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dispatch eleven
Oikos by Adam Moorad
debuted 1 September 2009 | kept 1124 times | click to keep
behind-the-scenes footage 
Ready to explode, roadside bombs line the highway. The radio says so to Lamb. He touches the volume and thinks about roadside bombs. Feels distantly alarmed and has the urge to explode. He wishes he had a more volcanic personality. He is driving home from work. There is traffic. Lines on the highway. He observes the world in a blur. A cow. A steeple. Every other mile. Another cow. Another steeple. In the sky, an airplane. The radio says something about airplanes. Airplanes have crashed. Will crash. Are crashing. Lamb looks back at the road. An exit ramp. A flag. Telephone wire. Another cow. He wishes buffalo still dominated North America. He thinks this would be good for North America. For the environment, for everything. He closes his eyes. Keeps his foot on the gas pedal, hands on the wheel. Pistons grind under the hood. He wonders what the road looks like in front of him. Will he crash? Will he explode? Are there bombs along the road ahead? He feels paranoid and alone and attempts to envision someone he can recognize. He pictures his older brother, Michael. Michael is riding on the back of a buffalo. The buffalo looks cool and serene. Michael looks happy riding the buffalo. Lamb wants coolness and serenity. Like a buffalo. Opens his eyes: the highway, lines on the highway, an American flag, telephone wire, another cow, and no buffalo.
Lamb wonders why he works. He thinks about the word “career” and says it out loud twice. Feels a strange sense of happiness and sadness. Happy to not be at work. Sad to be coming from work. The voice on the radio says something indecipherable. Sunlight pours through the windshield and touches his skin. He looks at his arms. They are too white. Lamb feels malnourished and unattractive from a life spent indoors. Working. He doesn’t have enough time to be outdoors. This is counter-evolutionary. He’s failing to evolve because of his job requirements. He considers buying a membership to a tanning salon. Imagines the smell of lotion and pictures himself in a Speedo on a tanning bed. He doesn’t understand why. He looks at his arms. Sees freckles. Hairs. A fading birthmark. Feels confused. Imagines purple ultraviolet bulbs baking his skin. Baking the organs beneath his skin. He thinks about the damage caused by ultraviolet radiation. About developing skin cancer on his arms. He wonders if his arms would have to be amputated. Wonders if society would shun him if he were to ever find himself armless. Lamb pulls onto an exit ramp. He looks around. The sky, an airplane, another cow, another steeple. Another.
Lamb remembers riding to church on his father’s wedding day. His older brother drove. Lamb tries to remember how much older. He can’t. He remembers his father telling him that it was a special day for their family. Lamb said he was glad for his father. Michael was silent. His father said something about their mother looking down from heaven. The memory metastasizes in Lamb’s brain.