Postcards From Texas #4
by david moses fruchter
Date: Wed, 24 Jun 1998 23:12:35 -0500

One side of the postcard bears a picture of an ornately sugared
gingerbread house, in a forest clearing.  Closer inspection of
the image reveals hundreds of tiny eyes, peeking out of the
windows of the house, from the chimney, the keyhole of the front
door, between the trees and blades of tall grass which surround
the clearing.  The postmark reads, "Interference, Texas".  The
other side reads:
 

This is a place where for every kind of thing a person might
say, a distinct kind of bread is baked; and if you want to
say something of a particular kind, you must carry that kind
of bread with you.  It's not necessarily the case that this
bread must be given to whomever you are speaking to.
However, it must be available if they demand it, even if only
a crumb.  There are those who carry crumbs of a wide variety
of breads, organized by flavor and intention, that they may
have the greatest range of language available to them.  This
is a practice generally considered snobbish and effete; most
carry only a loaf or two at any given time, and are proud
that this is sufficient to their verbal needs. "One big
bite," they say: the full text of the original aphorism is
lost to history, but the meaning remains clear.  Some few
obsessively collect crumbs of the strangest and least
appetizing variety, which they then smush together, add some
egg and flour, and bake into loaves beyond identity.  When
these folk are found wandering the street, babbling to
themselves and passersby, they are immediately confined and
put on a program of proper medication.