Tag Archives: Rang Rang

Something Has to Happen

Jon Kane is out of the office today and the woodshop stands empty.  Outside the opticnerve™ studio windows, the ocean is a swampy green. The hatchlings in the walls were noisy last week; today they have fallen silent. The cold may have put them to sleep.

Here it is happy hour (the woman at the liquor store calls us The Bulleit Boys).

What kind of adventure would you like us to take you on next?  We have an excellent firsthand account of a fatal 1977 plane crash stored in the backroom.  Alternately, Rang Rang has suggested we lighten things up a little and begin an opticnerve™ dating game.

Remember: while the grim past is illuminated by memory’s lantern, the future remains obscured by the darkness of the unknown.

Today the pictured door is closed.

If you have any comments for Jon, rest assured his door is sometimes open.  No-body can convey said comments to him when it is.


There Are No Bad Days

Yesterday morning The Captain came in with a limp.  No-body asked him what happened.  The Captain said his day had “started out nice and then it just didn’t end.”  He had gotten locked into the warehouse lot for the night and injured himself when he fell scaling the warehouse gate. No-body arranged some pastries on a plate.

No-body asked Jon Kane if the theme for today’s story could be The Worst Day.  Jon was in his office cum woodshop, sitting in the dark. “Worst day. At optic? Worst day at optic… Great. I love it.”

No-body went down the hallway with a piece of paper in her hand and stepped into opticnerve™ Studio 7B where Pork and Rang Rang and two other men sat four abreast on the window ledge smoking cigarettes and looking out over the ocean.  No-body pulled the double windows open a crack and the cold air came in.

“Come out and join us!” they said, “There’s plenty of room.”  But there would only be enough room for No-body if somebody jumped.  The men said they would think about their worst days.  No-body shut the window on them.

After lunch No-body asked them again.  Anonymous stood in front of the fireplace, framed by strands of colored lights and said: “Today is pretty bad.”  (A portrait of Jon’s father in military uniform hung to Anon’s right.) “And yesterday.”  (On his left, a mural of a snake climbed a painted branch)  “And tomorrow.” Everyone laughed.

Behind him the firewood was stacked six feet high. No-body said: “They’re all bad days,” and put another log on the fire,  “that’s my lower back tattoo.”  There was a thumb-sized hole in the side of Nobody’s dress.

Then the men went away and took their untold stories with them. Spills walked in and poured himself a bowl of Gorilla Munch.  No-body asked him about his worst day and Spills said: “Where should I start?”  Then he laughed, but he didn’t start anywhere.

No-body rearranged the fruit bowl and sat down on the office swing with an empty piece of paper in her hand. Then Jon opened his office door and stuck his head out. “Wait, Can I tell about my worst day?”

No-body said he could if he wanted to.

Jon paused to search his thoughts.

“Never mind. All my days are good days.” He closed the door.