Gunnar Wray

Perhaps you have heard of that beach. You know, the one to where all singer/songwriters flock and die, and float like empty milk cartons on the gentle waves of songs about stars, and moons, and rain, and proms, and eyes, and hearts, and hearts, and hearts. It’s on the outskirts of Harrisburg PA, and Gunnar Wray would be obliged to give you driving directions to this uneventful resort where you will find him dropping cinder blocks and bowling balls into the water. And God will be there with a messenger bag stocked with brochures featuring breathtaking photography. His right hand will be swinging a bull whip that snatches guns, and respirators, and knives from the hands of doctors as they battle over which bodies will receive propaganda. While they’re not looking, Count Dracula will pick the pockets of dried bodies as he combs the beach for low interest credit cards with frequent flyer miles. He’ll do this while bone marrow slides down the wrong pipe in his throat. He’ll cough and his eyes will water. A caveman will just shrug his shoulders before bending over to tie his shoes. The next morning an orchestra of bodies will have washed to the shore. The air will smell like money and money and money. Gunnar Wray will set a blanket down on the sand and write an extremely long artist biography about his music, remembering to refer to himself in third person. This third person trick will make people believe someone important wrote about him. He will then remind anyone reading his biography that they are hungrier than the media thinks, and that it is okay to laugh at television sitcoms without a laugh track. He will burn, and burn, and burn. GUNNAR WRAY; AS FUN AS WEAPONS, MORE FUN THAN FRIENDS -this message was first written in cursive with a pen advertising a telephone number for home infusion…