THE EXTREME CAPE COD COOP

by illimitableoceanofinexplicability

.

Nature is a Haunted House – but Art – a House that tries to be haunted.

– Emily Dickinson

.

extremecapecodcoop

 Author’s note:
As with all things ‘extreme’ great caution must be taken when and if you can even muster considering to read the following ‘true-life’ story. Some of you, and (if you’re honest with yourself) you probably ‘feel it’ as well, are not prepared either emotionally or physically for what follows, and as such should probably not bother attempting what you are definitely not capable (because of your natural infirmities) of seeing through to the end. Maybe, if you want to know what ‘it’s all about’ you can ask someone more fit for living than yourself to ‘give it to you gently’.
-The Author

.

I would very much like to claim that upon seeing the ‘Extreme Cape Cod Coop’ (pictured above) the words, “Nature is a Haunted House – but Art – a House that tries to be haunted.“, occurred to me, but they did not. And, for the life of me, try as I might, for near a quarter of an hour, I was unable to come up with any reason, plausible or not, as to why they would have. In fact, though I at one time imagined myself employed as Ms. Dickinson’s gardener, and, because of her fondness for me, privy to most all of her secrets, I, in actuality, hadn’t any idea she’d ever wrote the words I found myself attempting to twist into a shape suitable to my purpose.

Honestly, when I came across this coop of the ‘extreme cape cod’ variety my first reaction was to excitedly slap the shoulder of my assistant with the back of my hand and repeatedly say to her, “Check it out”, while gawking at this most luxurious home for chickens. This, as it shouldn’t any assistant worth their salt, didn’t surprise my assistant, and, as her position requires, she waited most patiently while I took out my camera and snapped countless pictures of this new found object of my delight from a number of different angles.

However, though I went to what some would consider ridiculous lengths to capture the ‘Extreme Cape Cod Coop’ from many dramatic and what could even be described as ‘soul stirring’ angles I  knew, even while lying on my back in order to make an image properly ominous of the coop, that it would be the more static, perhaps even boring, typically taken image that I chose as an illustration for public presentation. The reason for this being, I imagined later, days and days later actually long after I had made way more digital images than anyone would need of the coop, is that no matter from where it is seen a haunted house is and always will be a haunted house.

Now, as much as I’d enjoy leading you all to believe that any of this, what, in keeping with the very idea of haunted houses (to say nothing of haunted chicken coops), I’ll call ‘mumbo jumbo’ I must, as my nature inclines me, tell you truthfully of what transpired after departing from the Cape Cod Coop’s immediate vicinity.

No doubt it would be easy for those of you well knowledgeable of my many previous exciting adventures to imagine that upon walking away, off to accomplish a few minor errands within the local feed store, I discoursed at length, for my assistant’s edification, about the various philosophical ideas of which the Cape Cod Coop did in physical form describe. Unfortunately, this was not exactly what happened. Actually, if you were to ask my assistant what did happen she would tell you that while it not as annoying as someone discoursing on philosophical ideas, my behavior was, to put it mildly, horribly trying.

You see, from the moment I walked away from the Extreme Cape Cod Coop and passed through the automatic sliding doors which lead into the feed store, and after adjusting my breathing to a necessary shallowness in order to limit my exposure to the miasma of toxic off gassing one finds in such places, I, seemingly without the ability to stop myself, kept speaking the words ‘Extreme Cape Cod Coop’, over and over again. “Extreme Cape Cod Coop, Extreme Cape Cod Coop, Extreme Cape Cod Coop” I shot the words from my mouth. Faster and faster I continuously repeated those four words, “Extreme Cape Cod Coop, Extreme Cape Cod Coop, Extreme Cape Cod Coop”. Again and again and again until the words began to disintegrate, whole letters disappeared and my tongue, in agony from its twisting, refused any longer to aid in my uttering of another sound. Dizzy, my legs feeling weak, I collapsed upon a nearby folding chair covered in a camouflage pattern which if I had been so unfortunate as to have found myself in this condition in the woods the chair’s upholstery would have fooled me so completely that I’d have stumbled right past it as if it were not even there.

Some moments later, pretending to have had lost consciousness, I flung my head from one side to the other in, I admit, a poor imitation of what I had witnessed many fine actors do in scenes in which they suffer from a terrible fever from which it is less than certain they’d ever recover. My purpose in attempting to appear as if the victim of an illness, be it mental or physical, was merely a panicked reaction to my own realizing that I was, in the words of my assistant, “acting like a freak”.

Unfortunately, upon looking up at my assistant, while still trying desperately, with squinted eyes and slight, almost imperceptible (and wholly fake) tremors in my hands, in order to convey the idea that I was not responsible for my previous actions, it (quickly) became clear from the expression on her face that she was not the only one to not be taken in by my ruse. Slowly I began to notice all around me the other shoppers, some bravely doing their best to appear as if they’d not noticed and others looking at me with faces I can only compare to my memory of the expression on my mother’s face when, entering the living room of our family home, she found a large pile of excrement left by the family dog upon the carpet.

Though discouraged the fear I felt of stranger’s disdain caused me to, in an embarrassingly ham-fisted way, hold my arms out with hands open at the lights above me and exclaim loudly, “Too bright, too bright”. However, just before I was to follow this outburst with covering my eyes and exclaiming, “The phosphorescence! It burns”, something, perhaps it was ‘the voice of reason’, or maybe, just maybe something of a supernatural kind reaching out its benevolent hand to calm me. Whatever it was, and no one, in fact, can say for sure what it was, I quickly regained my usual devil may care demeanor and continued upon the errands my assistant and I had come there in the first place to accomplish.

.

Epilogue

.

After finding the items we needed, as well as being subjected to the gross incompetence of those they hire to be cashiers at the feed store, my assistant and I headed back on the peaceful country roads to our home, the beloved Institute for the Study of Slightly Varying Circumstances. On our way, as I always do, I spoke at length about whatever entered my mind all the while glancing over at my assistant in order to make sure she was either laughing at some joke I had told or that she was nodding her head vigorously in agreement with some excellent point I had just made, and, not surprisingly, she was.

.

..

.

.

IMG_3979Ropes at the feed store

.

.

.

.

.

.

Advertisements