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Subtitled

The sticks and stones of the Mandarin language wash over supermarket clam cans. Imported, but only from Alaska, the second language is of equal prominence as the obligatory first: English. Unlike the canned sausage that comes in spare cargo holds on established ships riding trade routes so common that they have made the atlas for the last five years, these clams are popular to both tongues. Mandarin tongues need to communicate with their Mandarin eyes n’ minds in order to bring the clams in. So they can talk about how good they taste and lie about their origin. English tongues are so used to English supermarkets and English packaging that having their words branded about the Clover Leaf clam can only reaffirms, or avoids insecurity over something as monumentaless as getting ready for chowder. The way the languages wash over the label… no room for reading dead clams, or portraits of them. 

The TV is soiled by Shania Twain wearing sinister colors that throw off even the RGB-ist of tubes. Her infatuation with red has taken to her chest and the beads that fall over the V-cut at her breast when she really gets into that song they play in the encore. Just behind her stand ten drummers, each beating on eight drums. Here we have tribal, by national public television standards. And just below her: more subtitles. The French language pirouettes with sharp accents to convey the songs to viewers in Eastern Canada. Their eyes’ll need to match their ears with their minds to make any sense of the pre-recorded mayhem. God knows what impressions they’ll be left with without making connections. Or even if they do. 

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The end of the peel...  ... doggie ghandi licks oncoming faces