Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Cracked ascendancy - a poem

Alan decided to to make eggs for breakfast.
It was a bold, ballsy, bithchin', badass, brash, and possibly even foolishly preposterous decision. 

Mostly because he didn't have any eggs. 

But in a lesser way, yet still slightly relevant way, also because: 
- He didn't have any money to buy eggs.
- Or a stove or any other cooking equipment to cook things on. 
- Or any idea what cooking equipment even was.
- Or any thumbs.
- Or any other hand parts.
- Or any wrists.
- Or any idea why he didn't have these parts.
- Or any ability for rational thought.
- Or any ability for fanciful thought. 
- Or thoughts about the nature and importance of ecosystems to maintain a harmonious, if not occasionally brutal, balance between all living things and their environments.
- Or any opinions on any of the currently most debated subjects in the news and pop-culture, including but not limited to, thoughts on social responsibility for social people to give back to societies, or even whether that new bridge should be built or not.
- Or a natural feel for body language and subtle facial hints.
- Or a grandiose philosophy of why when cream cheese sales rise the political landscape will often meet a simultaneous period of conflict. 
- Or any clarity to his recent conundrum in explaining to his curious child exactly why landscape painters are so focused on rural landscapes, even though urban landscapes are often closer physically to where their favorite multiplex cinemas are.
- Or any natural intuition into why accidental physical contact with a stranger can lead to sustained feelings of energy transference and mental fortress building.
- Or any hair bristling psychic revelations about how to create a new system of ascendancy that would eradicate all need for current stairs, escalators or even elevators! And this one really bothered him because he HATED stairs, escalators and elevators. They are so obsessed with minor changes in altitude, 'sometimes staying horizontally consistent is okay you dick!' He'd scream often. 

'Yep, if I had eggs, I'd totally make eggs right now' Alan thought. 

Then like a basket of trinkets, spilled over a bed of photos of broken tractor parts, rusted to the sounds of industrial music, reinterpreted as flute opera, a monkey climbed Alan and ate one of his kids.
It was a tough day to be a banana tree. 

In the beholder - a poem

Jeremy took out his left eye, Roger, and hid it on top of the medicine cabinet.
Jeremy was hoping to use Roger to catch a look at his roommate, Kathy, in the nude.
But when Roger saw Kathy getting ready for work,
Plucking eyebrows...
Wielding eyelash curlers...
Administering mascaras...
Squirting eye-drops to remove hang-over blood shots...
Squishing in contacts...
Swearing bloody murder at how hard it was to get contacts in, without once blaming her eyes themselves for said trouble, which would have been easy to do, believe me...
And gently dabbing on eye shadow...
All to make her eyes look the best they could.
Well it made Roger feel sad...
And unloved...
And lonely...
And removed...
And scarred...
And misplaced...
And disenfranchised...
And desolate...
And unsalitatiable...
Although it wasn't really sure what 'unsalitatiable' meant.
Which made it feel stupid...
And uneducated...
And ignorant...
And re-disenfranchised...
And despondent...
And devoid from the loop center...
And out of sync with the rhythm of the cosmos...
And cocooned in a sorrow of insulation...
And cracked under a weight of feathers made from the heaviest malnourishment known to the unknowing lord of dumb...
Even though technically 'unsalitatiable' isn't even a word. 
So it dove into the toilet to commit suicide.

As the splash bounced around the porcelain, Roger felt awash...
With toilet water...
And regret...
And misinformation...
And overuse of ellipse...
And overwrought hairbrainedness...  
And fear of what was next to it...
Physically I mean...
I mean...
Ewwww, what else would be in a toilet bowl...
Gross....
Roger thought with an ewwwww on his breath...
Even thigh technically it didn't have lungs...
Making him feel like a liar...
And yet making him feel like he was about to suffocate to death...
Which proved he was NOT a liar...
Yet still an unhappy...
Sad...
Morose...
Broken...
Lost...
Forgotten loser...
Who was about to die from a FAILED suicide attempt...
And it was right then...
In that moment...
That he met a goldfish, named Jill, who had been dumped in the
toilet earlier...
While it was trying to have an, admittedly, poorly timed, and extremely deep nap. 
And Roger and Jill fell in love.
And got married.
With a generous, and very wet, toilet paper tube acting as celebrant. 
And somehow they had twenty seven kids over the next three weeks, despite Roger not technically possessing any sort of genitals. 

The end.

Jeremy went on to have his other eye eaten out by a rat, which proceeded to move into his skull. 
Kathy met a guy who said he fell in love with her 'when I saw your eyes'.
She has no idea that he actually meant the eye shaped orange 'bugs' with phenomenal emotional depth that live behind her toilet. 
But 'meh' it's still better than having your creepy roommate see you naked.