Dennis Buck tootausenfifteen @ ≈5

Dennis Buck tootausenfifteen @ ≈5

Dennis Buck @ 5,26 m³
tootausendfifteen, 2016

Text by Vanessa Sioufi: 

i logged onto facebook today and no one want online 
so i sang to myself and scrolled through everyone’s 
pages without them knowing but then i saw this door 
open in the distance so i followed the snow cleared 
path with the wind hitting my face and my nose turning 
a slit pink, i entered the door to the cavern and there 
was this blue man sitting at the bar that was there, 
obviously, but the bar was like 2 feet from the door, so
you had to like walk up to it. or walk into it hahaha, but
then after my first sip of butter beer (they had some!!) i 
climbed over the bar top and rolled over into the ice pit
and down onto the rubber mats and pulled them up
and hid under the holes for no one to seem me. i stayed 
there for a little while, it was dewey, the humidity, that i
was waiting for. i pressed my lips through one of the 
holes in the mat, and it perfectly stained my lips to
moisten them like chapstick, this wasn’t a dream,
everything made so much sense, until the bar man
walked over me, his step wasn’t that heavy, it was just
unexpected, but then again i kind of enjoyed not being
seen but being used like chip on your shoulder, the one
that you forget to eat until you brush off, and you were
like, why did i ever put that there in the first place? i 
decied to get up a go to the bathroom but i didn’t know
where the bathroom was so i watched over to the pool
tables, then to the jukebox, and then back to my place,
but not exactly in the same place just the seat over so i
could grab my glass and move it that muxh closer to
my new seat. i saw someone leave the right hand
corner of my eyes realizing thats where i could see,
were the bathroom could be tho it was the kitchen
which lead me to the back door, which then lent me to
the grease pit of the fryer disposal. I happened to run
into a man who was collected the recycling from the
dumpster, i wa alarmed by the sound of the bottle and
can clanking like the christmas tree that never vibrated
in my childhood, the pink heart motel bed i never got
but in like movies i wasn’t supposed to understand. i 
love the grey of the photocopy and duck tape. i love the
gray of the skin of an elephanti love the grey of the
toilet paper after i’ve wiped up someone else’s surface.
i love the greay of the great north and this man’s truck
where the bottles were separated by color from
aluminum in the back of this man’s truck. the LED
animation of the man’s radio located in the cab of the
car alluminated the windshield where a collection of
licked fingers pressed the glass over plush animals
sleeping on the dash. drunk on the “suicide concoction”
the soda fountain dj gave to me when he realized i 
ended up at his bar from facebook, i started having so 
much fun. i seizured theat day, like they say, carpe
dayum, damn damn day yum, yummy, but then, i 
thought like where does the splitting of fountains and
wires and words and thoguhts and even the bubbles
begin to make this – and for it to be called suicide? and
then he knew? he knew i was on facebook? like now?
you too? here? finally? this must be the place. the 
freeway was cleared of snow like las vegas in the
winter. the mist fans turned heaters turned porcelain
turned into an indigenous oklahomiean who turned
tangerine and has never has an avocado. i taught him
to slice his fruit with his id card, thats how i knew he
was a homie. he signed his name Brock with a smiley
face instead. the end of the the topiary was the tapestry
of ornamental knowledge production. esoteric catharsis
 – gotcha. Fuck your statement. fuck the price of his 
tangerines, because it’s winter and he didn’t bother
even warming them up for me. and then? she left her
tampon on her studio desk, she told me that she
wanted ppl to see it but the ppl don’t look. i don’t
believe her tho – 000 i think she’s just and gross and
unexusible. excuse me i was trying to get weird but
she’s in my mouth, and not singing. but for some
reason, they’ve become moist again, this new
sensation i find myself waiting for, brown fudge spray
sealants between the slicing of strawberried because i
want to maximize the pleasure of nature’s principles. 
not nutella. not even the extra spoonful that no one
sees and i can forget because to sleep and alone. a 
chemical reaction that makes things flow, biological
words as i chew harder on the lifesaver, this one didn’t
spark but how can i tell the screen from the teeth you 
didn’t show. i usually tell people to show me their teeth
or cut my steak – they don’t get it. hey; everyhwere. hay
poured out the doors into a trackal to the cars parked
flickering to my new destination. plus sign minus
symbol equals parenthetical walking and meaning is
always bound to be pedestrian and obvious. should i
just end it?that’s nice