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.
On the 27th day…Am I to be permitted?
Fully resurrected…into the foyer of a peaked spring. Note the arrangement…ask no questions to moisten the seed….straighten all pillows…re rake all tracks…even the slightest form of duplication can mislabel the roots as a familiarity….replay equals dissent.
It’s nice to own something physical that others can only borrow with their thoughts. My writings are mine to touch…each downward keystroke is how I imagine it feels to be the creator…today I will suddenly want to move to the mountains, yet I will shiver upon the carpet under the rays of a towering sun. We are not so different…we are only neighbors because one of us is unable to come to grips with the hole in the screen….wrangling a steer…imagining all that is still left to be undone. Maybe nothing is truly capable of being fixed….the flattened tips of my paws…your assimilation. The patchless breeze blows heavily…eventually the keys pop up.
I could not leave well enough alone…that is why there is another plash of small print placed upon the white of an aging backdrop. No amount of colored pixels will take me home. I must hang until I am fully cured. I would not say that I am in a terrible hurry to give an answer…but surely the context of the profound is more worthwhile than the depiction of a drip.
I have come to dread most celebrations, for they are usually hunched over in a sidecar attached to, and driven by a much larger and impactful figure, formally known as “Death.” I prefer the nickname of “Tragedy,” for the word death is final and in the end very abrupt, as if it has somewhere else to be of greater or perhaps, new found importance, whereas, tragedy lingers and constantly irritates, in other words, it never has anywhere else to go. Today is harder than before, just as next year will be the worst one yet. I do not make the rules or have control over my emotions. Thankfully, I am being dragged along the road. I can honestly say that without a hint of sarcasm. I had a hand in this, even though I feel that I was manipulated and put up to it, by an impulse that was never going to laugh and slap my back. But tonight there will be dessert and songs, clearly someone else is struggling evermore. For them, I bite my lip and pull, no worries, the scars were already there, the road and the pebbles are staring a million miles away. Can you now see what I mean by the word, “abrupt?” I honestly do not care how you answer, condolences go much better with frosting, and pain knows better than to sit up straight. I do not want to go on a little longer, for, hopefully my turn at the wheel will not be new found or important. That in itself, is a reparation….and definitely worth a slice of cake.