told you about the time I got my hand
peed on. What if multiple other dimensions are
watching us like fish in an aquarium floating around
a tiny sunken ship in a bowl of water? My heart’s
been replaced with a basket of Chinese stars. I’m the
starting quarterback for State and I’m lost in
​the mountains.
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Scandinavian Air

                                          
I don’t know how birds make love but I think I saw
it during my morning run. Afterwards I needed a
power shower. I don’t want to sound like a broken
record, but I guess getting your hand peed on is
symbolic. Isn’t there always a certain degree of
tension in the air when a giant spider could rise
from the ground and kill you at any moment? I sort
of want to be a human spider. I found a fake boob
in my gym’s hot tub. Man, practical criticism is a
staple of my life, I thought. What is it I live for?
There’s really no comparison to riding your
motorcycle over a classic Volkswagen Beetle; I
think my dog Jeremy has a foot fetish; it’s
important to not only play songs that you love, but
songs that you’re scared of, too, or that make you
uncomfortable.

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Bird Omens

The teenager at the register remarked to a friend
that he’d been called Cheetah, Raccoon, Guinea Pig
and Hamster that day. Thanks, Hamster, I said as I
paid for a Coke and left. I needed to get home and
vacuum the yard. It was starting to look dirty. I
wish I lived somewhere that smelled like fish guts, I
thought. I mean, didn’t smell like fish guts. I’d been
having trouble concentrating so I’d taken the day
off. I needed it, anyway, to prepare the dinner I’d
planned. My dog Jeremy fancies himself a food
critic and I wanted to impress him. My last meal
with him was a disaster as I inadvertently opened a
gateway to evil while cooking a meatloaf. But how
are you supposed to know you’re not in love when
you think you are? I bet it’s like invisible hands take
one side of your face and push it toward the other.
I know there’s a bird omen for it but I can’t
remember it.


 

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Jason Bredle is the author of three books and three chapbooks, most recently Smiles of the Unstoppable and The Book of Evil. He lives in Chicago.