Thursday, July 20, 2017
I shaved a sheep and put the wool all around my body and went with the other sheep to see what the sheep life was like. The shaven sheep put on my velvet jacket and white trousers and went into the city to take my place and see what the coburg budget decadence human life was all about. Raldy the cat could tell something was up, but all the other humans just believed it was me, such is the emblematic power of a purple velvet jacket and a pair of white trousers. Jorge poured the sheep a pisco sour and laughed uproariously. The sheep smiled. It could get used to this.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
I wore a key around my neck every day of my life. When i showered it would get lathered with soap. When I made love, it would bang against my partners chest. When I rode a bicycle, it would hang down and clang clang clang against the metal frame. My parents told me I'd been born with the key around my little neck, and some day I would find out what it unlocked. I found this story pretty spurious, but they were very stern parents and when I would smirk at this story they would grow even sterner. So I played along. I hoped it would open a safe deposit box in some Swiss bank that contained a fortune in rubies or the soul of Cleopatra or something. I really hoped it didn't open a locker in a gym that had held somebody's sweaty underclothes for 35 years.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
I dreamed a dreamed where I reflected on my whole life, but my reflections were in the form of cryptic poetry that I could not understand. I drafted in many eminent scholars to give their interpretations, but none of them seemed right to me. I baked the words into inflate blow up letters and put them in the ocean. They inflated and floated off. I took a tramp steamer across the Adriatic, did a little spice trading and regrouped in the Canary Islands. I waited there by the beach knowing that eventually the words would wash up on shore and I could view them in a new arrangement with fresh canary eyes, and maybe have a little insight into what this was all about.
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
There is a disco in the center of the earth where the mirror ball is made from screaming people and the dancers are made of mirrors and their reflections bounce off of one another and create a perfect beam of light that hits the DJ in the chest and gives her the power to select the perfect song for right this minute, and when it hits all the mirror dancers are filled with ecstatic tension, and at the start of the 5th bar all the mirrors shatter and chunks fly upward and become lodged in the cheeks of the screaming people ball.
Monday, March 20, 2017
Rainy days cause everything to get all wilting like waterlogged cardboard boxes. My house becomes soggy and a passing bird tears the roof off. I walk out and I am also a soggy cardboard box. I flop down the street getting covered in smut until one of my legs tears off in the wind and floats down a sewerage drain. I plod on, dragging myself along the sidewalk, hoping soon the sun will come out and make me crispy and virile once again.
Thursday, March 16, 2017
My bones are so brittle that they have all broken and now I am a sack of skin with a bunch of broken bones down the bottom of it. I have had to hire a lady to drive me around in a golf cart with the top of my skin sack pinned to the front and the full bony bottom of the sack flapping about in the breeze. She takes me to all my important business meetings and I am still able to blink so I communicate via Morse code with a series of blinks and sometimes I suspect that my business associates do not really know Morse code and are just nodding their heads and pretending they know what I am talking about. Oh how I wish I could slam my fist down on the desk and say "DON'T YOU HUMOUR ME!", but my arm and hand and jawbones are all broken into tiny pieces and mingling in the bottom of my sack.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
A sumptuous feast was laid out in anticipation of the royal greyhounds' arrival. Mounds of pork chops, steaks, wheels of brie, all the things doggies like to eat. The yoyal greyhounds, covered head to tail in gorgeous mink robes, bejeweled crowns on their heads, were placed atop the table and given free reign to gorge themselves, but of course they were sophisticated royal doggies and ate in a prim, dainty fashion, tromping slowly along the table, taking a little nibble of some pork fat and taking a little nick off the edge of the brie wheel. Occasionally the Queen would prod some foodstuffs with her paw, smell the paw, turn her nose up and saunter off. Oh, how the crowd loved that one.