lake shawnee, wisconsin

i use to be scared of a lot of things. like sketches and such. but then i realized that i was just crazy. now i'm okay with things. i have long brown hair. my skin is very dry. i have small ears. a large mouth. small, pointy teeth. i live alone in the mountains. i am fourty-six. i don't go out much. i like the comfort of my home. i would like a companion. maybe. someone like me, who liked to stay in most of the time. someone who wouldn't ask a lot of questions, and wouldn't talk much. someone who didn't have much of a family. i don't like visiting family. november of '66, i was twelve. we had a family reunion in wisconsin. my uncle is an artist and insisted on drawing my "unique and defiant" face, as he liked to call it. i looked at my mother, and begged her to tell him no. but she said it would be nice to have a sketch of me. he sat me beneath a saggy tree, in a chair. i was worried. he sat on a stool a couple feet in front of me. as he sketched he hummed. and the humming would get louder and lounder until finally i would have to cover my ears. i was too scared of my uncle to ask him to stop. he would scream at me to put my arms down, but i couldn't. so he would come over and push them down on my lap. then he would start humming again. and i would rock back and forth and hum to myself, in attempts to drown out the horrid noise he was producing. but once again, my uncle's humming became so loud i could hear nothing else. i forced myself to sit still. he sat hunched over his painting tapping his foot, wide-eyed. not just wide-eyed, something else. his eyes would get bigger. the longer and louder he hummed the bigger his eyes would get. they were now a little bigger than cantaloupes, and the loud noise of his humming was causing ripples in the lake behind him. i thought of running, and jumping into the comfort of the water, where i could no longer hear the droning of his deep voice. but i couldn't. he would hurt me if i did. so i sat upon the cheap plastic lawn chair. where my sweaty thighs were plastered to the weaved bottom of the chair. my uncle's eyes were beginning to pulsate [now the size of basketballs] and he rose into the air, floating, holding his sketch. i screamed. and this is when i felt the water come up.


	amaze me machine. \| home writings lake shawnee, wisconsin. i use to be scared of a lot of things. like sketches and such. but then i realized that i was just crazy. now i'm okay with things. i have long brown hair. my skin is very dry. i have small ears. a large mouth. small, pointy teeth. i live alone in the mountains. i am fourty-six. i don't go out much. i like the comfort of my home. i would like a companion. maybe. someone like me, who liked to stay in most of the time. someone who wouldn't ask a lot of questions, and wouldn't talk much. someone who didn't have much of a family. i don't like visiting family. november of '66, i was twelve. we had a family reunion in wisconsin. my uncle is an artist and insisted on drawing my "unique and defiant" face, as he liked to call it. i looked at my mother, and begged her to tell him no. but she said it would be nice to have a sketch of me. he sat me beneath a saggy tree, in a chair. i was worried. he sat on a stool a couple feet in front of me. as he sketched he hummed. and the humming would get louder and lounder until finally i would have to cover my ears. i was too scared of my uncle to ask him to stop. he would scream at me to put my arms down, but i couldn't. so he would come over and push them down on my lap. then he would start humming again. and i would rock back and forth and hum to myself, in attempts to drown out the horrid noise he was producing. but once again, my uncle's humming became so loud i could hear nothing else. i forced myself to sit still. he sat hunched over his painting tapping his foot, wide-eyed. not just wide-eyed, something else. his eyes would get bigger. the longer and louder he hummed the bigger his eyes would get. they were now a little bigger than cantaloupes, and the loud noise of his humming was causing ripples in the lake behind him. i thought of running, and jumping into the comfort of the water, where i could no longer hear the droning of his deep voice. but i couldn't. he would hurt me if i did. so i sat upon the cheap plastic lawn chair. where my sweaty thighs were plastered to the weaved bottom of the chair. my uncle's eyes were beginning to pulsate [now the size of basketballs] and he rose into the air, floating, holding his sketch. i screamed. and this is when i felt the water come up.