I Hate You, You Stupid Flower

I am full of love for the New Wave.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Allergic to the Essence of The End

Allergies...allergies. Where to begin? I am destined to live life as a freak. Can I not embark upon a trip to the Great North Woods - a land smitten with the glory of nature, a land that defines the nature of glory - without suffering the wrath of my own frail body? My weak constitution, a pathetic bag of flesh and blood that sniffles and sneezes every time it gets near a bit of mold and dust. For what are mold and dust, but signs of decay, and what is decay but the ultimate glory and the ultimate goal of life?

Mold forms about disintegrating organic matter, and dust is nothing less than dead skin cells shed from our body mixed with the dirt of this earth. Should I not rejoice in these reminders of the impending end? Nay, I am weak. How fitting then that my nose reject these particles of decay and death, for my mind cannot consign itself to the great journey to that undiscovered country that we all must travel to. Of course, I speak of Canada.

My body reacts with violent convulsions to the decay of this world: My nose and eyes run with the tears of disbelief and the mucus of protest. It is as if I wish to grab Fate by its fat face and let my fluids drip down its laughing throat. I wish to repay Fate for the joke it plays on us by bringing us to life and then expecting us to thrive as we encounter daily reminders of our impending end.

Oh, curse on you Fate, and may a thousand snotty tissues from a thousand people be found upon your doorstep. The steps of the door that leads to...a foyer. A foyer in the house of...eternity!

Monday, July 17, 2006

Vortex of Black and Blue

Two fortnights have past since my big toe was smashed by the sliding keyboard-holder on my desk. In a drunken stupor - drunk on spirits, or drunk on the spirit of life? - I pulled out my keyboard and it kissed my toe with the bloody smooch of pain. The pain subsided with time, as all pain will be washed away with the rains of time - or shall I say the reign of time? - but the black and blue mark it left across my toenail remains.

Black and blue, black and blue...blue and black. I now realize my toe is marked with a bruise that is nothing less than the bruise of this life we are forced to lead. The blue of the vast chaotic ocean, the blue of a broken heart, the blue of a succulent berry begging to be consumed. That blue is the depression that lingers in our lives, that hangs over our head. And the black - need I say it, could it be any clearer? The endless black vortex that is Father Time and that all must dissolve into. The empty black that surrounding our painfully small, fragile blue world - the black that will one day swallow this planet. It is the black of our only promise for the future: expansive, unthinking, neverending black.

Only now do I realize that the Fates willed this toe so that I may understand the vast emptiness of existence is centered around the big toe on my left foot. God! Give me the toenail clipper! I wish to end it....

Begging to Get Fried


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