Mark Young

Electric Ladyland
for Sheila Murphy

The microwave beeps to tell me my origami lessons are ready.

This long weekend I’m going to the opera, Der Ring des Nibelungen. The clothesdrier is escorting me. It’s so excited it has been depositing Snickers around the house for the last two weeks. There’s a pun in there somewhere, but I refuse to have a bar of it. Do you want me to whistle a few notes? See if you recognize the tune?

The pool pump calls me to have a look at a wallaby with lumpy jaw. During its idle time it practices as a veterinarian. We are writing a paper together.

In the morning the toaster brings me coffee in my favourite cup. The sun has called a stopwork meeting. The moon has called in sick.

The airconditioner claims it is out of condition but I heard it clearing its throat today.

If it’s Tuesday then the washing machine is in San Francisco on its farewell tour. 45 shows in 60 days. Mick Jagger is joining it in London to do some duets. It was supposed to be a secret but the delicate rinse cycle got its knickers in a knot & couldn’t keep quiet. Now everybody knows. Even Leonard Cohen.

& if it’s Tuesday, therefore an even day, then the VCR is covered in alfoil. On the odd days it downloads all sorts of stuff & watches it in secret over the following 24 hours. I’ve learnt not to try & change its schedule but we’ve compromised a little. Ever since I managed to convince it that JFK was really dead. Now neither of us watches sport on Sunday.

The camera tells me I have to live in a cleaner vacuum. Something about the chi of open apertures. I go to zoom in on it but the cordless kettle trips me in a flash. I didn’t know they were on together.

Too many current affairs. I can’t stand them any longer. I turn the power off at the main. The gasmeter brings me an armload of carnations.