THE NEW FOX IN MY LIFE: A DESPATCH (SIC) FROM CORONAVIRUS LOCKDOWN.

recognition

Behold, the vixen assembles herself for devotion. Yes, we believe this fine creature to be a female of the species. Our relationship started this way. She presents herself and I devote myself to her presentation. She’s in no hurry to be foxy; she’s quite foxy as it is. She encounters tens of twenties of twos of persons, while I typically encounter but one vulpine soul. Yes, we are socially distancing ourselves properly in the Coronavirus era, but we always begin with this moment of recognition on the grassy, grassy lea.

aloofness

In this stage of the vixen-human devotional, the fox asserts her aloofness. A person could outfox another person, a fox could outfox a person, a fox could outfox another fox, but a person will never outfox a fox, how could he? He is not the fox. She is the fox, and she is, oh yes, fundamentally aloof. She knows the damage that a pelt-monger could cause, and she won’t become fodder for a pre-barbaric line in a Tennessee Williams play. [In Brando nasal voice:] “Where are your fox-pieces, Stella?” Lo, she will endure.

the chase is on

The fox is low to the ground. Why does this matter? Because there are roots and limbs, god dammit, there are creeks and banks. Have I taken a tumble? Yes, I have tumbled into the freaking creek! Would you believe me if I said that the fox waited for me? A fellow can grow quite emotional in such a moment. Sitting there, in the chilly muck, wondering just what in the Jiminy Cricket he is doing with his life, but there sitteth the vixen, beautiful and vigilant. Would you believe me if I said that we ran through the foxgloves together? Well, you shouldn’t. I have no idea what foxgloves look like. But we have run together side by side, the fox and I.

coda
There may be more foxes before long. I know this because I’ve seen a second fox: le renard. He looked as if he were wearing silk pajamas, and he is, and he deserves every single bit of that glorious feeling, the lucky guy.

CULTURAL AFFAIRS WEEK NO. 3: NOVELTY GOVERNMENT U.S.A.

If only Novelty Government U.S.A. would “heart.” If only it would spray-paint. Then it could spell “i ♥ melody” in a fuzzy charcoal proclamation on the northbound side of an overpass which fjords—yes, fjords—a minor, trickly tributary. (A crick.) Novelty Government might prefer a gal named Melody. Or it might prefer the melodious through-action of music, “i ♥ melody.” Some constituents might regard the potential for two affections as ambiguous, too complicated to merit their untethered support. After all, they had voted for Novelty Government U.S.A. with the lobster-redness of exasperation, a lobster-redness that hearkened back to the single-minded exasperation of earlier generations, pioneers, men and women donning severe sugarloaf caps. Novelty Government does womanize, thus, on the one hand, professing amour (and sporting ‘under amour’ garb) for the hand of one woman in particular, might wrinkle a few lobster-red thought balloons, but as for “i ♥ melody,” the melody of song, well, just what in the Jiminy Cricket does that proclaim? And what kind of melody would Novelty Government U.S.A. prefer to heart? (Jessica Simpson cover-crooning a ditty by Scritti Politti?) One opines “if only” since Novelty Government doesn’t appear to heart, own spray-paint, hang out on the overpass, know a gal named Melody, and tap its toes to melody. It’s not difficult to imagine Novelty Government U.S.A. in the girth of a business suit, adopting poses that could be described as the “scrunched fists of seasonal desecration” or “lobster-red effort to distinguish between a bowel movement and a gasser” or “juvenile hyperventilation upon denial of favorable building permit to construct another leisure resort.” Novelty Government U.S.A. would like us to think that everything conspires against it—virulent veganism of everyday columnists, ghostly voters arising from Tammany Hall graveyards, grousing of international cultures yearning for subsistence—when instead, Novelty Government can cradle “the red telephone” anytime it chooses. It can destroy the world again, and again, and again.

 

Cultural Affairs Week 2017 Editorial Schedule

Aļona Ostapenko

List of Active Conspiracy Theories

Novelty Government U.S.A.

Études, Brute?

To Be Announced