23 January 2011



The subject of birth offered far too many obvious jokes to not take advantage of. Also, this is about as made as my bed gets.
I love where Austin went with this. He took a lame gag and gave it wings. Reminds me of living in LoDo and the train that would occasionally lay on its whistle for a solid minute in the middle of the night. When I moved I really missed having that train go by.

I confess that this piece was dreamt up in conjunction with the pair on Day 13 ("Where Babies Come From"), and hence it owes existence to that glorious thing we call dramatic irony. In this particular case, Andy sent me a beautifully composed photo of rumpled bed sheets and clothes. As I thought about it, a narrative fiction came to mind of a young man living in an urban center somewhere, who thinks of his bed as where the magic happens, but in reality what that means is what you hear in the piece: the thumping bass of a club next door, the persistently irritating sounds of traffic below, and the occasional sigh of the man tossing and turning in an effort to finally fall asleep.

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