Watched a video where two Australian men replaced the engine oil of a Volkswagen Golf with eggnog and ran it until the engine destroyed itself.
Took a barefoot walk on wet road on a warm Christmas day. The air is calm. The grass is dormant.
The eggnog curdled and evaporated and congealed causing the engine to sing its “death song”.
I took two navel oranges from the bird tote bag in the garage fridge and sat out here on the porch to write and listen to sounds of birds and distant planes and traffic.
The video is 30 minutes long and at first I was confused and unnerved why the Australian men insisted on continuing to find ways to make the car run again until the engine had absolutely irredeemably thrashed itself to death. It seemed somehow cruel to marvel and cackle at a piece of machinery hovering between life and death.
A hawk cries. Yesterday I was walking around and saw that my sister had accidentally run over a mouse as she was parking in front of my parent’s house. I took the body over to the woods at the end of the street and wished it a peaceful return to the earth.
The more the Australians talked though, the more I realized that they were mechanics who spend their time carefully exercising patience and judgment to make a car run seemingly against its convoluted and frustrating design. A dance of elaborate steps and checks to appease a system that flies in the face of common sense. It’s easy to imagine those grievances piling and piling.
Like the mystery in the dark. Oh, it’s just another kind of light.
A cricket downstairs in the bathroom, victim of a curious cat, with one leg missing hopping in a circle.
It must be therapeutic to watch a car fail all the way.
We can only impose order on nonsense for so long until we must systematically impose nonsense on nonsense and urge entropy to take its place.
They also, two months prior, had replaced the coolant with a combination of Pepsi and Milk, otherwise known as Pilk.
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