The darkness was everywhere…most specifically between the clefted knuckles of my right and left hands. Strangely, there was a loitering cloud of light that occasionally found its way into the edge of the right eye. It was as casual as the look from a stranger, after you had mistakenly turned and realized that you were still waiting on your friend. The trees blew hard, in a close distance, perhaps to offer a clue as to why the journey had commenced, more than likely to hide their own culpability, as all tracks remained inaccessible and remote. Maybe they just wanted you to turn, this time… all you found was the beaten path. Thankfully, opinions never managed to stay rooted to just one place. Soon, the worries became as light as the breeze that gently carried them away. The screen door quickly opened and then just as quickly…snapped shut. It was not hot, but it was not cool either. The drops of liquid were hitting the highest plains of my feet. The ice was gone and now my glass was completely full. The taste would be dull, but all good signs remained intact. If being left unattended meant one could increase its presence…then no errors had been made. Never again would I care if the stranger hugged me back.

Experimentation….it can be presumed…is the fermentation of a diffident seed. I first ingested this recipe, licking carpet, years after adapting to the unpleasant friction initially broached by my belly and then later betrayed by the lowering of my chin. It was not the scent nor the imagined taste that coaxed my tongue forward. There was simply nothing else of primeval tender, after all, every reflection is of a historical persuasion…up for auction…every moment… available for trade. I acquired a few strands of synthetic fiber and perhaps even a bit of well-worn food. Could my offer metastasize into a form of girl talk…eventually leading to a pillow fight…ripping undetected… crashing against an unnamed face? Clearly, there was only a vague preoccupation with the occurrence, I would have to sprout a companion…which annoyed me for proving another trait. And then I tasted it again and again, and finally still…once more. Now, I was as quantified as the artifacts that I nudged. My fur growing moist, my whiskers beginning to flood. I coughed loudly and then I gagged. Practice and portrayal… while unraveling…. was progress…albeit conceited and immature. But what if the girl swung and missed? Calmly, a tradition or a recital would joyfully be labeled as hypothetical…encased by cascading feathers…my lonely self belief…welcomed by the receding stability… of the impotent, balding shag.

If social media is still an essential party favor to get thru even the most special of days…then isn’t a birthday just a celebration of renewed masochism and mundane figuration? Or is it only the pretense of the cake… that is capable of tightening the garrote around the numbered flame?

The human agreed that the furniture was not as bad as I was often repeated to be. He nodded as if he were a rocking horse, well crafted when pushed beyond insistence, but unable to self power the softest of ruminations or to stop the remnants of the tired motion of a primal role. His roots were noble and flimsy and that left him susceptible to being obedient. But the couch had character at the very least. I watched as the operator said this again and again. As if I could handle another moment that depended upon being courteous. He coated and then drenched the fabric, several times, until the only green felt that remained had to feel like a grouping of volcanic islands. Sure they had outlasted their brothers, but that did not mean that they wanted generations of people to patronize their beauty or worse yet, call them home. I thought about the choking cushions, made heavy by lather and suds, a story born from defiance and irony. One modern attempt at a clean rebirth was far more brutal than the sum of the filthy touches that had founded the downfall long ago. I sat in the corner… watching both of the purveyors shaking hands…one leaning forward and then the other falling back. Fuck the death of the ancient world…I thought…who says paint should reside on the walls?

Just another example of why cats are superior to humans…for when we squat down…our wasteful thoughts only come out one end.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words…I had no idea that there were that many of the four letter variety!!!

I foresaw the summit of a speed bump, an inverted aircraft and a condescending toad. Of the three, I accepted the speed bump….fortuitously smooth…and aerodynamic…no animosity between my grounded self and my launching beliefs. I can remain intact this way, which makes me relax, just a bit. It is almost noon, my sides are beginning to press…whimsical and vivid. To the mannerisms of the bystander…perplexion is no longer a living word…but it does fit perfectly without explaining the comparison… several hours have passed since my last feeding. Perhaps they would have me eating even less…not surprising…but easier to forget how much I have spilled… and later, unevenly missed. Compartmentalizing is always up for a challenge, no matter the manner of the trick. Besides, how long is that aircraft going to remain in the sky…did man invent the concept of forever? The toad seems to have inherited the enormity of holding a self-appointed rank. I wonder if there is any room for the great above to be blue, when all of one’s orders are attached to a pale colored tongue or incorrectly assumed by the webbing of the feet? Philosophical boredom is such a poor substitute for a captive ultimatum….but given the chance of actual contact….I move for a unity that codes all hallucination….committed to the preservation of a feasting lore…where the triumvirate is the purveyor…and the presage lives on through the comparisy.

You have to keep an eye on anything that you broil…or at least until you no longer feel awkward when others do not wave back.

I do not see evidence of clutter…I see a plastic fork and packets of unused ketchup. Of course, you would point out that I have overlooked the crumpled napkins. There are five to be exact…I had already done the math…thank you. Now…if you want to discuss the clean yellow highlighter or leaking blue pen…I make no excuses for this crop of perpetuity…instead I call your attention to the expired shiny coupon. Just like the concept of a symbolic disorder…there is organization that lies beneath the fringes of your forgotten purchase…contemplate what else you can refute and enjoy the $10 off.